Good luck homing pigeon

Chapter ten: To retrieve a piece of my heart.

The next morning I awoke, treating the beginning of my day just like any other. I woke up to the sound of the block leader's fist, banging on the head-boards. I stood outside from five AM in the morning, awaiting the end of roll call. And before we began our gruelling shifts in the work huts, I swallowed my coffee quickly; pretending that the dishwater we swallowed was just coffee after all. On the outside I was my composed, normal self. But on the inside I was barely holding in my excitement. Tonight, I'd be taken over to the other side of the camp; the men's camp. I'd get the chance to find my best friend after three months. And, most exciting of all, I could be a part of something big. Something important. Oh, I knew I was over-estimating this, but after weeks and weeks of just working, sleeping and doing nothing, I had to put my hopeful thoughts somewhere. Where else could I put them, but my own, fanciful imagination?

If Briana took notice of my excitement, she certainly didn't say anything as I worked on; popping lens after lens out of glasses frames, more quickly than usual. Alina looked curious, but she too said nothing as she took the metal frames from me and sorted them, according to the make. Antonia just looked at me and smiled; perhaps she admired the fact that during such a dismal job, I could find something to be happy about. I really did appreciate Antonia's prescience at the moment; without mama here with us, it was reassuring to have another close, mother-figure, watching over us all. Even if Angelo was my best friend, Antonia had always been like an aunt to me. She had that understanding nature, and upmost discretion you just couldn't help but love and value. As for Sandrine however, her habit of interrogating could scare the wits out of anybody.

"What are you so happy about?" She pounced, as soon as we'd gone outside for our lunch break. "I've seen you smiling every now and again, when you think nobody notices. What are you plotting, hmm? Mystery? Mayhem? Murder?"

I laughed, actually laughed at her comment! God, Sandrine really did have a wild imagination.

"Nothing of the sort," I chuckled quietly, "I was just...thinking about someone, that's all. And old friend."

"Is it a he? Is he handsome? Tell me!"

"Yes it's a he and...yes, I think he's handsome." Well, he was, wasn't he? To me, he was just the right kind of handsome. "He's over in the men's camp, so I haven't seen him since we came here."

"I don't understand," Sandrine looked at me with a furrowed brow. "Every time I think of my sweetheart, it makes me a little sad, not knowing whether he's alive or dead. But I still hope. What makes you smile so?"

"I don't think about what might happen," I said, "I think of all the good that already has."

She took in what I said for a moment. It was strange for me too; I'd never talked about Angelo to her before, but rather kept the memories selfishly to myself. But then, it wasn't as if I could talk to any of my other friends back at home about him; they already knew Angelo all too well, and it seemed almost like an entire lifetime ago. And besides, although I loved all of my current friends, Sandrine wasn't the kind of friend you'd have within school, or singing lessons. She was more than that. She was a friend you could survive with; the kind you swore blood-oaths of friendship with, and no matter what happened, you looked out for one another as if you were sisters. It made Briana angry, I knew that. But as long as I was old enough, I felt perfectly entitled to have friends of my own, outside of our relationship. After all, she had plenty of friends back at home who'd rather stare at a bare wall than talk with me.

"So who is he?" She asked, again. "Is he your boyfriend or just a friend?"

There it was again-not boyfriend, but more, so much  more than just my friend. When we were children, he was my brother in all ways possible. He couldn't really be  anybody else! We were young, innocent and still able to smile and have fun. When we saw each other naked, it meant nothing. When we wrestled together in the cool soft grass, it meant nothing. And even when our mother's placed us in the same bed to sleep for the night, it still meant nothing more than what we perceived it to be. Childhood innocence. And now, because of the fact we'd been separated for so long, all I had left to do to hold on to him was think, think, think about him. And while it wasn't as if I was permitted to...fantasize or anything like that, it didn't stop me from questioning myself. My feelings.