The Blue Blanket

Trigger warning: themes of war and mild violence

I was once gifted a blanket by my father. He got it from a street vendor on one of his business trips when I was young. The light blue knit reminded him of the baby blanket he wrapped me in when I first arrived in this world, and so he sent it home, so I could wrap myself in it again, remembering my father when he was in a far off place. 

He is now in a far off place, he has been for a while. My mother told me that an angel took him away, but I have grown too old to believe such stories. I know he was swallowed by the crackling bullets outside. I know that no angel took him safely into their arms. And I know the cold hard dirt we buried him in. 

Some people have told me that they talk to the people that they’ve lost and some say that God does that for them. But I cannot talk. I cannot breathe. Especially at night. 

Nighttime is when the monsters come out. The big tall surly ones that speak in foreign slur. Mother holds me down and covers my mouth when we hear their feet-or think we hear them. 

So I cannot talk to him and I cannot talk to God. They would not hear me through the rumbling of the earth, anyway. 

But when I am scared and when I am desperate I hold that old blue blanket as close to me as I can; baby again, held again. Fetus, baby, girl, fetus, baby. Whisper it again and again and again through the sound of their screams. Fetus, baby, girl, fetus, baby. 

One day the earth grows tired the rumbling stops. 

“Zaychenya- quick Zaychenya, fill this bag.” Mother’s eyes are full of something bright but sad. She hands me a small school bag I used to wear every day. 

“Mother, fill with what?” 

She’s piling old photo books on our small dining table. She stops, but only for a moment, and then starts taking out the photos. 

“What do you love the most? What can you not live without?” Her eyes are watery as she peels photos from their page. 

It is a baffling question. People cannot live without food and water- I have learned this from the skinny bodies on the streets. A can of beans makes its way to the bottom of the bag. 

But what if I need to brush my teeth and do not have a toothbrush? Mother will get mad at me if I don’t bring it. I follow the short path towards the bathroom. 

On the bathroom shelf there stands the bottle of mother’s perfume my father gifted her. It smells of powder and roses. I want her to smell beautiful like she did with father, so I take it down from the shelf. 

There are also my slippers that I use to try to wear on my feet to school. They are bunny shaped and covered in soft fluff. Mother and father got mad at me when I made them dirty with mud, maybe she wouldn’t care if she knew they were one of the things I could not live without. They fit at the bottom of my bag; I lay the small perfume bottle between them as to not let it break and leak all over the place. 

In the old rose garden where Mrs. Andrich used to live I would play with my stuffed animals. They lay in a line in my makeshift bedroom now; Alisa the zebra with the black glass eyes, Yana the bear is flopped over next to the giraffe Fedir, and next to Fedir there is Katernya who is a bunny with silky ears and velveteen buttons. If I only put one in my bag the others they would feel lonely and left out. They are all my friends, and we have had so many meaningful conversations. 

Fedir and Alisa are in love and if they were to be separated then I would be the reason for their pain. They met when they were young and still fresh and new. If they should part now I too would break my heart that no one can have a happy ending. And then there is Yana and Katernya who have tea together every Sunday and if I didn’t take them in my bag then they might miss their weekly tradition. Both of them look forward to it every week. As the earth rumbles and crackles they find dignity in their meetings, and what is the world without dignity? 

I shove them all in my bag, though it's hard to fit them all in, and I have to hit them to make enough room. As I am already in my bedroom I look around into all my little boxes and drawers filled with my things. There are pretty rings and bracelets that I made from corn husks. In the closet there is my favorite dress, it’s floral pattern still vibrant against the collecting dust. 

On the rug I collect the things together. I look for a while, staring at the pile and then sorting them into different smaller piles. One pile is for jewelry, one is for clothing, one is for small things, and one is for bigger things. I take out the stuffed animals, perfume, and can of beans and then place them into some of the piles. 

I cannot pick which ones I should place in the bag. They are all loved, and I remember each moment in which I got them. The school bag seems to shrink smaller and smaller as I look through the piles. 

Fedir and Alisa look knowingly at me, they tell me that I should organize the things in the bag to make them all fit. They always have such intelligent ideas, they are truly made for each other. 

The stuffed animals go in first this time; they are not fragile, and I know that they will not break like the corn husk jewelry or mother’s perfume. Again I hit them down into the bag. And then the slippers, but this time I put the perfume into the hole where my foot goes. In the other slipper I put some jewelry, trying not to crush it. My dress goes on top of everything; push into the sides of the bag, using every empty hollow to fill it with. 

The zipper moves slowly across the bag and I have to yank it harshly for every inch that it goes. It manages to zip up though it looks like a balloon about to pop. But mother told me to fill it up, and I did what she said so she can not complain about it. 

She is still at the table when I come back to plop the bag next to her. Her cheeks are glistening, and her hand is on her forehead. 

“Mother why are you sad?” I crawl into her lap. 

“I am not sad Zaychenya, I am not sad.” She repeats it, stroking my hair. 

I don’t understand why she is lying to me. People don’t cry when they are not sad. Mother never cries when she’s happy. I try to look at her, but she captures my head in her soft dress. “You are crying mother, why are you crying?” 

She heaves. “We are going on a little trip Zaychenya. I am just excited - you love vacation, don’t you? Remember that time when we went to Poland? Remember when we saw those beautiful birds and papa made that funny joke about the stuffed bear?” 

I do remember. The air smelled like sweets and there were so many colorful buildings. Father taught me how to catch a fish in the river there, and we played a fun ball game with my cousins. 

“Are we going back to Poland?” I smile in delight. 

“Yes, yes Zaychenya.” She strokes my hair some more. “And we must go now. We must leave.” 

“Ok mother. Do I get to take my bag?”

“Yes, Zaychenya, you get to take the bag.” 

I spring up from her lap and lace up my boots, grabbing my browned jacket. Mother grabs a small hand held suitcase. I cannot wait to go to Poland. It is so noisy here and there is nowhere to play. My cousins have a large house and there are rolling green hills in every direction. Yana and Katernya would love to have tea parties there. 

Mother grabs my hand and opens the door, it is dusk now, and quiet. We are almost out the door when I remember the blue blanket. I can not go anywhere without it; it is like taking a piece of father with me wherever I go. He loved Poland and I know he would hate to be left out. 

“Zaychenya- get back here!” my mother whisper shouts. She is angry. She is always angry when we are late to go somewhere. 

I rush to grab the blanket and run back to the door. 

“You can not bring that, you can only bring your backpack.” There is a stern look on my mother’s face, the same one that appears when I don’t do my chores. 

“I’m cold.” I lie. 

Mother checks her watch and her face becomes still. “Fine. But we must go quickly.” 

She pulls my arm as we scamper through the streets. I want to tell her it hurts, but I am too out of breath. 

We reach the forest at the edge of the village after something that feels like an hour. There is a man standing there, a man who looks almost as scared as mother. 

They stop to share a couple of whisper shouts and then mother starts to pull me again, this time into the forest. 

We run until my head grows dizzy, and my feet feel like they are going to fall off. I wish father was here to carry my backpack. The bones in my back are probably going to break because of the weight of it. 

"Stop.” The man finally signals us to a halt. I throw down my pack and sit on the damp soil. It is cold so I pull the blanket tighter around me. 

There is a rustling in the brush and we all freeze. Mother has a hand over my mouth. 

The man pulls out a gun and my whole body gets cold. I have heard them crack, but I have never seen them before, and I am worried the black hole will take me like it took father. My mother only holds me tighter and presses her hand firmer over my mouth. 

The next few seconds feel endless, my heart barely beats. 

Then a man and crack-

Tall, scary, monster. 

The blanket gets tighter as my eyes squeeze close - fetus, baby, girl, fetus, baby-

Another crack and this time I feel hot tears flow down my face. Monster hits man and man hits monster. Monster kicks away man’s gun and then my blanket is off of me-

Mother runs to the man and shoves the blanket over his face and then man gets up with the big black hole and-

Crack.

There is nothing. No one moves. I cry and scream like a baby- I want to shut up, but I can’t. 

There is blood pooling on father’s beautiful blue blanket where the man’s face is supposed to be. Mother steps back in horror but quickly slams her hand over my mouth again. It feels like I’m crying blood everything hurts. 

“We must go- we are almost there, and then they will take you over the border.” The man helps us up. “We must run quickly, he was not supposed to be this far out.”

The man takes my bag as my mother hauls me into her arms. She runs - they run. 

Everything blurs. 

All I see as I look back is my father’s blanket filling with crimson. I try to yell, but my mother’s hand holds firm. 

There is nothing left in my body. 

I just want to go home.