by Jodie Toohey
My birthday is September 3, 1976. So you get a birthday gift of getting out of school and I get the birthday gift of going to school.
Larry Benson is a jerk and I do not remember why I liked him. After Emily died, I tried to talk to him about it, but he ignored me. So now I hate him. I don’t think there are any boys in America (none that I know anyway) like your Mate. Boys here do not ride motorcycles and they are only nice to girls if they are super popular or their friends are not around them.
I am sorry about the fighting in your country. I hope no fighting has happened by your house and if it has, I’m very sorry. I’m also sorry this letter is so dull. I will try to write more later.
Your friend,
Ami
P.S. Happy Birthday!!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nada was much better at responding to my letters than I was to hers.
*****
18 June 1991
Dear Ami,
I got your letter yesterday, right on my birthday! I am sorry your cousin died. That is very, very sad. No fighting has happened by my house since I wrote my last letter but people are saying Yugoslavia may be going to war. I heard on television over 90% of people voted last month in election that they wanted Croatia to be its own country.
I hope by the time you get this letter you are feeling better. Do you want to hear about my birthday and plans for the summer? If you do, keep reading. If not, you can put this letter away and read it later. In case you decide to read rest of this letter later, please write me back when you want to.
My fourteenth birthday was yesterday so Maja and I spent the whole day until it got dark out swimming in the sea with our friends. I am happy it is summer. I do not have to think about grades or homework or studies for almost three months. I am having my birthday party on Saturday afternoon. I will spend most of the rest of my summer riding bicycles, swimming in the sea, and hiking with my friends. In one month, my family will go to visit my mother’s parents in Bosnia. I love to feed the chickens, take the cows to pasture, and help my grandmother garden. They grow bushels and bushels of vegetables. We get to feast on as many as we like while we are visiting.
*****
Nada’s letter continued under a different date:
*****
23 June 1991
Yesterday, I got up early to prepare small sandwiches made out of sourdough bread and different meats and cheeses for my birthday party. We also drank juice and ate cake. My friends arrived right on the time. I wore new blue jeans, new bright white sneakers, and a pink shirt that buttoned down the front. I snapped a barrette into one side of my hair. Sanja said I looked good and I said I hoped Mate thinks so, too. All of my friends came: Sanja, Igor, Zlatko, Ema, Danijela, Ana, Sanjan, Valentina, Helena, Drazen, Nebojsa, Marko, Mile, Ante, Sandro, Dinjo, Karlo, and, of course, Mate. Mate was the last to arrive. He parked his motorcycle on side of street, kicked the kickstand down to hold it up, and walked toward the door. He wore blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a blue and white striped shirt. His hair was fluffy and bounced as he walked toward me. I held the door open for him and he grinned at me.
“Happy Birthday!” he said.
“Thank you,” I said.
When everyone ate enough sandwiches and juice, I turned on music and we started to dance. A slow song began to play and I clasped my hands behind Mate’s neck. He reached his hands behind my back and pushed them into the back pockets of my jeans. I ignored Sanja and the others gossiping. I hoped the song would last a long time. When the song ended I looked up into Mate’s eyes just a few inches higher than mine. He leaned down and kissed me on the lips, soft and long. The second my arms dropped back to my sides, Sanja grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the bathroom.
“Girl stuff,” she said to Mate. When she got me in the bathroom and closed the door, she made me describe every detail of the kiss.
After we danced, we played a game where we turn the lights off and one of us tries to find the others in the dark. That was so fun and we were all laughing and falling into each other. Too soon, Mama turned the lights back on and it was time for everyone to go home. It was a great party. Will you have a party for your birthday?
Write me back when you can!
Your friend,
Nada
*****
Following Nada’s lead, I wrote her back the day I received her letter.
*****
July 1, 1991
Dear Nada,
Your birthday party sounds fun. Congratulations on Mate! (Wink, wink.) I am still waiting for my first kiss so you are way ahead of me.
I miss Emily a lot. It still doesn’t seem possible that she is dead. Every day, I am going through life without her, but I still can’t imagine how life is going to be without her. Isn’t that weird? Can I tell you a secret? My mom and my family think I am okay. My mom, grandparents, Aunt Shari, and Uncle Matt (Emily’s parents) have been through so much that I want to be strong for them. Forti and Prio are so much work for my mom, I try my hardest to be good and be as easy as I can. I smile, laugh, and play with Forti and Prio. I walk or ride my bike to the library every other day and come home with armloads of books to read. I tell my family I am studying so I can go to college one day because I don’t want to end up like my mom, which has taught me I cannot depend on a husband or anyone else to reach my goals. But really I read to forget. My secret is my family thinks I am fine, but I’m not. I lie awake in my bed at night, sometimes until it is almost getting light out, with memories of Emily and Larry and other horrible thoughts bombarding my brain. And it starts to feel like something heavy is pushing down on my chest. I think I will stop breathing. I cannot stop crying but eventually I fall asleep. The funny thing is, when I wake up, the night before seems like it was all a dream and I actually think I will be better. But then the night comes, I go to bed, and everything comes back.
When I go to the library, it only takes me a little while to find the books I want to check out. I am not in a hurry to go home so I sit on the pier that sticks out into the river. There are benches and a cement slab down some stairs where boats can tie up and come to shore. Yesterday, I sat on that cement slab and I thought about jumping into the river. I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to float away down to the Gulf of Mexico. I was jealous of the water rushing past me and away on its journey. I was jealous because the river never stays in one place; it is always moving and never becomes attached to anything or anyone. I think if I could not be attached to anyone or anything, it would not hurt me when they leave.
I hope you do not find this letter too depressing to read. I do not have anyone else to “talk” to but I feel a little better just putting it on paper. Please write back soon!
Your friend,
Ami
CHAPTER EIGHT
Though I started writing to Nada on July 1st, I couldn’t find the motivation to finish my letter until Independence Day. Not wanting to make her wait any longer, I decided to walk it to the box at the post office so it could get going right away when they opened again on July 5th.
When I told her my plans, my mom said, “Will you take Forti and Prio with you? I’m trying to get the picnic ready for the fireworks tonight and they won’t stay out of my way.”
“But they are so slow,” I said.
“Let Forti ride her bike and pull Prio in the wagon.”
“Okay.”
I pulled the wagon from the dark corner of the garage onto the driveway and called Forti and Prio outside.
“Mom wants me to take you with me to the post office. Forti, get your bike. Prio, you ride in the wagon.” I lifted Prio onto the dusty red plastic seat.
Forti wrinkled her nose as she looked at the wagon’s cup holder. “Eww, that’s gross.” I twisted to make sure Nada’s letter was secure in my back pocket. Forti screamed. I thought she fell off of her bike. She pointed at the wagon. “Spider!”
Prio jumped over the side of the wagon. He sprung up and brushed his hands together.
“Knock it off. It’s just a spider. You’re scaring Prio.” Prio stood with his arms folded. “It’s okay; get back in,” I said. His eyes were big as he shook his head. “Fine. We’ll wash it off. Go in and get a wet towel.”
Forti didn’t respond but just laid her bike down. She came back and I wiped all of the dust, spider webs, and spiders from the wagon. When Prio was finally satisfied after inspecting the wagon top to bottom, he got in.
The sun was hot and made my forehead sweat. The weather was typical for the Fourth of July. I remembered it had been hotter and cooler in past years. As I pulled the wagon over the cracked sidewalks, I thought about Emily. I should’ve been pulling her with Prio in the wagon and getting ready for the fireworks with her. I wondered if she would have been old enough to like them now or if they would have just scared her. Forti was scared of fireworks until last year. He’d cry and try to crawl into Mom’s neck. Then, last year, he giggled every time he heard the boom when they were shot from the ground. I thought, Now I will never know, and my throat started to close as I tried to suppress my tears.
As I pulled down the collection box door, I heard Forti shout, “Shelly!”
I turned around; Forti ran across the street without looking. The lump in my throat turned from tears to panic. I scanned the street; luckily, the closest car was two blocks away. “Forti, you could’ve been killed. What are you doing?”
“Just a minute.” Forti pulled up to Shelly.
“Come on! I’m ready to go.”
She turned, gave me a dirty look, and held up her index finger. I sighed as loud as I could and glared at her with my hands on my hips. Larry walked up from around the corner. He looked straight at me but didn’t try to talk to me or even wave. He whispered something in Shelly’s ear and then he looked everywhere but at me; the sky, the house next to him, and the bank across the street. I stared at him but he still didn’t look back. I should just go over there and punch him, I thought. But I was afraid he might hit me back.
“Forti!”
“I’m coming,” she said. She straddled her bike and pointed the front tire toward the middle of the street.
“Watch for cars!”
“I am!” She whipped her head from side to side, stood on her pedals, and rode across the street. She sped ahead of us toward home.
“I’m telling mom,” I yelled at her back.
She hollered into the sky, “Not if I tell her first!”
I looked back at Prio and shook my head. He copied me but his head made more of a circle. I smiled a little.
*****
10 July 1991
Dear Ami,
Your secrets are safe with me. If it helps you to feel better by writing me what is happening to you, please keep doing it. Promise me you will not jump into your river!
Please do not be worried if you do not get a letter from me in quite a while. I may be moving. Croatia declared itself independent from Yugoslavia on 25 June. They are going to make Tata join the Croatian army. Tata does not want to go into army. As I wrote before, most people where I live in Croatia are Roman Catholic and are called Croats. Only our closest friends know we are Serb. In other parts of Croatia, the majority of people are Serb. Serbs make up the Yugoslav army. They want to keep Yugoslavia together while the Croats want to make Croatia its own country. If Tata is forced to join the Croatian army, he will be made to kill people from his own religion. Also, we hear about Serbs who have been forced to join the Croatian army who are killed by that very same army. But army tells the family he has been killed by Serbs. My parents are now always talking about what to do. They are deciding if we should all move to Italy or if Tata should leave and go to Italy. I do not know what will happen. I also do not sleep much at night wondering what will happen.
One thing I do know is going to happen is war is coming to Croatia. It may already be here. Serbs and Croats are fighting. We used to live side by side. We used to be friends. Now they are saying Serbs must go to Serbia and Croats must come to Croatia. But Serbia is not my home.
My parents told us we will not be going to Bosnia to visit my grandparents this summer. People were fighting between Rijeka and their village. It would dangerous to attempt to pass through it. Besides, they don’t know where we will be or what we will be doing by then. Since Croatia declared itself an independent country from Yugoslavia, Tata has been sick with worry. He has received calls in middle of nearly every night, some at 2 a.m. and some at 3 a.m. They are from his work ordering him to deliver letters from the Croatian army to men nearby. The letters say those men must serve. Tata knows his letter is coming one day. He does not know what to do.
The fighting between Croats and Serbs is becoming more intense. Four days ago, the town of Celije between Osijek and Vinkovci was burned and Croats in Osijek harassed Serb citizens so much they fled the town for surrounding villages where there are more Serbs. Three days ago, Serb civilians and Croatian police fought for more than eight hours. It seems so far away but I am still afraid. I am afraid the fighting will march across Croatia to Rijeka.
Mama and Tata have had hushed conversations every night since Croatia declared its independence on 25 June. Tata has almost stopped eating because everything he eats causes his stomach to burn. He saw his doctor on Friday who said he had an ulcer caused by worry and stress. They talked about selling our house and leaving, but where would we go? They worked hard to buy this house when I was nine years old. They don’t want to leave it. When everything settles back down, they do not want to be forced to start over. Tata cannot risk going into Croatian army.
Last night, their discussion continued. I tried my best to stay awake while I listened. Finally, after several moments of silence, Mama said, “So it is decided then?”
“Yes,” said Tata.
“You will go to Italy to work?”
Tata did not answer but the silence between them signaled his agreement. What will we do without Tata? In my entire fourteen years, my father has not spent one night away from our family. I strained my ears hoping there was more. I hoped that was not the end of the conversation and not the final decision. I do not know what I want final decision to be. I do not want Tata to go to war and I do not want to leave our beautiful home. There must be another option. I listened myself into exhaustion and finally slept.
I am sorry I have jumped all around in this letter. I feel I no longer know what to think. Ami, I am afraid, but like you, I do not want to worry Mama or Tata. They have too much to worry about already. Maybe we can keep writing to each other and it will help.
Please write back soon.
Your Friend,
Nada
CHAPTER NINE
I hoped Nada was right. I wasn’t sure how I could help her live through war. But it helped me feel a little better just knowing I had a friend somewhere who cared. Maybe I could help by just making Nada know that I was her friend.
*****
July 16, 1991
Dear Nada,
I have not heard about a war in Croatia. Maybe there was something, but I missed it. Our world news is mostly about Kuwait, the Gulf War, and the Soviet Union. I was shopping at a store when it came on the news America was at war in Saudi Arabia. It was Wednesday, January 16, 1991; I kept our newspaper from that day because there had not been a war during my lifetime. I remember I thought it felt really weird being at war because history was going on, and people were getting killed, but life was going on as usual. It felt strange to be studying, going to the store, and going to school when my country was at war. But then all of the fighting was not happening in my country; it was on the other side of the world, so I knew I was safe. Some kids from school had brothers and uncles fighting in the war so I was concerned about them, of course, but I knew I was safe from the war in my home. I can’t imagine how weird it must be to have war fighting right in your own country.
The summer is so long. It is hot and I am bored. All I do is sleep. I do not feel like doing anything. I try to read, but after I
read a few pages, I cannot remember what I read. After I start over three or four times, I give up and put the book away. I sit in my bedroom listening to music and crying. When my mom stops to see if I am okay, I put the book in front of my face so she cannot see my tears and I tell her I am fine. I lie.
*****
I tried to write about something happier for Nada. She was in the middle of war and I was sure she didn’t want to hear more depressing thoughts. But I became frustrated and crossed the words out. I tried again as tension flowed to my hand, crippling it from writing another word. The heat in my room seemed to rise. I went downstairs to get a glass of water. Forti and Prio were playing outside in the sprinkler. I grabbed the water and hurried back to my room before they or my mom saw me. I sat back down at my desk, took a drink, and felt the cold dripping into my stomach. I picked up my pen again. I tried to write something better but the only thing coming out was dark. The words spilled out and filled the rest of the page and the familiar hell crept in. My body flushed, taken over by the feeling of hopelessness. I held my breath, willing the air from my lungs to force itself against my skull until I became dizzy and saw sparkling lights in front of my eyes. Suddenly enraged, I balled my half-finished letter and threw it across my room. It hit the wall and dropped to the floor.
When I stood up, I knocked over my water; the clear liquid flowed across the surface of my desk and dripped off the edge. I backed away like it would overtake and drown me. The knob on my bedroom door halted my retreat and I crumbled to the floor. I looked around my blurry room and desperately reached for peace. I sat curled on my floor for hours and waited. Vicious voices assaulted me saying my life was miserable, I was miserable, and I was a failure, but they eventually wore themselves out. I tried to remember a time when I felt okay. I used a t-shirt from my dirty clothes hamper to wipe up the partially dried water. I picked up my crumpled letter and smoothed it on my desk. I turned it over and wrote:
*****
I’m sorry if I do not make much sense. I am not myself lately, but then again, who is that? I hope this letter finds you safe and sound. I am sending my best wishes to you with this letter.