by Jodie Toohey
I dropped the mail on the kitchen counter and went to my room. I was face down on my bed with my pillow over my head before I remembered Forti had been sleeping. I stretched my neck back over my shoulder. Her bed was empty. I folded the pillow around my head and cried. Did something bad happen to him? Did he forget about me? Has he been too busy? Did it hurt him too much to think about writing me? Did he ever care about me at all?
I cried until I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remembered was opening my eyes to see my mom’s face peering under the pillow.
“Taking a nap?” she asked.
“I guess so.” I pushed the pillow off my head and sat up, hoping the redness of my crying eyes had faded.
“Good idea. Forti and Prio are adamant they’re staying up until midnight.” My eyes had not yet adjusted from being buried under my pillow, so I could barely see her through my squinted eyes. “Come downstairs; we’re getting ready to leave.”
I squinted at my clock: 4:15. “Already?” I asked.
“Grandma is making us come over for chili before we go out.” She turned toward me from the doorway to my room. “Real good plan, isn’t it?”
“Sure.” I sighed and pulled myself up from my bed.
“Are you coming?” my mom yelled up the stairs. “I want to show you how to cook the pizza snacks before we go.”
I leaned my head out into the hallway, bracing myself on the edge of the door and the door casing. “I’ve made those a dozen times.” I hollered down the stairs loud enough so I hoped my mom could hear. She popped her head back, pivoting on the ball on top of the last railing post at the bottom of the stairs.
“Fine,” she said. She threw her hands up in the air. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
I pushed the door closed hard but not quite a slam. I plopped into my desk chair and hit the top with both elbows. A pen bounced to the floor. I held my hot cheeks in my hands for a few seconds before pushing my face through them toward the desktop. I grabbed the hair behind my ears with each clenched fist and silently screamed, pushing air up in my throat and straining it against my eyes until I could see tiny sparks of light.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
18 January 1992
Dear Ami,
I’m sorry your Christmas was so terrible. My holiday was quite good. Guess what? I finally got to visit my grandparents in Bosnia. We could not take our usual four-hour route because of the fighting still happening in the Krajina so we had to go to Ljubljana to take a bus through Slovenia around through Hungary through Serbia to Bosnia. It took us 24 hours to get there! But it was worth it to be at my grandparents’ for holiday. Tata got home on Friday, 3 January and we left while it was still dark out on 4 January but we arrived at my grandparents’ on 5 January, in time for the celebrations and feast. Stevo and Marija stayed home to watch our house because their baby is due so soon.
It appears as if my old country of Yugoslavia is gone forever and I now almost officially live in the country of Croatia. A day or two before the Roman Catholic Christmas, the news said Germany views Croatia and Slovenia as independent countries. The rest of Europe did same just within the last couple of days. I am hopeful this new year of 1992 will be better for my country. Once again I am thankful to be living in Rijeka, relatively far away from the worst fighting. We have heard that in towns near front lines like Sisak, Karlovac, Zadar, Gospić, Osijek, Vinkovci, and Zagreb, Serbs who did not leave had bombs put in their houses and in their cars. If I would have heard that when most of fighting was happening, I would have not only been afraid to go to sleep at night but I would have never left my house for fear I would be blown up when I got into our car to leave or when we came back home. I hope I will not have to worry about that anymore. During first few days of this year, the fighters signed a peace-keeping plan and cease-fire in Sarajevo in Bosnia. This is why my parents decided finally it would be okay to go to visit my grandparents. Tata will still be working in Italy, but hopefully, he will be able to come home more often.
My aunts and uncles who live by my grandparents’ came over on 6 January. They drank Rakija. It is a moonshine made from plums. They also played cards. Maja and I bundled up in our coats, took the cows to meadow to graze, and fed the chickens. We helped my grandma make doughnuts. They were delicious!
Have you received a letter from Andy yet? I’m sure he has not forgotten about you and still cares about you. He is probably just busy seeing all of his friends and family he couldn’t see while he was away from home. I hope you hear from him soon! Maybe he will call you on the telephone instead. I think that would be better than a letter. Write me back when you can.
Your “Croatian” friend,
Nada
*****
Nada wrote that letter a week ago today, I thought, sitting cross- legged at the end of the pier. The river was covered in ice but for a few open pools; once in a while a piece would break loose and float away, but it couldn’t get very far before it was stopped with a crack by solid ice on the down- current side of the pool. I was happy for Nada; glad the war seemed to be over in her country and that she got to visit her family. I felt jealous for a moment. I thought it was because Nada’s life was getting back to normal while I knew mine would never be normal again. Then I remembered her dad was still not going to be living at home most of the time and that she wasn’t even living in the same country as she used to be. I realized her life would never be normal again either. But I still felt jealous. I realized I felt jealous because Nada seemed to be happy or at least okay with her new “normal” while I still felt like I was drowning in dark storm clouds.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I didn’t answer Nada’s January 18th letter. I didn’t want to dampen her adjustment to her new life with news of the same old turmoil of mine. I sent Andy another letter right after I got Nada’s. I hoped he would write me back so I would have at least a morsel of good news to share with Nada in my next letter. After school, I stopped at the mailbox like I did every day, trying to suppress any hope in what I already knew was a futile attempt to decrease the impending disappointment. I flipped through the mail and saw my own name and address in the upper left hand corner of one of the envelopes. I dropped the rest of the mail in the snow and read the yellow sticker on the last letter I sent to Andy. Undeliverable. Unable to Forward. I stared at the dotted type and reread it as it blurred from my tears.
I picked up the mail from the snow, pushed it back into the mailbox, and slammed the door shut. I folded my returned letter and shoved it in my coat pocket. I barely opened my front door wide enough to toss my backpack inside by the front door. “Mom, I’m going for a walk,” I yelled into the house. I heard the first syllable from her mouth and closed the door.
I ran as fast as I could toward the river, pounding my feet into the asphalt until my legs ached and my chest began to burn. I choked and slowed to a walk. I sat down on the pier and read the words I had written to Andy. Now he would never know what I had to say. He would never know I had set him free; that I had told him I would always care about him and would be waiting when he wanted to contact me. Now it didn’t matter. I tore the letter up into confetti pieces and let them fall from my hand toward the icy water.
I lay down on the concrete pier and pulled my knees into my chest. I sobbed. The world was silent. Nobody noticed. I took my mind back until the first time I met Andy. I replayed everything I ever said to him, everything I ever did, everything he ever said to me, and I tried to figure out why. The Andy I knew wouldn’t have moved without telling me. It had to be something I did, but what? What changed between the day we said goodbye and now? Did something bad happen to him? Why does everyone I care about leave me?
My screams echoed in the hollow winter air. My knuckles whitened and my fingers stiffened in the cold. I finally ran out of tears and sat up. The river seemed to whisper to me, “Jump in or don’t. Time to decide.” I realized I was tired of crying myself to sleep at night; tired of feeling hopeless and I just w
anted it to stop. I was tired of the beast inside my head berating me, telling me there was no reason to live, and it would never get any better. I wanted to die but I was afraid. I hoped there was a heaven and I hoped Emily was there watching over me, but I wasn’t sure. I had always questioned blind faith and sought proof. As terrible as it was, I knew what life was and that comforted me. I knew what it felt like to drag myself out of bed in the morning, at first hopeful, and then remembering what was gone. But with death I didn’t know if my pain would end or if I would simply just end with no chance to play with Prio and Forti or do any of the other things that used to make me smile. But I knew the pain would be over. My feet dangled over the iced muddy Mississippi and my hands clamped over the edge of the cement pier.
A click behind me made me jump. I looked back over my shoulder and saw Larry Benson lean his bike on its kickstand. He walked toward me. I thought that he looked different and then realized he was wearing glasses. I pulled my feet toward my chest and jumped up without using my hands.
“Hi, Ami,” Larry said.
“Hi.” I thought about pushing past him and running away. On my many walks through town, I had often hoped to run into Larry, but at the same time, I was afraid I would see him. I didn’t know what to feel: anger or excitement? Should I be mean? Should I be nice?
“I’m glad I found you. Your mom said you might be here.” Larry slid his bare hand along the pier’s railing.
“She did?”
“I went to your house to talk to you. She said you went for a walk.”
I walked up the pier toward Larry. Suddenly cold, I pushed my hands as far as I could into my coat pockets.
“She said she thought you like to come here.” I looked at the crumbling cement of the pier’s floor. “So she was right?”
“Yes. I like it here.”
“Anyway, can I talk to you?”
“I guess so,” I said. We sat down on one of the benches facing the water. It seemed like I waited for hours before Larry finally spoke.
“I saw Krissa earlier today.”
Here we go. If he wants me to fix him up with her after everything he’s done, I thought, he’s crazy. I turned and glared at him, but he just stared across the river.
“She said you were mad at me. But I had no idea.”
He had no idea?
“She told me when you called me that day that you wanted to talk to me about your cousin’s death. I don’t know why, but girls call me and they don’t even want anything. I thought you were just another one of them and I wanted to watch the game.” Larry stood up and hung by his waist over the railing. He turned his head and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “I’m really sorry. I felt so bad when I heard your cousin died. I probably should’ve known that was why you were calling. But I didn’t. Then she said you thought I was ignoring you on the Fourth of July, but I was embarrassed because I couldn’t see it was you. I found out later I need to wear glasses.”
He stood up and wiped his face with the back of his coat sleeve. I saw it was wet with tears as he dropped his arm back to his side before walking away from me back up the pier toward the shore. “So I’m sorry you thought I was a jerk all of these months. If I’d known that was why you were calling, I would have been nicer.”
I swallowed and tried to keep my tears in my eyes. “Okay,” was all I could say.
“I have to go. I told my mom I wouldn’t be gone this long,” he said. He pushed his bike’s kickstand up with his foot and threw his leg over its top bar. “Hope you have a good weekend. Maybe we’ll talk in class?” he said.
“Sure.” I waved weakly as he rode away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I sat back down on the bench and thought about what had just happened. I watched the sun setting beyond the trees across the river, with their shadows creeping toward me over the ice, and thought, this is it. I would either see the sun again or I wouldn’t. I would either see my mom, brother, and sister again or I wouldn’t. I would graduate from high school, go to college, get married, and have kids or I wouldn’t. I would either feel my lungs fill with the warm humid summer or the frozen winter air or I wouldn’t. I could live or I could die. And it was my choice alone. I realized I had always had complete control of that. I knew if I jumped into the river I would never see the sun, my mom, Forti, Prio, Andy, or Larry Benson again. I knew I would never graduate high school, go to college, get married, have kids, or breathe; that was certain. This certainty comforted me some; knowing was less scary than not knowing. But, for everything I knew would happen should I jump in the river, there was a whole other reality I did not know. I knew if I killed myself, I would never get to do those things and if I didn’t, I still might not get to do those things. But with living, there was a chance I would and I realized that chance gave me hope. As long as I had hope, I wanted to live. If I jumped in the river, my story would end, but I wanted to see what would happen with Larry next week.
I decided in that moment that to live was my final decision. I would never again put myself in the position of making the decision between life and death; that no matter what, I would not consider death an option.
I wrote a letter to Nada that night before bed.
*****
February 7, 1992
Dear Nada,
I’m sorry it has been so long since I’ve written you a letter. I am very glad you had good holidays and that you were able to go visit your grandparents. I am also so glad you are no longer worried about war coming to Rijeka. You inspire me. I have decided if you have been brave enough to live through a real war in your country and still find a reason to smile, then I can find a reason to smile after everything I have been through.
I had a revelation earlier today by the river. Something happened to give me hope everything will be okay. I realized it was time to make a decision; that I alone controlled whether I was going to live or die and it was time to decide one way or another. I, obviously, decided to live. After making that final decision, I stood up from where I was sitting on the pier as the first wave of darkness spread over the water. I knew before long all there would be was black ink between me and the opposite shore. I sucked in a deep breath and turned to walk toward home. When I got to the top of the hill, I started to run.
As I approached the front of my house, I noticed every light inside was turned on and I thought I had not seen it that bright in a long time, if ever. The windows were steamed over and I met the smell of chicken noodle soup when I opened the door.
“Mom, Ami’s home,” Forti yelled from the couch where he was watching TV.
My mom walked into the living room. “Good, she’s just in time for Grandma’s famous chicken noodle soup.” She flipped the towel she had wiped her hands on over her shoulder. “Everything okay?” she asked. I shook my head yes as I hung my coat’s hood on the hook by the front door.
I sat down at the table with my grandma, Aunt Shari, Mom, Forti, and Prio and thought about how Emily was so much a missing piece. Forti and Prio held oyster crackers above their bowls of steaming soup. They counted, “One, two, three,” let go of them, and giggled as they splashed in the broth. My grandma and mom laughed as they told them to stop in stereo. Aunt Shari smiled faintly and watched them, undoubtedly thinking about Emily and how she would have been copying her older cousins. Today my world is this; eating soup with these people, all of us knowing someone who should be there is not. We are wounded and broken but still trudging through to find a moment of happiness in the silly carefree acts of a nine year old and a five year old, the only thing on this earth that can truly make our hearts sing.
It is weird, but that simple thing made me feel like maybe everything will be okay for me someday. I will never forget Emily or Andy, but Emily will be watching over me as my guardian angel. And maybe someday Andy will tell me why he didn’t write and his letter came back; until I have a way to find him, all I can do is wait patiently.
I hope that Stevo and Marija’s baby is happy and
healthy and that you get to spend lots of time holding him or her. I hope also that he or she gets to live a long, long life so you will know the joy that watching a baby grow can bring. And I hope he or she will love you as much as I know Emily loved me.
Always your American pen pal friend,
Ami
*****
I enclosed the letter in an envelope and got it ready to mail. After pulling on extra pants and a sweatshirt under my winter coat, I went out to play with Forti and Prio in the night’s fresh snow.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Croatia is a country located in eastern Europe along the eastern shore of the Adriatic Sea across from the northern boot portion of Italy. Until the early 1990s, Croatia was a Republic within the former country of Yugoslavia, which also included the now independent countries of Slovenia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Serbia, Montenegro, and Macedonia. From the end of World War II until 1980, Yugoslavia was a communist country held together under the leadership of Tito. From Tito’s death until Croatia and Slovenia declared independence, Presidents from each of the Republics rotated leadership of Yugoslavia.
The vast majority of Croatia’s population follows the Roman Catholic religion and approximately twelve percent follow the Catholic Orthodox religion. The term “Croat” is synonymous with Roman Catholic followers while “Serb” is synonymous with Catholic Orthodox followers. Unlike in the United States, religious views are central to the area’s government and politics.
On June 25, 1991, the majority of people living in the Republic of Croatia voted to split away from Yugoslavia to become its own independent country. After the declaration, war broke out between the Croats, who wanted to separate, and the Serbs, who wanted to keep Yugoslavia united. On December 23, 1991, Germany recognized Croatia as an independent country with the rest of Europe following by mid-January, 1992. The United States, as well as Russia and China, did not recognize Croatia as its own country until early April, 1992.