by C J M Naylor
"Where were you?" she shouted, half crying. "You said you weren't going to Phillip’s. I thought you might be stuck out in the city! Come on!"
"I'm sorry!" I yelled, running with her. "I did go! I'm sorry I should have called."
"It doesn't matter. We need to get in the shelter. I think this night might be worse than the others."
The sirens seemed louder as we ran through the backyard. The sound reverberated in my ears and it was painful. We made it to the bomb shelter and my mother pulled the door closed behind her. She turned on the light. My father was sleeping on the cot. How could he sleep through all this noise?
"The baby!"
My mother and I turned around. My father had sat upright in the bed and his face was screwed into a look of utter horror.
"What is it Dean?"
"Where is the baby?"
"What baby?" my mother asked him.
"Where is my Abigail Lu?" he asked.
I stepped in front of my mother and knelt down next to my father.
"I'm right here, papa," I said, taking his hand.
He gave me a look of confusion and then suddenly pushed me to the ground and got up.
"Dean, what are you doing?" My mother bent down to help me off the floor.
"The baby! We left the baby in the house!"
He pushed open the door of the bomb shelter and ran out into the night. My mother screamed and leaped forward.
"Dean!" she shouted, "come back!"
She turned to me and gave me a stern look.
"Stay here, Abigail," she said. "Do not leave this shelter."
She took off into the night.
"Mum!" I shouted.
"Stay there!"
I watched as she disappeared back into the house. I looked up into the sky. The clouds had disappeared and the moon was out. I could see the stars. It was a beautiful night. War shouldn't have been happening, but it was. The alarm continued to sound in my ears and sent shivers down my body. I continued to stare at the back door of the house. I crossed my fingers hoping to see my mother appear out of the door with my father and running back toward the shelter, but no one came.
Life is full of difficult moments—even more, it is full of difficult decisions. As I watched the back door of my home, desperately waiting for my mother and father to emerge, I had a difficult choice to make. My mother and father would want me to stay here and wait for them, but I needed to go to them. I ran up the steps out of the shelter and emerged into the dark backyard. I looked up into the sky and could see little dots slowly making their way into the city. I ran toward the house.
"Mum!" I shouted as I emerged through the back door into the kitchen.
There was no answer. I ran through the kitchen archway and down the hallway. There was no one in the living room.
Boom.
The whole house rattled, but the bombs were still several streets away from what I could tell. I quickly turned and bolted up the staircase to the floor above. As I stepped onto the landing, I could see my mother crouched at the door of her bedroom on her knees. She was crying and desperately shouting for my father.
"Dean," she said, "it's me, I'm your wife. Please come out."
"I will not let you hurt the baby," my father shouted from within the room. "Go away, you Nazi!"
My mother shrieked and began to cry harder. I quickly ran down the hallway and knelt down next to her. She jumped as I appeared, clearly not expecting me to be there.
"Abby! No, I told you to stay in the shelter."
"Not without you two," I said fiercely. I jiggled the door handle, but it was locked. I would have to break the door down; we did not have much time. It was an old house—so I felt it wouldn't be that difficult. "Move aside, mum."
My mum stepped to the other side of the hallway and pushed herself against the wall. I began to throw myself forcefully at the door, but it didn't budge. I began to kick near the door handle with my foot. It slowly began to give way. Finally, I threw myself against the door once more and it caved in to the room beyond.
My father was sitting on the bed, shaking. I walked over to him and he flinched away from me.
"Papa," I said, "I need you to come with me. The baby is in the shelter."
My father looked up at me. His eyes almost killed me. He had been crying as well.
Boom.
The house shuttered again. Planes had to be near us and more would be coming.
"Papa, we need to get back to the baby," I said. "We have to keep the baby safe."
I held out my hand. My father hesitated for a moment, but finally he reached out and placed his hand in mine.
The three of us ran down the landing and toward the stairs.
BOOM.
I heard the living room window crack below. As I looked over the landing, I could see glass flying everywhere. We made our way down the stairs and onto the landing below.
BOOM.
I tripped and fell after the last one. My face planted onto the floor below and I felt warm blood beginning to pour out of my nose. My mother grabbed my hand and pulled me up. But I knew it was too late and so did she. I could hear the eerie, whistling sound of a bomb falling outside and it had to be heading straight for the top of our house. The whistling sound filled my ears as it came closer, and closer, and closer.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The events that followed happened so fast I could barely keep track of anything around me. I saw pictures falling off the wall. I heard glass breaking. I heard what sounded like the horrid sound of a ceiling about to cave in on top of us. I heard the screams and cries of my mother. Darkness and dust eclipsed my view of the room and something hard hit my head.
Sirens.
I heard the sirens. Darkness continued to consume my vision, but the sirens I could hear. The air raid alarm was still going off, but these were the sounds of emergency sirens. The air raid that had happened had been one of the worst we'd had since a few years ago. Finally, I fluttered my eyelids and I could see.
Smoke filled my nose and eyes as I opened them. It exploded into my lungs and I let out a fit of coughing. I could see the smoke along with floating debris around the ruins of my home. I saw broken glass, furniture caught on fire, and pictures of my childhood crushed and littering the floor. It was then that I noticed a horrible excruciating pain in my right leg as well as my head. I looked over to my leg and saw a large piece of wood stuck cleanly in the center of my thigh. It didn't feel like, or look like it was touching the bone, so that was good. I supposed if this was the only injury I had from tonight that would be considered a blessing.
The feeling was still painful, however. I reached over and pulled on the wood gently and let out a horrifying scream of pain.
"Abby?"
My head turned sharply at the sound of my mother's voice. I could see her body a few feet away from me. The hutch from the hallway where we kept our good china was lying on top of her.
"Mum!"
I tried to move, but the pain in my leg was horrifying. I reached over and began to pull the wood out, but it continued to hurt.
"Just pull it straight out, Abby," my mum said. "Don't do it slowly or that will make it worse."
I grabbed the wood firmly with my hand and counted down to three. And then I pulled.
My scream of pain filled what was left of the house. Water blurred my vision as my eyes teared up.
"Now, rip off part of your shirt and use it as a tourniquet," my mum said. She worked in a hospital most of her life, so she knew what to do in times like this.
I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and ripped it. There was already a hole in it from being torn in the cave in so it was not too difficult. I quickly took the torn piece and wrapped it around my wound. I tied it tightly and then, even though it hurt, pushed myself up.
Wobbling over to my mother, I looked down at her.
"Wait," she said, "your father first."
I turned and saw my father another few feet away. I walked over to him, and
my heart began to race when I realized that the top of his skull looked bruised and swollen.
I knelt down next to him.
"Papa," I said. I touched his shoulder lightly. He didn't move. "Papa?"
I quickly checked his pulse and my heart began to race when I realized his heart was not beating. He was gone. My heart was beating entirely too fast and my breathing was growing ragged. My father was dead. My father was gone. He was never coming back. How could this be? How could any of this be right? Where was the justice in this? Why was this happening?
"Abby?" My mother's voice drew me out of the darkness I was being enveloped in. "Is he alright?"
I didn't respond right away and she said my name again.
"Abby?"
I hobbled back over to my mother and knelt down next to her.
"He's gone," I whispered.
She was quiet. I stood up and began to try and lift the hutch off of her, but then I felt her hand touch mine.
"Why'd you have me check on him first?" I said, half crying. "We need to get this thing off of you."
"Abby, darling, we can't."
I realized then that her breathing was beginning to slow and she was talking softly. I knelt back down next to her and saw her eyes look at the hutch, and then I realized. She had been impaled by a large piece of wood. My stomach turned.
"Abby, listen to me," she said. "I will always be with you."
"Stop. The ambulances are coming. They will help us."
"They're not coming. We weren't the only people affected by this. By the time they get here it would be too late."
"No.” I was biting my lip now. I was crying. "You are not going to die."
"I love you."
I could not look at her. I tried to her pull her out again, but she held up her hand.
"Mum," I said, tears were falling and staining my face. "I'm sorry." I was choking. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier."
"I know you are." She grabbed my chin. Her hand was shaking vigorously. She turned my face toward hers. Her eyes were blinking quickly. "Listen sweetheart. I love you. You are beautiful and wonderful. You are not a bad person. You will do great things. I know you will."
Her hand fell, and she was gone.
"Mum!" I fell forward and lay next to her. I leaned into her and closed my eyes. I didn't want to forget her scent. I didn't want to forget the way she felt. I didn't want to forget her.
I felt my whole world and everything I knew, began to leave me.
When a person you knew every day, like Mrs. Baxter, passes away, it hurts you. Perhaps you cry about it, or perhaps you feel saddened by it. A little part of you feels different. But when a person or persons who were close to you and raised you, your parents, pass away, you are consumed by it. After my mother took her last breath, I was consumed by it. I laid next to her in the rubble of my home and didn't care. The emergency crew finally did reach us, but like my mum had said, it was too late.
The next time I awoke, I was in a hospital. I saw the white ceiling above me and I felt a hand in mine. I looked over to see Phillip at my side. He was sleeping in the chair next to my bed, but he had not let go of my hand. I looked down at to the injury I had dressed in my home and found that it was now wrapped in gauze and hurt considerably less.
"Good morning."
I looked over to see Phillip's eyes opening as he spoke. I didn't say anything.
“Abigail,” he said, “how are you feeling?”
“The pain has gone down,” I said softly.
"I was scared today, Abigail," Phillip said. "I heard where the bombs had hit and came rushing to your house. When I saw the rubble, I felt like I had lost everything. But the crew told me they had found you alive."
"I did lose everything though," I said.
Phillip didn't reply to my statement. I think he realized I was right. Sure, he still had me and I had him, but I no longer had my parents. I no longer had the people who had raised me, a baby they had adopted as their own daughter. I had lost the people that had cared for me and loved me like every parent should. I no longer had that in my life. I felt empty inside and I felt unsure of where to go from here.
"The doctors said you could leave tomorrow," Phillip said. "They just want to keep you today to make sure your wound is healing okay. You did a great job dressing it."
"My mum helped me," I said.
I turned on my side, so that my back was facing Phillip. I began to cry again and I felt his hand on my shoulder. I felt his comfort, but this time it was not enough. This time he could not fix this. I was alone in this pain and suffering. I felt like I was lost in a hole. I felt like I was unable to climb out. I felt like the darkness was around me. I could not control it. I could not do anything to fix it. The only thing that I could do would be to live with it. Living with it was unimaginable.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The backyard was alive with the colors of spring. My mother's flowerbed was blooming with different kinds of flowers I couldn't even begin to name. I was looking at all of this through the window in our kitchen—I wanted so badly to go out.
"Mummy?"
My mum looked up from the bowl she was mixing. She was making chocolate chip cookies—my favorite.
"Yes, Abby?"
"Can I go play in the backyard?" I asked. "It is beautiful out today."
"I suppose. Just be careful.”
I smiled and pulled open the back door. The warm spring air hit my face and made my smile even brighter. It had started to smell like spring as well. I pulled the door shut and ran out into the open back yard.
Our largest tree in the middle of the yard was my favorite thing about the backyard. I loved to climb it in the spring and summer. I had been climbing it as long as I could remember. I began to climb and felt the rush that I would get from the heights. I had not climbed it since the summer before and had missed it throughout the long winter.
As soon as I got to the top, I sat on one of the branches and looked over the yard below me. I felt like I was a bird—a bird looking down from the sky above. I felt the nice breeze of the day against my cheeks, and my hair blew in the soft wind.
There was a tweeting sound above me and I looked up to see a small bird that was just a little higher up than I was. I wondered if I could get it to stay.
I reached out with my hand and it didn’t move. I carefully stood up and then reached out for the bird. Suddenly, the bird flew right at me and I slipped. The feeling of falling out of the tree was amazing, but hitting the ground was horrifying. I landed on my left arm and heard the horrific sound of it snapping. And then I screamed.
My mum came flying out of the kitchen back door—followed by my father. All of the windows were open on the first floor so they had heard me.
They both knelt down next to me and I was crying.
"We'll need to get her to the hospital," my mother said. "I'll get the car ready."
My father held me in his arms as I cried.
"Don't cry, my Abigail Lu," he said. "I've got you. I've got you."
My eyes opened. I was staring out the window of a moving car. I quickly came back to reality and sat up in my seat. I was in Phillip's car and we were driving on the road along the countryside.
"Phillip?" I looked over at him. He turned his head and smiled at me.
"Hey there," he said. "You've been out cold since yesterday. I guess the medicine they gave you made you pretty sleepy."
"It’s been a day?" I asked him.
"Sure has," Phillip replied.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Scotland."
"What?" I snapped. "We can't go to Scotland! My parents just died! I need to be planning their funeral! What are you doing?"
"That is exactly why you need to go to Scotland," Phillip said. "Because your parents just died. Abby you've been through a horrible ordeal. I've made arrangements with a funeral parlor and the hospital. We can plan the funeral while we're away. It will just be two days and then we can come ba
ck for the funeral."
I sighed and crossed my arms. There was no winning this argument with him.
"Not to mention," Phillip continued, "they are saying it is best to stay out of the city for a few days after that air raid. It was one of the worst we've had in a few years."
"Where are we going?"
"Edinburgh," Phillip replied. "My grandfather had a house up there that the family still owns. We used to go up there for weekends. My parents give you their condolences too."
Phillip reached over and touched my hand, but I pulled it away.
The house that Phillip had referred to was one in a row of old Victorian houses. It was beautiful to say the least, but nothing at the current time could pull me out of my desperation.
I took the bags Phillip had brought for me and went upstairs to a random bedroom. I threw the bags on the floor and then shut the door behind me and locked it.
With my back against the door, I began to lose myself again. I slowly slid to the floor and covered my face in my hands. The hot tears poured from my eyes and the emotions were let loose. My parents were dead. I wanted them back, but I knew that was impossible. I did not know how I could possibly go forward from here. A knock came from the other side of the door.
"Abby, let me in," Phillip said.
"Leave me alone.”
"That is the last thing I'm going to do.”
"I'll be fine."
I heard a sound on the other side of the door and realized he was doing the same thing I was.
"I'll just sit here and wait for you," Phillip responded.
"Why do people have to die?" I asked.
There was a moment of silence before he answered.
"Why are people born?"
"Because they are supposed to be born," I said.
"People are supposed to die, Abby," Phillip answered. "It's hard and they leave behind their loved ones to suffer, but it is what it is. We cannot control death, Abby. You know that."
