Missing Emily

by Jodie Toohey

  Your friend,

  Ami

  *****

  After I placed the letter into the mailbox, I shaded my eyes as I studied the front door. The sidewalk felt like miles. Suddenly, I wanted to lie down on the grass and fall asleep. I pushed the front door closed. It was heavy, like it was constructed from bricks.

  “Ami, what do you want for lunch?” Mom called from somewhere in the back of the house.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  My mom appeared. She wiped her hands on a towel. Her hair was pulled into a bun and a handkerchief was tied around her head. “Are you sure? I’m almost done canning the last batch of tomatoes. Forti and Prio will need to eat; I’m surprised they aren’t in here screaming they’re hungry already.”

  “I’m sure. I think I want to take a nap.”

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I just feel really tired,” I said.

  Her smile told me she was letting me go because she didn’t want to argue.

  I vaguely remembered a sliver of light cutting through the darkness between the bedroom door and jamb. When I awoke the next morning, the day before felt like a dream. I had to think hard before convincing myself I had mailed Nada her letter. The attack I suffered while writing the letter felt unreal; like it happened years rather than hours ago. I kept thinking about Nada. When I received her next letter, I was more convinced our lives were very similar even though they were so different.

  *****

  26 July 1991

  Dear Ami,

  It is Wednesday. Tata left for Italy in middle of the night. He quit his job as a postman on Monday and packed his bags on Tuesday. He wants to find a place to stay in Verona, Italy, so he can begin to look for work right away on Monday. Early this morning when night had barely faded to its early morning soft blue, I swallowed the tears rising in my throat as I replayed hugging Tata in middle of the night before he drove away in his car. He usually gets a new used car every year to fix up and sell. He just finished fixing up this latest one, a Yugo, a couple of weeks ago. He and Mama promised everything will be all right. I believe them but do not know how anything can be all right with my family torn apart.

  I could not sleep so I sat in front of my house. I looked down the road where hours before we watched Tata drive away until his car dropped into valley out of our sight. My neighbor, Marko, came out his front door on his way to work as I turned back toward our house. I smiled and waved but he focused his eyes on his car parked on the side of the street like I was not there. We are learning more and more we are becoming less popular in our neighborhood. I saw on television news Croats were kicked out and crimes were committed against them in Dalj, Erdut, Aljmas, and other places in the Slavonia part of eastern Croatia. Though the news has not mentioned it, Mama heard at work Serbs have been harassed by authorities in some places so much they fled to areas with higher Serb populations.

  As soon as I got back in the house, Mama, behind schedule, grabbed her lunch and rushed to work. I watched television for a while and then called Sanja on telephone. I love to use the black telephone on its own shelf that sticks out from the wall in our living room. I like to turn the dial and listen to whirring noise it makes as it returns to its original position. Phone numbers with eights and nines in them are most fun. We also have a red telephone in kitchen we received free from buying laundry soap that looks a little like red lips, but it just uses push buttons.

  After I hung up from talking with Sanja, I removed my bicycle from the garage on the bottom floor of our house. I waited for her so we could ride. Sanja has been my friend as long as I can remember. She is Roman Catholic, only because her parents and grandparents were Roman Catholic just like the reason I am Catholic Orthodox. Other than to wish each other “Merry Christmas” on our own holidays, we do not talk about religion.

  I saw Sanja drive her bike up the hill. She waved with one hand and wobbly steered her bike as she strained to propel herself up the steep incline. By this scene, one would never know people others have deemed “our people” are killing each other.

  Sanja and I don’t care about the war. At least I don’t care when we are together. We spent day riding side by side up and down the streets of our neighborhood. We stopped only for lunch. We sat on side of the street and removed our lunches from the wrinkled brown paper bags we packed them in at home. I ate my ham, cheese, bell pepper, and tomato sandwich while Sanja ate hers. After lunch, Maja tore herself away from the television to join us.

  We rode to Mate’s house to see if he wanted to come along. The sun, without any clouds to block it, beat hot on my head. The air was still except for an occasional wave of salty breeze brushing over the hills. It was Maja’s idea to go see Mate. I think she likes Mate but I am not worried. Mate likes Maja but just as a little sister. Mate lives several blocks from my neighborhood. His house shares no walls with his neighbors. It is smaller inside than mine. Sanja, Maja, and I laid our bikes on their sides against the curb on the side of the street. I led our little group to door. Stepping onto stoop, I smoothed my hair away from my face. Before I rang the doorbell, I turned to Sanja and asked her if I looked all right.

  “You look fine.” Maja reached around my shoulders and pushed doorbell. Mate’s closed windows muffled the musical “ding-dong” but we could still hear it. I heard heavy footsteps approaching the door from somewhere toward the back of house. Mate’s mother peeked through the curtains hiding the windows in brown front door. I smiled and waved. She peeked through again and bit her lip. For a moment, I wondered if she was even going to open the door, but then I heard the click of door’s lock and the door, swollen from the summer air, lurched open.

  “Hi, Mrs. Jaksic. Is Mate home?” Something didn’t seem right about Mate’s mother. I did not mention it and just smiled.

  “No,” was all she said. We waited for more explanation and then I saw Mate few feet behind the door.

  “Hi Mate.” I waved. Mate looked at the floor.

  With her voice shaking, Mrs. Jaksic said, “I mean he’s here but he can’t come to door. He isn’t feeling well.”

  “Okay. Can we say hello?”

  “No, you’d better not.” Mate’s mother pulled door open wider and turned to Mate. “Go lay back down, Mate.” Mate didn’t move. He just stood there staring at his mother. He seemed like he wanted to speak but just as he opened his mouth, his mother snapped, “Tell them you are not feeling well, Mate.” I recognized the look she gave him. It is the same look my parents give me when they want me to do exactly what they tell me to do, no more and no less.

  Mate folded his arms on his chest. He squinted his eyes at his mother then turned them to me and said gently, “I’m not feeling well.”

  Before I could say “I hope you feel better soon,” the door closed and Mate was gone.

  “What was that all about?” Sanja strained to see into Mate’s house through the curtains.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go,” I said. But I think I do know. Mate’s family’s religion is Roman Catholic and most of the Roman Catholic adults I know have been behaving strange lately.

  At four o’clock, we returned home to start supper. After working all day sewing business suits in the hot factory, Maja and I know Mama will appreciate our efforts. Mama didn’t instruct us to start this task but Tata, when he was telling us to be good for Mama, asked us to help out wherever we could, especially those things Tata usually did. Tata always cooked supper before Mama returned from work so we did the same.

  On our way inside, I used our mailbox key to remove our mail from our metal mailbox stuck on the side of our house. I placed it in a neat stack on the kitchen table for Mama to see. I used to flip through the mail hoping to get a letter or a party invitation, but last week, Mama and Tata told us not to look at the mail anymore. I had no hint as to why until I saw Mama’s face fall as she read a letter she received earlier today.

  She pulled out the chair nearest to stack of mail. The metal legs scraped on floor. She held the
mail on end and flipped through them like recipe cards. She stopped quick and the pieces of mail in front and behind the one that caught her attention dropped flat on table. She held toward the light a long narrow envelope, the same size as the ones our bills arrive in but without the clear plastic window. She turned it over. There was no return address, just our printed name and address on the front like anyone could have written it. I noticed her hands shake as she unfolded the paper. She noticed me watching her as I stirred the boiling onion, sugar, red peppers, and tomatoes for our Sataraš on stove. It was boiling a long time and smelled good.

  Mama forced a smile and said, “How are you doing over there?”

  I was embarrassed she caught me staring at her so I mumbled, “Fine,” and focused on the cooking. I thought it must be a short letter as Mama quickly folded the paper, returned it to envelope, and stuffed it in a kitchen drawer.

  “Anything interesting in the mail?” I asked.

  “No, just the usual bills. Nothing to be concerned about.” I knew she was lying but I didn’t argue. We can feel Tata’s absence, but somehow, he seems more present away than he did when he was here. Mama smiled and excused herself to bathroom, but I saw tears in her eyes. Later, when Mama was occupied in her shower, I quietly retrieved the letter from its hiding place. I read: GET OUT. GO BACK TO SERBIA OR BE KILLED.

  This is all letter said. It was typewritten, the letters wobbly from the smear of the ink on the typewriter ribbon. It was not dated or signed. It did not say “Dear” anyone. It just said to get out or be killed. My hands trembled as I folded the letter, returned it to envelope, and the place in the drawer with the other mail Mama is saving to show Tata. I do not know why, but when I opened the drawer to replace the letter, I lifted the other papers in the drawer and found two other envelopes addressed like the one I just read. I quietly removed them, unfolded them, and read similar threats. One said, ALL SERBS SHALL DIE, and the other, IF YOU DO NOT LEAVE, WE WILL COME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TO SLIT YOUR THROATS.

  I heard the splats of shower water hitting the bathtub floor stop. Mama was done and I had only a few moments to return the letters to where I found them.

  Before I started writing this letter, I was lying in bed thinking about those letters. I did not tell Maja about them. I did not want to scare her and I could not tell Mama without getting in trouble for reading the mail after I was told not to read it. I keep thinking about who could have sent the letters. Do they know my family? Do they know Tata is away in Italy? Was it one of the neighbors who no longer greets us when we see them coming home from work? Was it one person who sent the letters? Two or three?

  It is warm in our bedroom but I cannot stop shivering. Mama left our window open to let in fresh, summer evening air. When I was in bed, the curtains wavered only slightly from wind, but it felt like they were whispering to me. I jumped out of bed, shut and latched the window, but didn’t look outside. I was too afraid of what I might see. I clutched my blankets to my chin and lay flat on my back so I could see in all directions except for the wall behind my head. I held my breath every time I heard a noise. I heard Maja sigh, the creak of floor, and the trees outside my window. I held my breath until tiny lights sparkled in front of my eyes, and then I sucked in deep. I watched the shadows and thought they were coming. I tried to plan my escape. If they came in the door, I would grab Maja and go out window. If they came in the window, I would grab Maja, run for Mama, and leave the house. But where would we go?

  I got out of bed and started writing this letter.

  (Continued next morning.) Sometime before dawn, sleep overpowered my fear. When I awoke, the room was bright and my window was open. I looked over to Maja’s bed but it was empty. My throat closed. I wondered just a fraction of a second why they didn’t take me when I heard the high-pitched cartoon voices from the television in the living room downstairs. I got up, dressed, and made my bed. I made Maja’s bed thinking she’d owe me and I’d collect when it was time to clean the house later. I found Maja giggling at the television just like any other day.

  Your Friend,

  Nada

  CHAPTER TEN

  I wondered what I could say to Nada to make her feel better. I had heard stories of robbers breaking into houses in the middle of the night and killing families, but it either happened so far away or the robbers were looking for something they knew the family had. They didn’t break into kill them because they went to the wrong church.

  *****

  July 31, 1991

  Dear Nada,

  I am sorry your dad had to go work in Italy and I am sorry about Mate. I wish there was something I could write to make you feel better, but I can’t think of anything. I hope everything turns out okay and you stay safe.

  Last week, I had a dream Emily was still alive. I saw her face in my dream the way it was; all smiles and blue eyes. It is getting harder for me to picture her face in my mind when I am awake, but she was so real in my dream. My Aunt Shari brought her to my house and she ran to me as soon as Aunt Shari put her down on the floor. I hugged her, picked her up, and then I started crying hard. I felt myself waking up and I tried to stay asleep, but I woke up anyway. My pillow was wet. Every night since then, I wish I would dream of Emily again, but I haven’t.

  Next month, I have to go stay with my dad and Nikki for a whole week. I am not looking forward to it. When we go visit every other weekend, both of them treat all of us like we are Prio’s age, and Dad and Nikki are always touching each other. It makes me want to puke. I don’t know if I will be able to make it there for an entire week.

  I have less than a month until I go back to school and I can’t wait. I am so bored with summer. It is hot outside. I just stay inside all day reading books or lying on my floor listening to music. When the sun starts to go down, I go for a walk and sit by the river. Sometimes I still think about jumping in, but I promise I won’t without telling you first.

  I am sorry this letter is boring; I don’t have much to say. But since any excitement is probably going to be bad excitement, I guess I’d rather take boring. I hope you are feeling better and your dad gets to come home soon. Write back when you can!

  Your friend,

  Ami

  *****

  I looked out my window. The mail truck was coming down the street. I raced down the stairs to put a stamp on my letter, hoping I could make it to the mailbox in time. A strange noise stopped me halfway between the living room and kitchen. It sounded like a muffled dog barking. I peeked around the kitchen wall, “Mom?”

  She sat slumped over the kitchen table, her forehead resting on top of her folded hands. “Mom?” I asked again. She looked up. Her eyes were rimmed in red; she wiped them with the back of her hand. I looked around for Prio and Forti but didn’t see them. A bit of panic crept into my throat.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I was just cutting onions.” I neither saw nor smelled any evidence of onions. “What are you doing?”

  “I was getting stamps so I can mail a letter to my pen pal.”

  “You’d better hurry. I think the mail truck is at the neighbor’s.” I looked at my mom but she said nothing else. I ran out the door to give my letter directly to the mail carrier. When I came back in, I went to my bedroom, lay on my bed, and cried.

  *****

  8 August 1991

  Dear Ami,

  I am still at my home in Rijeka. Tata is working in Italy as a welder. His company makes excavation tools like loader and backhoe buckets. He has been away for almost two weeks. He won’t be able to come home for a visit for a couple more weeks. I am sad because we will not be able to make trip to Bosnia to visit my grandparents this summer. There is fighting between here and there so it is too dangerous. Besides, Tata has to work since this is a new job. Mama still works at the suit factory. Maja and I still ride bicycles, swim in the sea, and play with our friends, but I am scared.

  I am scared and I have no one to talk to. I do not sleep at night bu
t just lay in bed waiting. I’m not sure what I am waiting for. I suppose I am waiting for daylight because daytime is when everything is okay. Have you seen anything on your television yet? It is a war here. The Sunday before Tata left for Italy, there was fighting in eastern Croatia between Serb people and Croatian police officers. My parents have received more letters telling us to leave or we will be killed, but since I am forbidden from looking at the mail when it arrives, I cannot tell my parents I know about letters.

  It is not a good place to be a Serb right now. Some of our neighbors will not even look at us when we walk right by them. It is like they think my family is personally trying to block Croatia from being independent. I have not seen Mate as much lately. He told me his parents forbid him to see me because I am a Serb, but he sneaks to my house on his motorcycle when he can. We cannot go for rides anymore because someone will see him and tell his parents. It is the middle of summer and even with everything happening, we go to beach almost every day. On the weekends, Mama, Maja, and I still go hiking.

  Do you still hate your Larry Benson? Do you have your eye on someone new? I hope everything is better for you. Please write me back when possible.

  Your friend,

  Nada

  *****

  I folded Nada’s letter and filed it in my saved box of other letters, cards, and mementos. I could not imagine living in a country with an actual war happening. How scary it would be to lie in bed at night wondering if someone is going to come in to kill you.

  “Ami, he’s here!” Forti yelled at me from the bottom of the stairs. We were going to spend a week with my dad and Nikki at their new house. I stuffed some paper and an envelope in my duffle bag to write Nada back. I hoisted it onto my shoulder and went downstairs. Forti and Prio were jumping up and down, hugging Dad. I didn’t want to go; I didn’t want to leave my mom alone. Since the day she lied about the onions, I hadn’t caught her crying, but several times, she came out of the bathroom with red rims around her eyes. She told me I had to go because she worried about Prio and Forti and I needed to look after them. If I didn’t go, they couldn’t go, but they wanted to go to the zoo and the park like Dad promised.