My Angel
By Reut
Its Purim! All year long I've been waiting for that day. I'll have the prettiest costume. I'm gonna be dressed like an angel. Yoav laughed at me, that even under the costume he can see the red horns, and I yelled at him to shut up, and that he's a devil himself.
Only 5am and I'm up already, too excited to go back to sleep. Only 3.5 hours till I can wear my costume and go to school. I can't wait, wondering what costumes the other kids will wear.
6am. I woke Yoav up. He got mad that I woke him up so early. I told him I wanted to go buy something for the costume. I wanted it to be perfect. He told me to ask Mom and Dad. So I woke them up too. But they have to go to work, damn...Yoav will take me. Dad said he would drive us to the bus station and we'd take the bus from there. Damn..till this bus gets there...I hate waiting, can't it come already? I'm so excited! Here it comes- but it was so full of people. Good thing I'm little and I managed to find a seat at the back of the bus.
Sunday morning. Everyone looks so normal, and I want to jump from happiness. Its Purim! Soon I'll go to school with my pretty costume. Yoav has had it with my babbling, and he tells me "its just a costume, stop making such a big deal out of it. Look, because of you we're on this crowded bus now-----"
I didn't hear the rest of the sentence. A big blast tore the bus. Like on tv, just louder and scarier. And real. I didn't understand what was going on. I Wanted to scream, but the words didn't come out. I just heard many people scream...And blood...What am I doing here? I want to go home..mommy...I want to go home..Where's Yoav? I can't see him- where is he??? Is he ok??? He was sitting next to me and now....And my hand hurts, I can't move it....And blood all over me...Mine? Not mine? Where is he...? I can't move. I'm scared....There's fire...Bodies...Is it a bombing? It can't be. Just last week there was a bombing...On the same bus..It can't be...
And then he came, and took me in his arms and carried me out of the bus. Thank god, he's ok. He didn't get hurt too bad...My hero brother took me out of the burning bus...What if he weren't there? It's all my fault. It's my fault we got on this bus.
I don't remember what happened later. I fainted. So much blood....And crying, and screams. And then sirens of ambulances and police. And he's still by my side, taking me to the ambulance. I was only slightly injured, as they call it. And then the hospital, and Mom and Dad, hysterical but so happy to see us.
Out of all the people there who died or were critically injured, we were both so lucky. He told me, a few weeks later, that it's as if we got our lives back that day, as a gift - and that's why we should appreciate them more now. He was only 16.5...and so responsible..he saved me actually.
The day after, there was a bombing in Dizingof Center in Tel Aviv. Mom turned the tv off and said "Dont watch it." But why does it matter? I've already seen it all. All the horror. Even the pictures that they don't show on tv. I've seen it all, and I'll never be able to forget.
It still comes back to me sometimes, in nightmares or after bombings. It takes me back to that bombing, the bombing I survived. With lots of luck. And with my brother...my hero brother.
And I always think of him, of what he told me then. His serious, loving eyes, that showed me how much he cared about me. His eyes, that made me feel safe wherever I went. He was there then, he saved me, and I thought he would always be there. He still is, in a way. My guardian angel.
Something in me exploded that day, maybe the innocence. Maybe I realized that there's so much evil in this world...And I have got nothing to do about it...nothing! It's so depressing, and feels so helpless. Please...I can't take another bombing...not tomorrow, or after tomorrow, or ever. I can't see people die. Funerals. If it wasn't my country I'd get out of here. But some things are stronger than pain and fear.
Eight and a half years later, I don't think about it everyday. Repressing the pictures till they come up again, maybe in the next bombing, maybe just because..
I wish I could forget, but I can't.
It's been eight and a half years and Purim will never be the same. And I won't dress up like an angel. My angel is not here with me anymore. My angel, he died in Lebanon two and a half years later.
Write to Reut at write@ttt.org.il
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