It used to
be quiet on my street before they came. Over there, by the corner, I used to
meet Arash and we would go down to the park, or over to the store for a soda if
we had a dollar. I would wave to the widow in the end apartment, who was
forever sitting on her porch knitting. I can just barely see her porch now,
through the boards covering my window. Her old rocking chair is still sitting out
there, sitting empty, slowly rocking and waiting for an owner whom isn’t coming
back. She was one of the first to go when they came in there jeeps. Shouting
orders at one another in strange accents I could barely understand. We all ran
back into our houses then. I didn’t see what happened. I was cowering under the
table. Arash said she just kept rocking, kept sitting there in that old chair,
until one of them came over and screamed at her. And when she didn’t move he
splattered her brains across that porch she loved so much and threw her body
into the gutter.
They came into the houses, one by one, searching for god
knows what. They took all the boys aside. They told us that it was time for
change. That they were bringing us a new life, a better life. That there would
be a life of peace, and we all we had to do to realize it was help them with
there war. They told us to come with them. Arash said he didn’t want to. One of
the men took Arash by the arm and led him away. I still don’t know what
happened to him. Later, much later, I learned that boys who chose not to join
were often killed. But I didn’t see it happen. When I’m up here, the cold rifle
in my hands, peeking through the boards covering my bedroom window, I like to
imagine that Arash is still out there somewhere. That he got away, that maybe
he even found that land of peace the men are always talking about. That maybe
on another street somewhere, things are still unchanged. But on our street the
peace is gone. Shattered by the men who came and told us that we had to earn
the peace we already had. And so I sit here, holding the rifle, watching the
end of the street for the men in green and black. And waiting. Waiting for my
street to change back to the way it used to be.
