Day 210

Writing exercise

…

It was no one fault that Melinda’s parents died in the accident. It just happened.

The day after she turned fifteen, and faced with losing her brothers and sisters in an unforgiving foster care system, she packed a bag for each and told them that they could take one toy and left.

Joey was 13, Annabel was 11, and Gertie was 9.  The two youngest didn’t understand what had happened to them and wanted to know where Mom and Dad were.

There was no simple answer.

Instead, Melinda had to tell them in no uncertain terms that their lives had changed, and they had to leave. Otherwise, bad people would come and take them away.

It was emphasised by the four cars, lights flashing starkly against the dark night, the police and others coming to take them away.

After that, it was just a trial, sleeping during the day and walking at night.

It took three months.  The plan if anything ever happens to their parents.  Left with the eldest daughter, whom they charged with the responsibility to save their children and go to what Mom had called a safe house.

In Canada.

Three months and seven near misses, knowing everyone was looking for them.  And not all of them with good intentions.

During those three months, Melinda had turned 16.  Her mother had been looking forward to her 16th birthday; they were going to have a celebration.

That morning, after the other three went to sleep, failing to remember the day, Melinda cried.  It felt like it was the end of the world.

Perhaps it was, in a sense.

Now, on the eve of her 18th birthday, the family was safe with their grandparents she had never met or knew about. It was almost like it had been before.

Except she knew it wasn’t.

She would always be looking over her shoulder.  Even after the adjustments, like the change of names, the change of appearance, the learning of a different language and accent, German, to disguise who they had been.

It was time for the others to go back to school and resume their childhood.

For Melinda, watching the sun set behind the trees of her long-gone childhood, life would never be the same. 

“You are sad, my child?”

Her grandmother, Heidi, was a kind and gentle soul, the one who had nurtured and home-schooled them as a mother would.  Adolf, the grandfather, was gruff and angry but sympathetic to their situation.  It was he who had toughened them up by teaching them to survive.

“I never got to experience all those things a young girl does, love, a broken heart, dancing, parties, just being a child, I guess.”

“There is an English expression. Youth is wasted on the young.  The English have an expression for everything.  You may think you have missed those golden years, but you have not.  You simply spent them differently, much better than your contemporaries.  As Adolf would say, come the apocalypse, who do you think will survive it?”

“Do you think there will be one?”

The sun had set, and darkness was closing in.

“Take a look around, smell the aromas of Mother Nature, savour the cool breeze as it rustles gently through the trees.  This will always be here, despite the humans’ efforts to destroy it.”

It was a question she had never dared to ask, and she had impressed upon her siblings that certain questions must never be asked but now seemed to be the time.

“What really happened to my mom and dad?”

The old lady put her arm around her shoulder and hugged her.  “It is not for me to say. It can only be a matter of speculation.  Your grandfather went to your home some months after you arrived and obtained the police report on the accident.  It read like an accident, but details are missing.  There may be reasons why there may not.  I think it’s best not to dwell on the past, Leisl.”

It took a while to remember who she now was, a name she selected herself, from a movie she one saw that made her happy, The Sound of Music.  She used to go around the house and sing that song Sixteen Going on Seventeen while doing her chores.

Now, it was just another distant memory.

“As you wish.  Do you think it’s wise that I leave now?  I mean, the others seemed reconciled, but I will miss them.”

“As they will miss you, but it is not forever.  You must continue your education, and you will be returning during the semester breaks.  It is what your parents wanted for you.”

She had read the letter they had written, one for each of the children.  It explained who the grandparents were and what was going to happen.  It was part of a plan, and she had often wondered if it would have been the same if they had lived.

“But, now, we must celebrate your birthday.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025