Dear Blue Sky

by Mary Sullivan

  Later, though, when we got home, Jack yelled to Dad how Sef almost killed a bunch of guys at the river. He laughed and said it proudly.

  “Did they deserve it?” Dad asked.

  “Hell, yeah,” Jack said.

  Now it was my turn to watch out for Jack and the rest of us.

  CHAPTER 11

  I CAN NOT BREATHE

  WHEN JACK AND I got home, I went to check my email to see if there was anything from Sef. Van and I shared a computer, which meant if she was home, she got it first and I got it second. There was a new email from Kim, with a list of blogs for the school assignment, written by people who lived in Iraq. I didn’t want to read anything right now, especially about the war. But one of the blogs she listed was called Blue Sky, just like the song I listened to on Sef’s CD player.

  The Blue Sky home page was deep blue with a bright yellow sun. Under the sun it said “Hope is the thing with feathers.” The blog profile said she was a thirteen-year-old student living in Baghdad. Her sign was Aquarius. There was a list of all her previous entries, going back a month. I clicked on her most recent entry.

  Blue Sky’s Blog

  November 19, 2006

  H. and I sleep in living room until the hole is fix in our room. Today I got up early and took my breakfast. I have to get to school on time for exams. I can not walk anymore. We have to go over a bridge and checkpoint it is to dangerous. A girl was kidnapped last week and there are car bombs, helicopters, guns. My parents say they will ask for my name to see Shiite or Sunni. I am both and also my family has Kurd, Turk and German. A driver take me to school. In the morning I wait for him.

  I try to eat but I was nervous for my geography exam. Mama tell me to relax and I will receive high mark fine. She say I should eat if I want to study well. I try but I am shaky. Then we heard shots close by. They keep coming. I counted twelve in one minute.

  I lift the curtain even though Mama say not ever to open curtains. The man is close. I see his black pant and white shirt. He is crouched behind a car in front of Abu A.’s house. The police station is one street away. Every day it is a target. Mama come and pull down the curtain. She say to move away from the glass. I tell Mama I check for my driver. The same second someone yells outside a terrible yell. Next Mama lift the curtain to look.

  Abu A. is there on the sidewalk holding his leg. Rolling side to side. The gun is disappeared. Blood pours onto the sidewalk everywhere. My mouth doesn’t work. I can not breathe or talk. All is black and then I see Mama running to the kitchen for cloths. Outside Abu A. holds his leg. I follow Mama like a zombie. She is a doctor. She wraps cloths around his leg tight. It is so quiet I can hear Mama breathing. There is more blood than you can believe. Blood turns the cloths red in one second. I spread the cloths over the sidewalk to cover the blood. I do not know why I do this—I do not want to see all the blood. It helps nothing. I can not be a doctor.

  Abu A. falls back and I think he is dead. Mama tells me to go see if anyone is at his house. Then R. drives by and sees what happened. He take Abu A. in his car to the hospital. We do not know yet how he is and what happened. He could die from blood lossed. What if it take too long with the checkpoints or there is no room for him in the dirty hospital?

  I arrive at school in time for exam but while I should be thinking on questions, I keep on seeing the blood from Abu A.’s leg.

  Mom cry for Abu A. family and S. family today and not the baby in hospital. What happened to our neighborhood? Our city? Our country? Nowhere is safe. Maybe the moon. I wish the war end and soldiers go back and Iraq to be the same again. We all pray to Allah for this.

  Good-bye,

  Blue Sky

  • • •

  I scrolled down to her photos. There weren’t any of Blue Sky, just some of the inside and outside of her house with a garden in the back, a hose, and a soccer ball. Inside her house reminded me of my grandmother’s, with its ornate rugs, long couches around the TV, and flowery drapes that fell to the floor and shaded the room. Like me, she had a younger brother, and she shared a small bedroom with her older sister. Blue Sky’s desk had a radio, boxes, candles, pictures of friends, books, flowers in a vase, nail polish, and stuffed animals. She was like Van the way she organized everything so neatly. I wondered if she was perfect and pretty with long dark hair, like Van. She was like me in that she panicked and couldn’t breathe sometimes. I didn’t know anyone else this happened to.

  There were a bunch of pictures of the food they served on their religious holiday, Eid. Underneath the pictures were the names of the dishes: eggplant casserole, sumac salad, beef and lamb kebabs, white bean stew, rice, lentil soup, breads, date balls, cookies, and fruit nut chocolate fudge.

  The newest pictures were of her house, taken after an explosion. Windows were shattered, doors had fallen off their hinges, dishes were broken on the floor, and drapes were ripped and torn. Broken toys and pieces of metal and plastic littered the yard.

  I clicked on her previous blog entry.

  Blue Sky’s Blog

  November 14, 2006

  S. and her family left for Syria and then to Germany today. Before they left one bizarre thing happen which make me think S. can not go. Mortar fell into our ceiling just before morning prayers and I woke with a big peace of stone on my bed. I yelled for Mama to hurry quick. Everyone come to see and no one can believe it. I have not a scratch. Not one thing. H. stares at me from other bed. She can not believe her eyes. What if E. sleep in my bed with me? I pray to Allah and say thank you many time.

  Our city, our school, neighborhood, and house is absent of safety. We stay home all the time except for school. The only place I visit was S.’s house. Because it was close. Her family received a threat so they have to go.

  I decide not to tell about the stone on my bed when they stop at our house with their driver to leave. They have enough to worry and it was hard to talk with many crying. When I see S. I did not recognize her in the hijab she was wearing. She is Christian and never wear one. Her Mama and sister also. It is better for travel.

  I cried and cried and could not stop. Mama spill water on the street after they drive away for safe trip. I spill so many tears I think more than the water from Mama. S. and I spend time together since we were babies. We study and talk about life and make homemade work like macramé. Before we all begin to lose everything. All the good people leave Iraq.

  Mama took me to the hairdresser later in the morning to cheer me. All they talk about is the bombs and who is killed or moving and that make me cry all over again. R. my favorite who fix Mama’s hair give me a hug and a candy.

  I am very sad today.

  Our electricity is off much time. I hear George Bush posted notice that electricity was restored for most Iraqis! Maybe he come here and discover. Maybe he bring S. back.

  I want my life back. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I want to live. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Can anyone hear me?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  Blue Sky

  Blue Sky’s Blog

  November 12, 2006

  We take some days off cleaning. I am glad. I hate cleaning and dishes. Mama took a Valium and went to bed early like she do every night since horror at the hospital. I tell you. One week past she deliver a healthy baby boy. One hour after she left the room the hospital was bomb because some people angry that American soldiers hand sweet to children. In the evacuation Mama saw her mother patient was dead. What will happen to that baby she say over.

  I used to have much optimism. At first we give American soldiers Dulma and other special dishes but now we ask them to leave. I thought it would be utopia after the American solders came—like amusement park or s
omething. But it is not. We stay inside most of the time. Some nights I sleep in the living room together with my whole family because we have many windows and they shake much.

  I miss old Iraq. From the window I can see the cafe. I believe in good and nothing bad happen to us. But terrorists multiply faster than good. They say what they do is for God but they are liars and they use God. This is not our religion.

  I wait for the next thing.

  Impossible to no anything.

  H. and I watch TV until the electricity goes out. We light candles and sit in the dark for a while. We decide to play Life. Special version for us. H. say instead of getting cars and children and jobs we get bombs and tanks and home invasions. The American version, H. laugh. They liberate us from electricity, running water, schools, safety. That’s life. Ce la vie. H. laugh a lot and I to. My chest hurt still because we did not laugh for a long time.

  H. stop and say it is not really funny but I can not stop laughing. We went into the kitchen and eat a cake and then feel OK to go to bed.

  My bed is too small but E. is asleep in there some time and I am glad. I do not want to sleep alone. E. is 2 and he start to say a few words. Always he watch with big eyes with big dark lashes. I pray for him to grow older.

  I realize I like to write because I am afraid of being alone. Of this world. What if my family is killed and I am left like that new baby in Mama’s hospital. I can not think like that. We pray everyday and believe God keeps us safe.

  My life is a movie. The title is “Shock and Awe!” I wish to press rewind.

  Blue Sky

  Blue Sky’s Blog

  November 4, 2006

  On the way to the fruit and vegetable stand down the road I think I don’t know this Baghdad. The streets are littered with plastic bags, rice, eggshells, sandals, shirts, soda cans, newspapers. Wild dogs runs through the street. Buildings are black, wires hang down, glass piled in front of ruined stores. I have to remember my dream to live.

  Before I want to be a pharmacist but now I want to make Baghdad what it was. Maybe I become an architect. I tell myself to live strong.

  We see Mama’s hairdresser there. She say the lemons are good today so Mama examine them.

  Did you heard? R. say quiet to Mama. It is against the law for the tomatoes to lie next to the cucumbers.

  Mama laugh then cover her mouth and looked at Abu M. sit beside his stack of newspapers. All be careful. You never know who listens. They talk about another family they know moving to Jordan.

  Blue Sky

  Blue Sky’s Blog

  November 2, 2006

  My cousin M. encourage me to start blog. He do to. He say to write what happens to me every day. I am nervous to write. I want everyone to no Iraq, old beautiful Iraq before the war. Everyone live with fear from that day almost three years past. For the war to end is best. We pray for this.

  I go to school and not more because it is danger for us. Bombs go off in the streets and markets. Snipers hide in neighborhoods. So many leave our country. Professors and doctors.

  You can view my profile. I like many kinds music and reading and swimming (no more swimming now). I hopes you like my blog and email me.

  Regards,

  Blue Sky

  • • •

  Sef wasn’t in charge of the bombs, tanks, and home invasions. He was helping. Fixing things. That’s what he did, I told myself.

  I looked up hijab. It was a headscarf. This was how Blue Sky lived. She was only a year older than I was. I thought of what Mr. G said: What a waste. This war was a waste, that’s what he was talking about. Most kids in my school didn’t even care that there was a war. The truth was that I didn’t either until Sef went there. Reading Blue Sky’s blogs made me more confused. I didn’t know anything about anything.

  CHAPTER 12

  RECEIVER OF MEMORIES

  THE FLAG IN Van’s window fluttered as she walked by. She was standing behind me. “What’re you doing?”

  “You’re home already?” I looked up. “I’m reading a blog by a girl from Iraq.”

  Van dropped her backpack to the floor and fell back on her bed. “Why?” she asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you reading her blog?”

  “I feel like it,” I said.

  “Well, hurry up.” She rolled over on her bed. “I need the computer.”

  “I just have to send a quick email.”

  She opened her French book and rested her head on it like a pillow. I could feel her eyes on me now. “Is it because you miss Sef?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “That you’re reading that blog.”

  “I guess so,” I said. “Don’t you miss him?”

  “Of course I miss him. Just because I don’t say anything doesn’t mean I don’t miss him. I think about him all the time.”

  “He called today.”

  “I know. Mrs. Adams called, too. What’d you do to Ben?”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t hurt him. I put him in a Jack. What’d Mom say?”

  “She said she hoped Ben’s arms felt better and that you’d be over to apologize later.”

  I groaned.

  “You should have Jacked Kristen too,” Van said.

  “For the other night?”

  “Yup.” She laughed a little, but looked hurt. “Why do all the girls fall for the singer?”

  “Supper, Cassie, supper, Cassie, supper, Van!” Jack yelled up the stairs.

  We went down to the kitchen. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s going to be late again. They’re trying to get as much done as they can before it gets cold.” Mom passed the dish of meatballs to me. “I’m going back to work tomorrow.”

  This meant I was back on babysitting.

  “You have to go over to the Adamses’ later and apologize to Ben. I’m sure he deserved whatever you did to him, but they’re still our neighbors.”

  With his mouth full of meatball, Jack grinned and said, “She Jacked him!”

  We all laughed. It felt good. It was our first supper together since Sef left, even if Dad wasn’t there. For that minute, I wasn’t even mad at Mom. Sef had called, and he was fine. Mom cooked dinner and was doing the best she could.

  “When Sef gets back, he’ll blow Ben up,” Jack said.

  Mom had to take a big gulp of water to keep from choking. “He can’t really do that, honey,” she finally said.

  “What about Finn?”

  “No, honey.” Mom covered her mouth. “Van would be sad if he did that.”

  Van squinted at him.

  “Let’s write Sef a letter right now,” I said, getting up to get some paper and a pen.

  Van pushed her plate of salad and spaghetti and butter away from her.

  “Aren’t you going to eat anything else?” Mom asked.

  “I’m not that hungry.”

  “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

  “I feel fine.” Her cell phone started ringing in the pocket of her sweater.

  “This is the last time,” Mom said. “Tell Finn if it happens again at supper, I’m going to take your phone for a week.”

  “Why doesn’t she ever talk to Nora anymore?” I said. “Or Ally or anyone but Finn?”

  “Peaze train,” Jack said.

  Van glared at us and left the room with her phone to her ear.

  “Van’s not going to be healthy,” Jack said.

  “Why not?” Mom asked.

  “She didn’t eat her vegetables.”

  “She doesn’t eat anything.”

  “Dear Sef,” I said out loud as I wrote.

  Jack said, “Tell him I’m taking care of everything. And tell him about how I was taking care of Tigger an
d Ben came over and you Jacked him.”

  “Okay.” I wrote slowly. “What else?”

  “Tell him we’re eating meatballs now,” Mom said. “And that I made way too many because I forgot how many of them he always ate. And tell him we wish he was here, but we’re all fine. We’re all fine.”

  “Do you want me to write that twice?”

  She laughed. “Well, no, I guess not.”

  After a minute I asked, “Anything else?”

  “Tell him I’m never taking my uniform off, just like him.”

  “Well, he takes it off sometimes to wash it and take a shower.” Mom frowned at Jack. “That is filthy. Tell Sef we’re going to scrub Jack and his uniform pronto.”

  “Anyone else want to say anything?” I glanced to the living room where Van was leaning over the couch, talking. Her short skirt rode up as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. I could see the soft curves of her thighs underneath her black tights. Her dark hair fell down her back as she rocked slightly in her tall boots.

  “Van,” I called, “what do you want to say to Sef?”

  She snapped her cell phone shut and said, “Tell him Finn and I are getting married.” She burst out laughing. “Just kidding. Tell him I miss him.” She tossed her hair back and headed for the stairs.

  “What’s up with her?” Mom mumbled.

  • • •

  While Mom helped Jack in the tub, I went over to the Adamses’. They didn’t ask me inside. I stood on the doorstep, and they stood under the bright hallway light, Ben between his parents.

  “I’m sorry about this afternoon,” I said. I was sorry, I thought, that I didn’t pin him down harder.

  “Ben said Jack was strangling Tigger and when he came over to save Tigger, you jumped on him,” his mother said, squeezing Ben’s shoulder. Kristen was standing at the top of the stairs. Her T-shirt was twisted into a knot, showing her belly.