FEELINGS

I had a funny dream last night - said grandpa to me – that we were fighting in pyjamas! - almost crying of laughter.

- But grandpa – making him remember - we are just going out from a war, that we lost due to the government policies. And too many people have been killed under the terrible enemy's motto : “ kill them as if they were your prey in a hunting “ .

- Yes. I know. But this holocaust has not finished yet. Not completely. 

- It’s true. But many others are supposed to come back…

- Are they ? – he asked me, without realizing it – ooooh yes! That’s absolutely right - finally remembering, I guess. – so, that is why we need to do something for it. 

- What do you mean? 

- Help our local soldiers to come back home safe and sound. Or what else could we do ?

- I have no idea – scratching my long and braided blond hair – you Know what ? I heard there is a war stand in the square.

- About what ?

- Volunteering – passing my hands over the pages of a notebook. 

- Volunteering? That is a fantastic idea! You could work as a volunteer, doing something like … let me say , well, you know, do something ! – as a matter of fact, he did not know exactly what to say , but he ended the conversation with an easy way out : 

- Do it, dear ! – as I was just completing my adulthood.

- Yes, pa.

- And do not worry about your mother, cause I will convince her about it.

- Fine.

That same night, I took the notebook again. 

- Should I write something in this blank papers? 

Maybe. Yes. Maybe I should do it – thinking about many starting sentences, like the classic “ dear journal " up to more elaborated quotes for the beginning of a novel ( why not ?), with dragons and princes in the plot.

As I could not make up my mind, I insisted on having it mixed.

Dear journal : 

The expected domestic riot during lunch in my castle did not happened, as my mother, the queen, had travelled to the house of her mother, the mother queen.

My father, the king of the castle, was having a meeting somewhere else. 

So, the same afternoon I went to the royal bridge that crossed the stream two blocks down from our mansion, in the upper east side of the unique street that this village has.

And I am writing for you while I am sitting on a pebble, in the middle of the waiting.

Guess what was the first thing I saw when I arrived there ? 

Obviously, it was a huge queue of people, hanging national flags – after all, the majority of the people considerthe big a volunteer as a romantic way to serve the nation during a war.

The notice board hanging on a tree was saying  - yes ! I copied the text, literally: 

“ we need volunteers to go to the battalion in the frontier between the two fighting countries" ‘ said the leaflet glued on that almost.

As I read, I saw immediately that it was something really exciting , don’t you think so, dear journal ?

So, I walked myself to the information booth, under a tupik .

I stood in a row of only eight unknown candidates, but the queue was advancing fast, so I just got it easy .

It was my time to give my identification, blood type, and buy the uniform, and other stuff like a thermometer, cotton balls and bandage set – wait a moment ! – I exclaimed , worried about the date that I have not written on you, dear journal , because I think I was really out of myself , sl much that I had to ask myself : are we still in war ? Wasn’t it over ? Why are they giving me all these things? What for? The armistice was already signed !!!

Anyway, I was there, fully-motivated to do something for people , or, maybe, for me.

I was going to have a fast free training in the volunteering canva, and I was ready to do volunteer work with all the returning soldiers from war.

At that exactly moment, I saw a handsome , blue-eyed and blond man getting into the tent.

He was carrying papers, and a stethoscope.

- I bet he is the coach ¡ - I bet.

- Good afternoon to all brave young people that answered to our call …..

I think I did not listened to him, as I was baffled with his height - so tall! – and his broad shoulders.

He was so handsomely bright and gorgeous ¡ 

I think I fell for him in that exactly moment, dear journal .

At the end of the speech, he left the wigwam, disappearing 

And I went to the battalion, thinking that it would be nice to have him in.my battalion.

When I arrived there, surprise! 

The coach was there, waiting at the entrance with some papers in his hand, waiting for all the new volunteers to arrive.

What’s your name? – he asked me, politely. 

- Susan,Susan Brown – I answered, emotionally speaking. 

- Yap! Get in.

- Thank you ¡ 

- You look familiar…Aren’t you the  granddaughter of the old grandpa that lives two blocks from here ? 

- Mr. Brown? – I asked,  a bit curious about the answer that I would hahave.Well, I think am – and we smiled at each other.

- Fine. But call me Pete, I am Peter Tonk – and he offered me his hand to shake it, in a sign of friendship.

I shook his hand as well, like a princess shakes the foot of an enchanted toad .

And went to the wigwam , where I had to start working with the coming back soldiers.

- You bring water and plaster – I heard a voice telling me, just behind my haversack.

It was him!

(Thanks holly father! )

He was a doctor.

And was giving orders to the rest of the volunteers- who vastly granted him.

 Put on that table, next to the suture material and put everything back in its place, the volunteer instructed me, whose face was covered with a sheet for one more death.

He was standing just behind me, with a soldier laying on a bed.

So close ! 

And he said to me : 

- You put two packs of plaster with one of water.

 Like bread dough. Turn. Do not dry.

 Well! You help to lift his leg. Do not move your leg. I turn the brush and you wet it with plaster.

 And wet it, making the plaster drip.

 I had my mind set on it, because I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of my boss.

 - Good! The boss said, putting his hand on my shoulders.

 And I confess, I liked it.

 The movement of people in that yurt was constant.

- Wounded soldier! Wounded soldier! .- the other volunteers shouted , and I seriously thought that we really were in war  despite the armistice signed by both countries the day before.

- Help!

 Those screams, that confuses, all that was what was heard the most in that tent, erected especially to attend to the soldiers.

- After plastering, I went to wash my hand in the barrel, thinking that:

- First, I saved the soldiers, and then, in that order, I had to save my superiors during the attack of the enemies  something that lasted not more than one day. 

I remember that. It happened a week ago, when the enemies were invading the coast, without invitation. 

That day, dear journal , my teammates were really scared, and the bombing to the tents that we were in, was scary, so I helped my wounded friends with bandages, blood supplying, and specially hugs to the majority of them that escaped from the attack – as most of them started to shake and shiver due to fear.

 -fear?

 Yes.

 And he hold onto my hand – dear journal , I swear my stomach twisted inside my body and my heart wanted to get out from.my chest - with some plaster still on.

 -Come on, let's take a soldier to the emergency service.  -Don't you help? He asked me.

 -Of course I do! - Diverting the talk to the other side.

 I looked at him carefully.

 Don't be afraid! He said to me, and left the yurt .

 I imagined that he probably saw fear in my eyes, the normal thing in a war:

 Fear, disgust, horror, fear, compassion, sadness, doubt and how much more it feels when your life hangs by a thread!

 He went back into the wikiup , and his slanted eyes met mine.

 You help! - he said, proving my innocent indifference.

 Look:

 A soldier was bleeding insistently, to which the witch chief decided to close the wound with stitches

- Suture material? – I offered, looking at his precise movements that enhanced his inner beauty.

- Yes. You bring.

 Happily, it was still on the table next to the cast.

 After suturing, the surprisingly witch chief left all the dirty material behind.

 He had to wash and clean with strong disinfectants, so as not to spread any contagious disease.

- Now, you bring soldier things – he asked me.

So, I brought i the soldier's belongings: a bible, a stale bread, a handkerchief, a photo of a woman with a child on her skirt.

 Will it be his family? his wife? your son?

- Yes – he replied, gently. 

- Do you know them?

 - No.

- So…

- I know everything.

 I looked into his eyes again, emotional and deeply lost inside his smile.

- You don't understand! He told me

 It was true. I didn't understand it.

 And that was the moment, when we just put the soldier sitting on a chair to recover, the chief's shirt opened with the effort made.

 - He's a man! I said

 The boss more witch than ever, and reading my thoughts again, he laughed.

 Ashamed, I went to help a volunteer who could not open the autoclave.On my return, I could see that the hair of the non-witch-but-god chief shone with the light of the flashes of the bombardment, his naturally yellow skin shone with the heat of more than forty degrees that it was in those places.

 And more than a half-open surgical pajamas that showed the splendor of his triangular thorax, I was struck by what, strangely, he stooped and smiled at each volunteer or soldier who passed by, many of them hiding in the trenches.

 Good morning doctor, all the volunteers and nurses of the battalion greeted you.

 His surgery pajamas are pink.

- I know.

- I'll close it! The blue-eyed, light-haired volunteer from the training offered offered, who recognized me but couldn't waste time with "a curmudgeon" like me - they won't believe me but that's how he told me I was in comparison to the other volunteers who

- They scented themselves and gave him bread and jam, and he was also a real heartthrob for the volunteers.

- You say. Have staff?

- Not! We have two casualties and a volunteer who went to the west battalion.

- You take care of soldiers from another batayon. We care here.

- Okay.

 He also bent down and greeted him with the most open and frank smile I had ever seen in my life, while he wiped his hand of the blood that came out of it: a splinter from the last bombardment had grazed his hand, cutting it.

- I clean his blood, I offered in a Samaritan way, dear journal , with a piece of cotton and alcohol.

- Grace, he said, looking deep into my eyes, again.

I fell for him.

But, can you.imagine, dear ? That in the same.mkment that I was so close to him.that I was almost kissing him, a volunteer came, shouting.

- Bomb !, the volunteer interrupted , laughing, as it was not true.

My boss smiled at me, took my hands and said.

- Stay here. – near the entrance of the tent.

I stayed, while he was taking some papers and giving orders to the volunteers.

When he came back, he took my hands again.

And kissed me.

I could not believe in it.

But, oh God! 

I liked it, with all my heart and my feelings.