Revolution

Almost six years later, we lost everything. Sometime in 1905 momma had lost her job and we moved farther east. We lived together, alone in a small town until the winter of 1906. That year momma died. We never knew what happened to our father, but from what we were told, he had gone away, far away. Mica and I were on our own, alone and unknowing at the time of what had happened to momma. We were alone that winter until the spring of 1907 when our neighbors came knocking. They had been the ones who found our momma dead in the snow. They loaded us in their small car and drove us away. The snow was still melting on the ground and roads as we left town. After a half a day’s ride, we came to a grey building on the outskirts of Moscow or that’s what I think I heard. The place looked shabby and dark with the steel bars on the windows and vacant aura.

“I don’t want to go in there,” Mica had pleaded with the family and myself. His now bright, ice blue eyes looked terrified. I grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“It’s alright,” I murmured in his ear, “as long as we are together.”

“Come on,” said the man. He rubbed his beard and looked at us with a quizzical look, “you’ll be taken care of here.” He unloaded us from the car as the woman took ahold of our shoulders. She led us to the steps and up to the front door where an elderly woman stood. She gazed at us with dark eyes. Her closed, thin mouth did not open as she turned back in to the dreary place. A sign on the wall read, “Home for Orphans” and Mica began to whimper. Inside was no different than the look outside. It was cold and damp. The smell of dirt and urine was strong on the ground floor. The walls were painted grey and the wood flooring creaked at every step.

“I don’t like it here,” he said, “I want to go home.” I pulled his small, skinny frame closer to mine and hummed a tune that momma used to sing to us. I was too much of a coward to tell him that we could not and would never be able to go back home. I wanted to protect him from what was going to happen, but realization dawned on him when we saw dozens of other faces poking out from the caged windows. The children here looked underfed and dirty. They were just like us and we were just like them. The elderly woman opened a door and the shuffling of children moving could be heard from just outside.

“Here will do,” she commented dryly. She grabbed my arm and pulled me in along with Mica. The woman from the car was nowhere in sight. I moved us to an unoccupied corner of the room. I sat us down and let Mica cry.

“They’re going to take us away,” he cried as he voice broke and climbed a few octaves. “They’re going to separate us.” My heart began to break at his frightened face.

“Don’t worry,” I cooed, “I won’t let them separate us. I promise.”