Ask Me ..... How i know there's a God up in the heavens!

Chapter 11 - Live to Tell

I waited (rather impatiently) for sleep to set in while my mind wandered to Ivan. He was a kid I knew who came over from Russia with his brother on some medical exchange program. Yuri had cancer and as a good will gesture, he was brought to Children's Hospital of Buffalo for treatment.

I have a tale to tell, some times it gets so hard to hide it well. I started humming as the words to one of Ivan's favorite American songs came to mind. Oh yes, Ivan certainly had a tale to tell. Sadly to say, we both shared the same tale. "The light that you could never see, it hides inside you can't take that from me." I mumbled along as I tried to remember the words. Funny how I haven't thought about Ivan in what seems like years. I sighed as I wondered where he was now and what he was doing. "A man can tell a thousand lies, I've learned my lesson well, hope I live to tell the secret I have learned; till then, it will burn inside of me."

I met Ivan at an ice rink up in the city over Christmas break of 198? ... something. I'd gone up with my cousins and just could not help but notice this kid with a down jacket and big fur hat on. He was kind of a strange looking young teen boy; culturally confused maybe, with his Levi jeans, Buffalo Bills coat and CCCP sweatshirt - not to mention his 'comrade' hat. He struggled with English and I guess since I always liked foreigners, we became fast friends.

Ivan and Yuri stayed with the brother of their deceased mother, in a tiny apartment not too far from the hospital. Uncle Victor was a raging drunk and Ivan would come to school with mysterious bruises every so often. He showed up almost literally on my door step one Saturday morning, all alone with two black eyes. That was the beginning of the end of our local Dr. Zhivago saga.

I was on a quest of my own that day. After spending nearly a year in counseling and sneaking around the self-help section of the bookstore while my parents were in the mall; I found a title I just couldn't live without. The Courage to Heal - women survivors of child sexual abuse. I wanted to see if I could get my 15-year-old self onto a bus, up into the city, out to the mall and back home again with my little treasure of recovery contraband stuffed in my big coat. It was spring time and I had $25 in Easter money; which I knew was enough for the book (since I scoped out the price earlier that week upon my parents excursion to the antique show) and a snack.

It was early that morning and I was about to embark upon my mission, when I passed the school playground and saw a familiar form sitting on one of the swings. Right then, I knew something was wrong, for I'd never seen Ivan in my neck of the woods before. I hesitated a moment or two before I went over to check out the situation. What was I going to do about my book now? I began to question, since I was still too ashamed to let Ivan in on the dirty little secret that sometimes happens in America. Little did I know, Ivan had a secret of his own.

I floundered back and forth wondering if I should wait on the book as I walked up to Ivan; greeting him with as cheery of a hello as I could manage. He was sitting there with tears running out of his blackened eyes and nervous hands clinging to something in the pocket of his favorite jacket he'd brought from Russia. I looked at him a minute, almost afraid to ask what happened when he suddenly blurted out something about the police.

In a furry of rage and tears, Ivan started screaming about how he hated America and wanted to go back home where he was safe and bad things didn't happen. I only stood in shock and watched. I'd seen a few, more subdued episodes of these tantrums in the past couple of months, but never understood why he so favored a country all of us Americans perceived to be so oppressed and backwards? I always thought it was just the jealous rantings of a confused little boy spouting communist propaganda when something flew out of his pocket that suddenly shed some light on why he despised America so much.

I reached out and snatched it up when I noticed a look of sheer terror flash across Ivan's face. What is this your hiding? I wanted to know as he chased me around the playground trying to retrieve what I thought was just a piece of paper. I stopped and turned around when I discovered Ivan suddenly become frantically preoccupied with grabbing up the other little pieces of paper that had fluttered out of his pocket. I looked down at the object in question and it was then that I realized, it was a Polaroid photograph of... him.