by Jodie Toohey
The war is still at its worst in Dubrovnik but the rest of Croatia has not been spared. Dubrovnik is still being bombed and the people there are without water, electricity, or telephones. We have heard on television Serbs are blamed for the war. Maybe that is why the tragedy of the war has struck someone else in my family. The wife of my mom’s uncle killed herself. My mom’s uncle is a civil engineer and his wife was a chemical engineer. They lived in Zagreb and had three kids. Because they got so many threats they would be killed, she made a poison concoction and killed herself. I didn’t know them that well but it is still so sad. We have also heard Croatia is getting closer to being recognized as its own country. I know my parents wanted Croatia to stay part of Yugoslavia but maybe if it stays its own country now, the fighting will stop and we can get back to normal. And maybe go visit my grandparents. I miss them so much!
Write back soon!
Your friend,
Nada
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Like he said he would, Andy showed up at my house a half hour after I got home from Dad and Nikki’s at ten o’clock on Sunday morning. Aunt Shari drove us to the mall. We sat on a bench watching the fountain and beyond it, the kids waiting in line to sit on Santa’s lap. We were quiet but I didn’t need words. I just wanted to savor the moments before Andy went back home. He bought me a hamburger in the food court and we went to see a movie, thankfully a comedy. We never held hands but sat with our arms touching. After that, we walked through the mall and discussed the funniest parts of the movie. Aunt Shari picked us up at three and we spent the remaining two plus hours of our day together studying for our semester finals.
At school the next day and for the rest of the week, I didn’t see Andy much. He seemed to avoid me. When I tried to talk to him at his locker, he was quiet. Krissa had invited us over to her house after our last day of school before winter break on December 19th. I hadn’t seen him all that day and finally caught up to him at his locker at the end of the lunch period.
“Do you want to walk to Krissa’s for her cookie decorating party?” I asked.
“I don’t think I’m going.” He pulled his books from his top locker shelf. “I need to start packing.”
“It will only be a couple of hours. I can help you pack if you want me to.”
Andy held the edge of the metal locker door. “When I think of going to the party, I think of you, which reminds me I have to leave soon, which makes me sad.” He slammed the metal shut with his flat hand and walked away. I watched his back until it turned through the doors to the cafeteria and went to my own fifth period class.
After school, the halls were empty. I took extra time to fill my backpack with everything from my locker I thought I might need during winter break: a notebook, a pen, and a couple of library books. Andy came up and leaned against my neighbor’s locker.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” I zipped my backpack. “Did you change your mind about going to Krissa’s?”
“No. I just wanted to say...” Andy hesitated and I waited. His voice cracked, “I just wanted to say have fun.” He walked past me down the hall.
“Andy!” He stopped and rested his books on the edge of a trash can, but he didn’t turn toward me. I left my backpack laying next to my open locker, walked in front of him, and turned to face him. He stared at the floor. I wrapped my arms behind his neck; he hugged me back. He breathed in hard and then squeezed tighter. “I know,” I whispered. I thought I knew.
When we let go, I looked past Andy. I shut my locker door, picked up my backpack, and walked away without looking back.
The next day, Andy’s aunt and uncle were leaving with him to take him to the airport at one o’clock in the afternoon; I went over to say goodbye at noon. When I got to their house, Andy was shooting basketballs into the hoop alongside the driveway. When he saw me, he caught the ball and held it against his side.
“Is it noon already?” he said, letting the ball fall. It bounced decreasingly away until it rolled into the grass.
I walked toward him and stopped, facing him a few feet away. “Are you all ready to go?” I asked.
“I’ve got everything packed up and in the trunk of the car.”
We chatted about the last days of school, the semester finals, and the school’s attempt at Christmas dinner. I finally worked up the courage to ask for his address in California.
“I have something for you.” He disappeared into the side door of his aunt and uncle’s powder-blue ranch house. He returned with an envelope and I opened it. “It’s my address and my picture.”
I unfolded the piece of notebook paper; an address in California was written in neat capital letters and it encapsulated a wallet size school photo. I remembered the day it was taken. He wore a button up shirt with criss-crossing blue and green lines. He smiled at me from the photograph as he’d done so many times over the previous months.
“Thanks.” I folded the paper and returned it to the envelope.
“Will you write me?” Andy asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Maybe I will write you today so you will get it fast. Then you can write me back.”
“Sounds good.” He pushed his hands into his coat pockets, tilted his head, and half-smiled.
I swallowed. “I’d better get going. I told my mom I would be back soon.”
“Okay.”
Andy reached out and pulled me toward him. We pulled apart and he walked toward the basketball lying in the frozen grass. He picked it up and held it against his chest.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Bye,” I said. I heard the basketball on the pavement as I crossed the street. Before I turned the corner out of sight, I turned back. Andy looked at me holding the basketball to his chest like he was preparing to pass it. His face was crumpled. I smiled as bright as I could and waved. If I’d known, I would have run back to him and hugged him tight longer.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Even though I knew the holidays would be hell without Emily, I was a little grateful for the distraction away from waiting for Andy’s letter. When I woke up on Christmas Eve morning, I packed my overnight bag and helped Forti pack hers. I walked down the stairs and put them next to the front door. Dad and Nikki were due to arrive any minute, but it was unusually quiet. By then Prio was normally engaged in idle banter with whoever would listen, especially on Christmas Eve when Santa was expected to visit. All I heard was muffled cartoons upstairs. I went into the kitchen. My mom and Aunt Shari were sitting at the table, their four eyes typically red, a box of facial tissues between them with one waving from the top of the box waiting for release.
My mom jumped up when she saw me. She looked at the digital clock on the back of the stove. “It’s almost ten. Your dad will be here any minute.” She yelled toward the front of the house, “Forti! Prio! Ami, will you go check on them? I sent Prio up an hour ago to get dressed and I sent Forti up a half an hour ago to hurry him along.”
I opened Prio’s door to find them both on the bed laughing at a cartoon. Prio wore blue jeans, a pajama shirt with a spaceship painted on the front, and one white sock.
“What are you two doing? Dad’s on his way.” They looked at each other and then blankly at me. I shut off the TV. “Where is your shirt?” Prio pointed to his closet. “Stand up.” I pulled Prio’s pajama shirt over his head, stripped a shirt off a hanger in his closet, and slipped it on to his scrawny body. “Get your sock. Come on!” I walked out, but noticed when I got halfway down the stairs, they weren’t behind me. “Forti! Prio!” When I was a few more stairs down, the doorbell rang. “Hurry!” I yelled up.
My dad drove us directly to Nikki’s parents’ house. They lived a half an hour away. I sat in the front seat, stared out the window, and pretended to sleep whenever I thought my dad was looking my way or was getting ready to try to talk to me. Forti and Prio chattered in the back seat with each other about presents and Christmas cookies. Nikki’s parents lived in a two-story brick house, symmetrical with four
windows downstairs and four windows upstairs, all lit with fake stick candles. The house smelled sweet, hot, and like partially burnt microwave popcorn. An older version of Nikki with the same perfectly placed just-out-of-place hair, but in grey, met us at the door.
“Hello, Don, I’m so glad you could make it. Can I take your coats?” Forti and Prio dropped their coats at her feet. My dad slowly unzipped his to reveal a bright red sweater adorned with a satin appliquéd light- up Christmas tree.
“Oh, good, you wore the sweater.” Nikki’s mom took my dad’s coat; when she turned her back to him, he looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. I halfway smiled at him. I would have laughed if I wasn’t trying so hard not to barf from the burnt popcorn smell.
“Would you like to string popcorn for the tree?” Nikki’s mom asked, but before she could finish her sentence, Forti and Prio were picking burnt popcorn out of the bowl. Forti made a face and started to spit on Nikki’s relatives’ shoes and my dad rushed over.
“Would you like me to take your coat, Ami?” Nikki’s mother asked.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I’m not feeling very good. I think I’m going to sit outside on the step for a minute.”
“Sure. Or you might be more comfortable on the patio.”
“Okay,” I said. Nikki’s mom gently guided me through the house with her hand against the small of my back. She led me to a chair with a big green checked cushion sitting on the edge of a brick patio facing a thick bunch of trees toward the far corner of the yard.
Nikki’s mom pointed to the chair. “I like to sit out here. Sometimes you can see deer back there.”
“Thank you.” I sat down.
“You can sit out here for as long as you want to. If you get cold, hungry, or thirsty, just come on back in.”
I promised I would. When I heard the click of the vinyl French doors closing, I leaned into the chair and looked up at the grey sky. I wondered if Emily was up there somewhere looking down at me, and whether Andy was also looking up at a grey sky, or if he was looking up at the sunny ones for which California is famous. I looked toward the house and saw my father at the door, but as he reached for the handle, Nikki’s mom grabbed his sleeve and led him away. She patted his shoulder with her free hand and I thought that I kind of liked Nikki’s mom. Other than their appearances, they weren’t a lot alike.
I spent most of the day sitting outside. I was starting to get cold when Dad brought me a thick blanket and a cup of hot cocoa. “Mrs. Carcassy thought you might like these.”
I tucked the blanket around my legs and my body up to just beneath my armpits and took the steaming mug. “Thank you,” I said and then looked straight ahead, sipping. My dad stood next to me for a few minutes. He lightly squeezed my right shoulder before returning to the house. I only came in to eat a little ham for dinner and open gifts. Prio, Forti, and I all got bright red sweaters to match my dad’s.
I found out Nikki’s mom knitted them herself. Normally, I might’ve refused, but Nikki’s mom had been so nice and I suspected she was the driving force behind everyone thankfully leaving me alone, that when she asked, I slipped the sweater on over my shirt, smoothed my static flyaway hair, and smiled for her photograph.
That night, my dad let Forti and Prio sleep on the couch in the living room next to the Christmas tree so they could try to catch Santa filling their stockings nailed to the wall near the top of the paper fireplace they’d colored earlier at Nikki’s parents. That meant I got the guest room all to myself and could let flow the emotions I’d had to stifle the last several weeks of sharing a room with Forti. I tried to ignore it at first. I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. I started thinking about last Christmas Eve with Emily. She was a little bit over fourteen months old and I could do more with her than hold her and open her presents for her. I remembered how I lifted a corner of the wrapping paper. She would put her face right up to the paper to try to see what was inside. She’d stick her fingers in and pull the paper away a little further. When she saw the bright logo of the toy’s maker, she squealed and then ripped the remaining wrap off in a matter of seconds. I gave Emily three gifts last year for Christmas, more than I got my own brother and sister, but seeing her repeat the peek, squeal, and rip process made it worth it. One of the gifts was a teddy bear I sewed in home economics class that fall. When I gave it to her, she hugged it tight under her chin and I had to hide it to get her to open the rest of her gifts.
I had the teddy bear sitting on a shelf in my room with a picture of Emily and me propped up on its legs. I thought about the day I’d spent alone talking to no one and a stabbing hole began to grow in my chest. At first the tears slipped quietly out of the corners of my eyes. I tried to think of something different; something happier. I thought about Andy but that just made my quiet tears turn to sobs I had to muffle with my pillow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
December 30, 1991
Dear Nada,
Happy Holidays! I survived my Christmas and I hope you have a good Christmas next week. I spent most of Christmas Eve sitting on the patio at Nikki’s parents’ house. On Christmas Day, Nikki attempted to cook dinner for my dad, Forti, Prio, and me. We had pre-cooked turkey from the freezer. Nikki cooked it under the broiler in the oven, so the outside was crunchy and the middle was cold. She served it with lumpy mashed potatoes and watery, near-flavorless gravy. My dad took the first bite and said it was delicious. Then Forti, Prio, and I tried a bite at the same time. As soon as Prio swallowed, tears started falling from his eyes. He screamed at my dad, “You liar! This is yucky!”
Puffs of air escaped Forti’s lips as she started to cry. “What’s wrong?” asked my dad.
Forti pushed her plate toward the middle of the table. “I want Mommy.”
It broke my heart to see my brother and sister so upset. I got up, walked around the table, and pulled them both toward me to hug them. Then I started to cry for reasons other than the disastrous dinner.
Nikki yelled, “I’m sorry I ruined your Christmas!” as she knocked over her dining room chair in the process of running to their bedroom and slamming the door. My dad silently cut the crunchy away from the cold parts of the turkey, took a loaf of bread from the cupboard, and made four sandwiches. We cried as we ate them with plain potato chips. That was my Christmas dinner. Nikki and Dad comforted my siblings’ hurt by not speaking to them until they took us home that evening. They just mumbled, “Goodbye,” and walked out the door.
Andy has been gone for ten days and I still have not heard anything from him. He should have received my letter and Christmas card, but I haven’t received anything in return. I miss him so much. Maybe he has been too busy visiting with his family and celebrating Christmas to have time to write me back.
Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. I’m babysitting Forti and Prio while my mom and Aunt Shari go out. I wonder if I will ever stop thinking about what would be different on certain days if Emily was still here, because as soon as I wrote down I would be babysitting my brother and sister, I wanted to write I should be babysitting Emily while my Aunt Shari and Uncle Matt go out. But I didn’t because I think I have written that so many times you are probably getting tired of it. Anyway, I hope you have a good Christmas holiday January 6th and 7th!
Your friend,
Ami
*****
I lay on my bed, my right ear attached to my stereo with a headphone earpiece blasting NKOTB to avoid waking up Forti who was napping in anticipation of staying up long enough to ring in 1992. My left ear listened for the mail truck. If there was no letter from Andy, it would be two days before I would even possibly hear from him. By then, he would be back home for almost two weeks.
I heard the squeak of the mail truck’s brakes stopping at our neighbor’s mailbox. I yanked the cord of my headphones and could still faintly hear the music, so I pushed the pause button on my tape player. I closed my bedroom door behind me as quietly as I could and hopped down the stairs. I watched the mail carrier put letters int
o my next-door neighbor’s box. He drove toward our mailbox. Stop, stop, stop, I pleaded in my head. He slowed to a stop, reached his arm out of the window, and pulled open the mailbox door. He shoved several white envelopes in; I waited until he was a few houses down the road before I went out. I put on my shoes but didn’t tie them or take a coat. I flipped through the letters in front of the mailbox while standing on the side of the road in the snow; bills, greeting card envelopes addressed generically to “The Sinkeys,” and our weekly fat envelope of coupons, but nothing for me specifically and nothing from California. Numbness swept over me and I shivered, suddenly cold.