A Silver Willow by the Shore

by Kelli Stuart

She blinks back tears and looks at him. “It’s just,” she sighs. “It was one time,” she mumbles. “One stupid time, and here I am.”

  She glances back at James who studies her silently. Blushing, Annie shakes her head.

  “Sorry,” she says. “You don’t need to deal with this. I bet you wish you hadn’t struck up that conversation with me on the first day of school, huh?” She picks at her sandwich, pinching little pieces of bread off between her fingers.

  “Nah,” James says. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m glad I noticed you that day.” Annie looks up and meets his eyes. “There’s no way I could have not noticed you, despite your attempts at being invisible. And let them talk,” he swings his arm out toward the crowd. “Who cares what they think anyway, right?” Annie forces a smile, but inside she feels her stomach twist into knots at the prospect of her classmates beginning to notice the coming changes to her body.

  “Most of these people will forget about you and me the day they leave high school. They’ll never give us a second thought.”

  James leans forward again, his eyes boring into hers. “But I wouldn’t forget about you, Annie. And this thing that you’re dealing with? Your ‘situation’?” He takes a deep breath. “It doesn’t define who you are.”

  Annie puts her head down to hide the emotion that is swimming through her. She takes in several long, deep breaths before looking back at James.

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “You’re welcome...Picasso,” he replies with a mischievous grin. Annie shakes her head and throws him a mock look of disdain.

  “Now please finish the sandwich and let me throw away whatever that really is on your tray. I can’t look at it anymore.”

  Annie laughs and watches as James walks to the nearby trashcan and dumps her plate of food, and for a brief, blissful moment she thinks that maybe things will turn out okay.

  Nina

  One thing is certain.

  One thing I know.

  Until I know her,

  I’ll know nothing at all.

  Nina tucks into the familiar corner of the library once again and flips open her laptop, waiting a moment as the screen lights up and the systems boot. It’s quiet today. Fridays are always quiet, the end of the week lull leaving people a little less inclined to take solace inside the walls of the library.

  Nina pulls her sweater tight around her shoulders, trying to stave off the frigid air that threatens to sink into her bones. She glances out the window, then grabs her books, computer, and bag and heads to the front desk. After checking out, she leaves and walks around to the back of the library to a bench nestled up against a tree. The reading nook is highlighted by a ray of sunshine, the early October air reminding her that though winter may be coming, there is still time to soak in the warmth of this autumn day.

  She sits on the bench and leans back against the tree, then opens up her book and begins reading, typing interesting facts as her eyes scan the page. Her computer is now filled with notes taken from the very few resources she’s found on Stalin’s Russia and the bleak days when men and women went missing into the night, whisked away to the prison camps of Siberia never to be seen or heard from again. Nina stares at the question she typed in bold after reading about the peasant population of Ukraine that was heavily persecuted during those years. Nina knew the term kulak. She remembered her teachers in grade school drilling into them the notion that those peasants who refused to accept the greatness of the Soviet empire were a clear nuisance.

  “The men and women who refused to acknowledge the perfection of this shared society were too selfish and bothersome to be a part of it,” her fifth year teacher had intoned. “They were not fit to be citizens.”

  Nina traces her fingers over the question that has been plaguing her since she began studying more about the peasant class and the collectivization of the farms.

  WAS MY MOTHER A KULAK?

  With a sigh, Nina looks up and lets her mind wander, scanning the tree line as she tries to piece together any clues that might help her better understand the woman who raised her.

  As she studies a hawk flying overhead, she slowly drifts back to her sixteenth birthday. She’d come home from school that day and gaped at the decorated flat. Her mother had taken the day off work, something Nina could not remember her ever doing before, and she had decorated the one room apartment with hand cut streamers, which she’d strung across the ceiling haphazardly. She’d made a huge bowl of vereniki, Nina’s favorite dumplings stuffed with potatoes, and had a large Prazhki chocolate torte set in the middle of the table.

  “What is this?” Nina had asked.

  “What do you mean, what is this?” her mother huffed in reply. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it? This is your celebration!”

  Nina had looked around, stunned. Her mother had never put this much effort and work into any celebration before.

  “That’s a lot of food,” she said, glancing at the table. Beside the vereniki and torte there was a large plate piled high with pelmeni stuffed with meat, and next to that her mother had set a large loaf of black bread, a slab of butter, a small bowl of squash caviar, a plate of kholodets, the jellied, minced meat that Nina loved so much, a bowl of pickled cucumbers, and a jug of cranberry compote all filling the corners of the rickety table where Nina was accustomed to eating alone.

  “It’s not only for us,” Elizaveta replied, and for the first time that Nina could remember she thought she heard a hint of excitement in her mother’s voice. “I spent too much time waiting in lines and cooking to not share this meal,” Elizaveta continued. Nina raised her eyebrows, too stunned to speak.

  “I’ve invited your friends, my dear!” Elizaveta announced. “The ones you always speak of from school. I contacted the teacher and she gave them the message to arrive today at 5:00. Quickly, go make yourself presentable. You only turn sixteen once. Let’s make it count.”

  Nina had retreated to the bedroom she shared with her mother, utterly confused and baffled by this strange event. A party? Her friends were invited? She’d pulled out her best skirt and top, slipping them over her slim frame and cinching the skirt tight with a braided, brown belt. The brown skirt was faded, fraying around the hem at the bottom. And the white, ruffled shirt was ill-fitted to her narrow shoulders. But that was the only dressy outfit she had. Her mother deemed it a capitalist mentality to fuss over clothing, and though Nina longed for more modern outfits, she knew she would never win that battle with her mother. So she compensated for her lack of style by teasing her hair a little higher that day, applying extra rouge to her cheeks, and slathering on the red lipstick that a friend had given her last summer.

  When Nina walked back into the kitchen, Elizaveta took one look at her and clucked her tongue.

  “I did not know you were going to dress as a clown,” she muttered just loud enough for Nina to hear. With a roll of her eyes, Nina went to the balcony and looked out the window. Minutes later, a smile crossed her face as her three friends rounded the corner. Running to the door, Nina pulled it open and headed down the stairs to guide her visitors to the flat. It was the first time she had ever had friends over.

  “Happy Birthday!” Marina screeched when she saw Nina, and the two girls jumped up and down, giggling and clapping. Pasha and Evgeniy took in the sight, then turned to one another and let out high-pitched squeals in mock excitement. Nina threw her head back at the two boys jumping up and down, clapping their hands in utter silliness.

  “Come up!” she said, opening the door to the stairwell. “I have no idea what has gotten into my mother, but let’s enjoy this evening before she comes to her senses!”

  Marina and Pasha laughed and passed through the door, quickly heading up the stairs. Evgeniy stopped in front of Nina and held up a single, red carnation.

  “Happy Birthday, Ninochka,” he said. “I wish you health and happiness.” Nina blushed and took the flower. She looked up in surprise as Evgeniy took a swif
t step forward, leaned down, and kissed her. His hand reached up and clasped the back of her head, pulling her tighter into him so that she finally gave in and returned the kiss. After a moment, Evgeniy pulled back and looked at her, his face still close. Nina’s heart raced.

  “I wanted to give you your present early,” he said with a smirk. Grabbing her hand, Evgeniy pulled Nina inside and the two walked up the stairs hand in hand. When they got to the fourth floor, they met Pasha and Marina, both of whom stared at them with amusement. Marina locked eyes with Nina, one eyebrow raised. Her eyes twinkled, and she gave Nina a quick thumb’s up. Nina blushed. She pushed open the door of her flat and gestured them all in.

  “Mama!” she called. “Everyone is here.”

  Elizaveta walked out of the kitchen, a large smile pasted on her face. She had changed into her best dress, and piled her hair high on her head, a few brown tendrils falling around her flushed face. She took in the sight of the four young people, her eyes narrowing as they settled on Nina’s flushed face. Her lipstick was smeared, and the boy standing next to her clearly wore what was missing from Nina’s face. Her smile faded for a moment, then she pushed it back into place.

  “Well, come in,” Elizaveta said, gesturing to the set table in the corner. “Please, sit. I am just finishing up a few preparations in the kitchen, and then you may eat.”

  All four kids nodded, then made their way to the small sitting room where they settled on the couch, just a few feet away from the set table. Evgeniy and Pasha stared at the food, swallowing hard as they salivated over the coming meal.

  “Your mother is a little intimidating,” Marina whispered as they scooted up to their places.

  “Tell me about it,” Nina said with a wry smile. “I’ve lived with her my whole life.”

  “What about your Papa?” Marina asked.

  Nina shrugged. “I don’t have a Papa,” she answered. “It’s always just been me and Mama.”

  “Here we go,” Elizaveta said, entering the room with a tray balanced in her hands. Nina gaped as her mother set it down on the table. It was her faience, the red and white tea set that she only pulled out for the most special occasions. It was, perhaps, the finest possession her mother owned. Nina had never been allowed to touch it before. She stared at her mother in wonder, desperately confused by her sudden enthusiasm to entertain.

  Elizaveta set down the tea set. Balanced on the tray, she had also set a small jar of honey, a jar of cherry jam, and a bowl filled with chocolate candies that she’d picked up at the market that morning.

  “Don’t eat the shokolad yet,” she murmured, gesturing to the bowl of chocolates as the kids settled themselves around the table. “It will rot your teeth to eat it before the meal.” Evgeniy tossed Nina a humorous glance as she bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

  “Na Zdarovye,” Elizaveta murmured to each of them. “To your health.” Her eyes lingered on Nina’s for a brief moment, and Nina caught a flash of tenderness, so foreign and strange that she wasn’t certain if she’d truly seen it or not. Then Elizaveta retreated to the kitchen leaving Nina alone with her friends.

  Evgeniy held up his cup and looked across the table at Nina. “Tvoye zdorvye,” he said with a grin. “May you be healthy,” he repeated. They all raised their glasses and took a sip.

  For the next hour, Nina enjoyed a leisurely conversation with her friends as they ate. Pasha and Evgeniy gorged themselves on vereniki with sour cream and bread while the girls nibbled daintily at their own meals. The conversation was interrupted occasionally by one of them offering a toast on Nina’s behalf, a mealtime custom which Nina had never been offered before. Her face soon grew exhausted from the repeated grins.

  At the end of the meal, Elizaveta came back into the room and picked up the Prazhki torte, a thick, chocolate cake that the boys had been drooling over for the entirety of the hour.

  “I will cut this and bring you each back a slice,” she said. Nina wiped her mouth delicately and offered her mother a genuine smile.

  “Thanks, Mama,” she said. Elizaveta smiled back at her daughter and nodded her head. When she’d left the room, Pasha leaned forward.

  “Your Mama isn’t nearly as bad as you’ve made her seem, Nina,” he whispered. Nina shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

  “She’s very different today,” she murmured.

  Evgeniy pushed back from the table and stood up, stretching his arms out to the side. “May I use the bathroom?” he asked. Nina nodded and gestured to the door to his right. He walked behind Pasha’s chair and put one finger up to his lips. He pointed at Pasha and, with a twinkle in his eye, he yanked the chair out from under his friend causing Pasha to crash to the floor. The girls erupted into giggles as Pasha rolled to his knees and jumped up to his feet, turning to face Evgeniy who was doubled over in laughter.

  Pasha cuffed Evgeniy on the back of the neck, his face red with embarrassment and anger.

  “You stupid kulak! I’ll get you for this!” Pasha sputtered.

  Nina jumped at the crash, whirling around to see her mother standing in the doorway, her eyes wide. The tray was at her feet, chocolate torte splayed across the floor. A look of fear crossed Elizaveta’s face, and was quickly replaced with anger.

  “Mama?” Nina asked. “Are you okay?”

  “The party is over,” Elizaveta said. Her eyes were pinned on Pasha who stood mute. Evgeniy had straightened behind him and he fidgeted nervously.

  “I’m sorry, Elizaveta Andreyevna,” Evgeniy began. “It was my fault.”

  Elizaveta held up her hand, silencing the boy. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” she said. Her voice bubbled with a barely restrained fury. “You all need to go home now before it gets too dark.”

  “Mama, please. They were only playing,” Nina pleaded, pushing to her feet.

  Elizaveta’s eyes shifted to Nina’s face. “I said the party is over,” she said, her teeth clenched tight. Nina looked apologetically at her friends as they shuffled to the front door and put on their shoes. She opened the door for them.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” she murmured as they passed by silently. Evgeniy gave her an apologetic glance when he walked past, but Nina didn’t have the energy to even smile in return. She closed the door softly and looked back at her mother who was now down on her knees picking up the shattered plate and crumpled torte.

  “Mama?” Nina began.

  Elizaveta held up her hand and shook her head. “I will clean this up,” she said, her eyes remaining on the floor. “You may go rest.” Silence engulfed both of them briefly before Elizaveta spoke again.

  “Happy Birthday, dochenka,” she said softly. The anger was gone from her voice. Monotone and soft, Elizaveta’s words were masked, hiding any sign of emotion, and forbidding Nina from understanding what her mother could possibly be thinking or feeling.

  Sitting up, Nina shivers. The memory has left her cold and sad, the confusion of that evening settling back on her grown shoulders as easily as it had so many years ago. She remembered going back to her room and sitting on the bed as tears streamed down her face. That was the day she was certain she would never understand her mother, no matter how hard she tried.

  Annie

  Annie punches the number and takes in a deep breath. She presses the phone to her ear and listens to the buzz. Finally, his voice fills her ear.

  “Yo! You missed me. That sucks, doesn’t it? Leave me a message, and I’ll call you back. Unless I don’t want to call you back, in which case you won’t hear from me.”

  Annie fights the urge to roll her eyes. After the beep, she speaks quickly before she loses her nerve.

  “Hey Toby, it’s me.” Her voice shakes. “Call me back, okay? I just want to know if you’re okay.” She tosses the phone onto her bed and walks to the window, looking out over the dimming landscape. Headlights pierce through the grey twilight, making the moisture in the air dance in swirls across Annie’s line of vision until the beams of light turn and the d
ancing droplets disappear, fading back into the nothingness of the impending night air. Annie steps to the side of the window and watches her mother pull into the driveway and put the car in park. Nina sits in the car for a moment before pushing the door open and stepping out. Annie studies her from the safety of her hiding place.

  It wasn’t so long ago that she thought her mother the most beautiful woman in the world. She remembers sitting next to her in the bathroom, watching as she dabbed color across her eyelids, her cheeks, and her mouth. She’d laugh as Nina fussed at her hair, the Russian words spilling from her lips in a tangle of frustration.

  “Be thankful for your amazing head of hair, my child,” Nina would say. “Your father gave you a good gift when he passed that down to you.”

  The smile fades as Nina passes from sight. Annie hears the front door open downstairs, her mother’s keys clanging into the bowl on the table next to the door. She closes her eyes and she can see Nina kicking off her shoes, slipping her feet into her slippers, hanging up her coat, and padding to the kitchen to start dinner, not even pausing for a moment to sit down and breathe.

  Annie leans against the wall, her hand self-consciously rubbing up and down over her stomach. Her pants have gotten tight, though thankfully there still isn’t a noticeable bulge. Annie wonders when it will start to be clear, when the whispers will start trailing behind her as she walks down the hall at school.

  She walks to her bed and squats down, pulling out from underneath it a long, thin, plastic tub. Opening it up, Annie pulls out the stack of letters and sets them to the side. They are the letters her mother gave her on her sixteenth birthday. There are sixteen letters, one written for each year she had been alive. Her mom presented them all to Annie after they had celebrated her birthday quietly at their favorite Italian restaurant. Annie read them all that night before she went to bed, weeping over her mother’s hopes and dreams, her longings for the perfect daughter that she felt she had birthed. She pulls out the letter that her mother wrote to her on her first birthday.