Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness
The boom was deafening.
Aleksandr hid his head under his crossed arms. A rattling of chips fell down from the ceiling of the basement where he and his school mates were hiding. You never got used to the missiles, no matter how constant they were. He waited. He waited more. He would outlast those Russian monsters out there no matter how long it took.
One of the young children began crying again. “Mami,” she cried. “I want my mami.” Aleksandr heard the soft voice of a woman as she tried to soothe the child.
No missiles had fallen for ten minutes now and Aleksandr’s neck was really getting a crick in it. Then a ceiling scrap fell directly on his head. He really wanted to burst forth with an expletive, but then, there were the children.
Instead, he peeked out. The crowd was starting to murmur.
“God, that one was closer than ever,” whispered Konstantyn. Certainly, their enemies couldn’t hear them with all the explosions, but instinctively they kept their voices down.
“You got that right,” responded Tatiana. “It’s like when they took out our apartment. It pretty much disintegrated around us. That’s when mother and father and I ran through the snow and dark for the school.”
“Who’s up for some tea?” Jovial old Vasylyi raised his voice. “Come now, it’ll help warm us up.” Vasylyi puttered around a small portable stove to bring a small measure of normal life back to the hiding citizens. "I can offer you many fine choices, nettle tea or apple tea.” He made a show of rolling around a small, withered apple in the pot.
Petr crawled over debris to reach his two friends. His face was dusted with the white powder of shattered plaster. No one said anything because they all had matching faces.
Soon they were each sipping empty food cans of steaming tea.
“Did you know today is my birthday?” Petr inquired.
“Are you sure?” answered Tatiana. “All the days are running together lately.”
“Yeah, I think so. Well, let’s call it my birthday, anyway. I’m thirteen today.”
In the spirit of looking on the bright side, Tatiana asked him, “So, what do you want for your birthday -if you could have anything, I mean.”
“Aside from getting out of here?” Petr snorted. “I’d love to have a big, hot supper.”
“Don’t we all,” responded Konstantyn. “But after that. I’ll get you anything you want.”
Petr got a dreamy look on his face. "A few months ago, all I could dream of getting was a motor scooter. A red one.”
“Like Dmytryi’s?” asked Aleks.
“Well, it would have to be better than that, of course.” Petr was warming up to this fantasy.
“Did I hear my name?” Dmytryi scooted into the group. “You know, I’ve been dreaming of getting a HUGE cannon…”
“Shush, Dmytryi,” chided Tatiana, we’re talking about our dreams before this war.”
Aleksandr began to talk softly. “Before this war, all I could dream of getting was a girlfriend. Anzhelyka. She’s like an angel to me.”
Before this war, such talk would probably have elicited ridicule. But the friends had quickly moved from silly school pranks to Life and Death considerations.
“I sure hope she’s OK, wherever she is.” Aleksandr sniffed and dragged his sleeve across his wet eyes. Tatiana put her arm around him. Konstantyn came in close on the other side.
“We must be grateful for what we do still have,” stated Tatiana seriously. “We have each other.”
What do you dream of, Tatiana?” Dmytryi turned the question to her.
“Well, it goes without saying that we all hope this war ends soon. But beyond that, I always hoped one day I’d be a mother. Now, I’m not so sure it’ll happen.” The lump in Tatiana’s throat threatened to choke her.
“Isn’t it eye-opening,” remarked Konstantyn thoughtfully, “We all had our childhood desires and pursuits. But we’ve all had to grow up suddenly these past weeks. Now the only thing that is important is a square meal, a solid shelter, our parents…”
“Our freedom, our old way of life…” added Petr.
“And the opportunity to grow up and start new life,” finished Aleksandr. “That’s really the most basic need of us all.”
A cold draft whistled through the shattered basement. But for the moment the warmth of friendship kept the icy burning fingers of war at bay.
Aleksandr hid his head under his crossed arms. A rattling of chips fell down from the ceiling of the basement where he and his school mates were hiding. You never got used to the missiles, no matter how constant they were. He waited. He waited more. He would outlast those Russian monsters out there no matter how long it took.
One of the young children began crying again. “Mami,” she cried. “I want my mami.” Aleksandr heard the soft voice of a woman as she tried to soothe the child.
No missiles had fallen for ten minutes now and Aleksandr’s neck was really getting a crick in it. Then a ceiling scrap fell directly on his head. He really wanted to burst forth with an expletive, but then, there were the children.
Instead, he peeked out. The crowd was starting to murmur.
“God, that one was closer than ever,” whispered Konstantyn. Certainly, their enemies couldn’t hear them with all the explosions, but instinctively they kept their voices down.
“You got that right,” responded Tatiana. “It’s like when they took out our apartment. It pretty much disintegrated around us. That’s when mother and father and I ran through the snow and dark for the school.”
“Who’s up for some tea?” Jovial old Vasylyi raised his voice. “Come now, it’ll help warm us up.” Vasylyi puttered around a small portable stove to bring a small measure of normal life back to the hiding citizens. "I can offer you many fine choices, nettle tea or apple tea.” He made a show of rolling around a small, withered apple in the pot.
Petr crawled over debris to reach his two friends. His face was dusted with the white powder of shattered plaster. No one said anything because they all had matching faces.
Soon they were each sipping empty food cans of steaming tea.
“Did you know today is my birthday?” Petr inquired.
“Are you sure?” answered Tatiana. “All the days are running together lately.”
“Yeah, I think so. Well, let’s call it my birthday, anyway. I’m thirteen today.”
In the spirit of looking on the bright side, Tatiana asked him, “So, what do you want for your birthday -if you could have anything, I mean.”
“Aside from getting out of here?” Petr snorted. “I’d love to have a big, hot supper.”
“Don’t we all,” responded Konstantyn. “But after that. I’ll get you anything you want.”
Petr got a dreamy look on his face. "A few months ago, all I could dream of getting was a motor scooter. A red one.”
“Like Dmytryi’s?” asked Aleks.
“Well, it would have to be better than that, of course.” Petr was warming up to this fantasy.
“Did I hear my name?” Dmytryi scooted into the group. “You know, I’ve been dreaming of getting a HUGE cannon…”
“Shush, Dmytryi,” chided Tatiana, we’re talking about our dreams before this war.”
Aleksandr began to talk softly. “Before this war, all I could dream of getting was a girlfriend. Anzhelyka. She’s like an angel to me.”
Before this war, such talk would probably have elicited ridicule. But the friends had quickly moved from silly school pranks to Life and Death considerations.
“I sure hope she’s OK, wherever she is.” Aleksandr sniffed and dragged his sleeve across his wet eyes. Tatiana put her arm around him. Konstantyn came in close on the other side.
“We must be grateful for what we do still have,” stated Tatiana seriously. “We have each other.”
What do you dream of, Tatiana?” Dmytryi turned the question to her.
“Well, it goes without saying that we all hope this war ends soon. But beyond that, I always hoped one day I’d be a mother. Now, I’m not so sure it’ll happen.” The lump in Tatiana’s throat threatened to choke her.
“Isn’t it eye-opening,” remarked Konstantyn thoughtfully, “We all had our childhood desires and pursuits. But we’ve all had to grow up suddenly these past weeks. Now the only thing that is important is a square meal, a solid shelter, our parents…”
“Our freedom, our old way of life…” added Petr.
“And the opportunity to grow up and start new life,” finished Aleksandr. “That’s really the most basic need of us all.”
A cold draft whistled through the shattered basement. But for the moment the warmth of friendship kept the icy burning fingers of war at bay.