Lay low

Later on in the evening we learn that the front line has passed us. Sasha’s uncle tells us both that we’re lucky because there wasn’t any fighting on our street, and that we haven’t been bombed or shelled again. I guess he’s right, but it’s hard to feel lucky when you’re in occupied territory.

A few days into the occupation I see something out of the window that gives me cold chills. A grey car moving along the street. A grey car bearing an iron cross on the side of the door. A car filled with enemy soldiers. They’re going fast enough that I don’t get to look at them for long, but it’s long enough to fill me with feelings of both disgust and fear at the same time. We live in their world now.

We scarcely leave the apartment for the next few weeks, especially Sasha and I. Her uncle goes out a few times for food and other supplies. I hold my breath every time and hope that he returns.

They’re out there. I see them patrolling the streets from time to time from the window, in their dreadful uniforms and their black leather boots. Seeing them with their guns makes me shiver. They walk up and down the streets like they own them, and they do. Knowing that they have all the power gives me a knot in my stomach. They can do anything they want, and they have the power to kill.

Being in hiding wears on all of us. There isn’t much to do to pass the time, but no matter how badly I want to, I know that I shouldn’t leave the apartment. I know that I’m better off in here than I am out there.

There is one thing, however, that I don’t know. I don’t know how long we’re going to have to live like this, or how long we can manage to stay out of trouble. There isn’t a moment of any day where the fear being caught doesn’t loom ominously in the back of my mind.

We can’t keep the world out forever.