the ceiling,
temporarily illuminating the alien room.
Instinctively, I went to the window and
looked out. It never occurred to me that this might be a bad idea.
I just naturally assumed that whoever it was outside could help me.
Down below was a unit of soldiers accompanied by three military
vehicles. But I could see immediately that these were not American
soldiers. The vehicles displayed a flag that I did not recognize
and their uniforms were an urban grey. I caught a few spoken words,
but none of them made any sense. Instinctively, I dropped back down
under the window ledge.
“Did they see you?”
Startled, I turned to see a young girl
crouching by the bedroom door. She was wearing dusty blue jeans and
a tied off blouse with the sleeves ripped off. The jeans didn’t
look like they quite fit her. In fact, I was sure they were cut for
a man. Her hair was tied back revealing a deep scar along her
forehead and her skin was the color of chocolate powder. Beneath
the grime and bruises, I couldn’t tell much about her. She had a
furtive look in her eyes that was set in odd juxtaposition with a
pleading. She was a child, really, lost in this metropolitan
Armageddon. I don’t think she knew whether to trust me or to
run.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Well that was a stupid thing to do.” The
venom in her voice was clear and caught me off guard. She had that
New York inner city teen accent and used expressions that I didn’t
understand nor do I remember well enough to transcribe. The accent
made her accusation all the more forceful.
“I… didn’t realize.”
“You didn’t realize? There hasn’t been an
American unit through here in weeks.”
I didn’t know what to say. The light began to
fade from the room as the soldiers, apparently unaware of our
presence, moved on. As they went, we just sat there staring at each
other, she and I. She was sizing me up, I suppose. I couldn’t
imagine what she must have been through and I suppose she couldn’t
figure out who or what I was.
“Do you have any food?” she asked
suddenly.
I sat frozen for a moment, wondering at this
odd question, and then I remembered the candy bar. It was still in
my pocket and, though it was somewhat melted and bent out of shape,
it was still good. Gingerly, I stepped forward and held it out to
her. She twitched and her right hand went to a knapsack that sat on
the floor next to her. It was the first time I noticed it, a small
silver thing, filthy, with strings for straps. It was like dealing
with a timid animal. Would she bolt? But she had asked for the food
and I soon realized that it wasn’t fear or mistrust that had
stopped her up. It was the presence of a factory wrapped candy
bar.
“Where did you get it?” she asked, as she
studied it, almost completely disregarding my presence except as
the person who can answer the question.
“I bought it,” I answered because it was the
truth.
She laughed. It was a funny little noise,
tainted by her experiences. At one time, it must have been magical,
a little tinkling sound that reverberated just inside one’s ears.
Not now, though. Not anymore.
“You’re shitting me,” she said, then began to
examine me more closely. In fact, she got up from huddling in her
safe spot by the door and approached me. Her expression evolved
from one of disbelief to one of mistrust. “Who are you? You don’t
smell and your clothes are clean and not ripped. You’ve been
outside the city, right? How did you get in and out?”
I didn’t know how to answer these questions.
I didn’t even understand them. How could I explain to her the
truth? Should I even try? I did try.
“My name is Mathew,” I told her when I had
finished spilling the sloppy contents of my story.
She sat there, dumbfounded, searching for the
will to believe me and the truth if she didn’t. Finally, she sat
herself on the bed and tore open the candy bar. She looked at me
once and then took a tentative bite. She smiled.
Two bites
temporarily illuminating the alien room.
Instinctively, I went to the window and
looked out. It never occurred to me that this might be a bad idea.
I just naturally assumed that whoever it was outside could help me.
Down below was a unit of soldiers accompanied by three military
vehicles. But I could see immediately that these were not American
soldiers. The vehicles displayed a flag that I did not recognize
and their uniforms were an urban grey. I caught a few spoken words,
but none of them made any sense. Instinctively, I dropped back down
under the window ledge.
“Did they see you?”
Startled, I turned to see a young girl
crouching by the bedroom door. She was wearing dusty blue jeans and
a tied off blouse with the sleeves ripped off. The jeans didn’t
look like they quite fit her. In fact, I was sure they were cut for
a man. Her hair was tied back revealing a deep scar along her
forehead and her skin was the color of chocolate powder. Beneath
the grime and bruises, I couldn’t tell much about her. She had a
furtive look in her eyes that was set in odd juxtaposition with a
pleading. She was a child, really, lost in this metropolitan
Armageddon. I don’t think she knew whether to trust me or to
run.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Well that was a stupid thing to do.” The
venom in her voice was clear and caught me off guard. She had that
New York inner city teen accent and used expressions that I didn’t
understand nor do I remember well enough to transcribe. The accent
made her accusation all the more forceful.
“I… didn’t realize.”
“You didn’t realize? There hasn’t been an
American unit through here in weeks.”
I didn’t know what to say. The light began to
fade from the room as the soldiers, apparently unaware of our
presence, moved on. As they went, we just sat there staring at each
other, she and I. She was sizing me up, I suppose. I couldn’t
imagine what she must have been through and I suppose she couldn’t
figure out who or what I was.
“Do you have any food?” she asked
suddenly.
I sat frozen for a moment, wondering at this
odd question, and then I remembered the candy bar. It was still in
my pocket and, though it was somewhat melted and bent out of shape,
it was still good. Gingerly, I stepped forward and held it out to
her. She twitched and her right hand went to a knapsack that sat on
the floor next to her. It was the first time I noticed it, a small
silver thing, filthy, with strings for straps. It was like dealing
with a timid animal. Would she bolt? But she had asked for the food
and I soon realized that it wasn’t fear or mistrust that had
stopped her up. It was the presence of a factory wrapped candy
bar.
“Where did you get it?” she asked, as she
studied it, almost completely disregarding my presence except as
the person who can answer the question.
“I bought it,” I answered because it was the
truth.
She laughed. It was a funny little noise,
tainted by her experiences. At one time, it must have been magical,
a little tinkling sound that reverberated just inside one’s ears.
Not now, though. Not anymore.
“You’re shitting me,” she said, then began to
examine me more closely. In fact, she got up from huddling in her
safe spot by the door and approached me. Her expression evolved
from one of disbelief to one of mistrust. “Who are you? You don’t
smell and your clothes are clean and not ripped. You’ve been
outside the city, right? How did you get in and out?”
I didn’t know how to answer these questions.
I didn’t even understand them. How could I explain to her the
truth? Should I even try? I did try.
“My name is Mathew,” I told her when I had
finished spilling the sloppy contents of my story.
She sat there, dumbfounded, searching for the
will to believe me and the truth if she didn’t. Finally, she sat
herself on the bed and tore open the candy bar. She looked at me
once and then took a tentative bite. She smiled.
Two bites
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