Aveline on the Home Front

Four Weeks Later... 6:15 AM

There were five other bombs dropped that night, eight in total. With every explosion, I became more relieved and more scared. More relieved that we hadn't been hit, more scared that we were next.

I couldn't sleep soundly for weeks. Every night, I had nightmares. Maman let me sleep in her bed, holding on to her as if my life depended on it.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," she would whisper. Now I knew better.

Two buildings in our neighborhood had been destroyed, and forty-three people died in total. They had already begun reconstruction, but the damage was extreme, and the process was slow. Many people in our village were left temporarily homeless, and many had left to live with relatives or to look for housing in the city nearby. Every day when I walked to school I saw them, out on the streets, cold, sick, hungry, dirty, displaced. I wanted to do something to help them, but Maman was right when she explained that if we can barely care for ourselves, we aren't in a position to be helping others. Still, I gave the homeless kids bits and pieces of my lunch and let them borrow my books at school since theirs had been destroyed.

I was scared all the time now. Not only at night, and of loud noises, but all the time, and of everything. I didn't like to walk alone to school; I kept looking over my shoulder for soldiers and spies. If they were able to bomb our towns, weren't they able to appear one day, with their guns and grenades, and blast us all away? Maman tried to comfort me, tell me that we were still safe here and they wouldn't bomb us again. I didn't believe her. I wanted to, I told myself I did, but deep down I couldn't. Our home used to be safe, and peaceful, and perfect, but it had transformed. When Papa left for the army, he said he was fighting to protect us. But we weren't protected here, or anywhere. We wouldn't be, not until this God-awful war was over.

One Saturday morning, exactly four weeks after the bombing, I walked out onto the balcony in my nightgown. It was almost April now, and the sun warmed my skin. I looked over the railing for the postman, who came very early, and waited for him to arrive. I watched him walk up to the mailboxes and pull out a stack of letters. He opened the slots and slid them in, one by one.

A letter for Miss Gladie, one for Miss Fontaine, and... wait... did he put an envelope in our mailbox? Maybe I saw it wrong. I'm so far away, that's probably what happened. That must be what happened. "Maman! Maman!!! Postman left us a letter!" I called springing inside. Don't get your hopes up, I told myself, sprinting down the stairs. But it was too late. I was exhilarated. Luckily, I wasn't disappointed. Our prayers had been answered.