Chapter 22

Forgiveness takes a lot less energy than holding grudges.

Three hours after leaving boot camp, we reach the hospital. Avi takes my hand after we pass through hospital security and steers me down the front corridor. The closer I get to seeing Safia, the more scared I get. What if she looks different? What if she looks weaker than she did last year? I hate cancer. It's as dangerous and deadly as a terrorist.

Avi asks the lobby receptionist something in Hebrew. She points to the elevator bank. The inside of the Baruch Padeh Medical Center hospital in Tiberias looks just like hospitals back home, with stark white walls and the scent of purified air bursting through the air conditioning vents.

"You okay?" Avi asks as we're riding up the elevator.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Your nails are digging into my palm." He loosens my hand and shows me the nail indentations in his skin.

"Sony. Truth is, I'm freaking out."

He puts his arm around me, holds me tight to him, and lightly kisses the top of my head. "I'm here for you. Always. You know that, even if you don't always want to believe it."

Whenever I've needed Avi for my minor but frequent emergencies in my life, he's been there for me. Whether it was on the base or on the phone or in person, he's always around when I'm desperate for someone to keep my spirits high and lift me up...

even physically.

He slows his pace when we get closer to the room. "Remember, it's okay to cry." He shrugs when I glance up at him. "My mom told me that after my brother died."

"And did you cry, Avi?"

He bites his bottom lip and nods. "Yeah... I did." He clears his throat and lifts his head high. "Come on," he says, nudging me forward into the room.

I take a deep breath and peek my head inside. Sofia has an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Her eyes are closed and it looks like she's sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed, her pale complexion making her look like an angel. My dad is sitting next to the bed. He rushes from the chair and opens his arms to hug me, but when he takes a closer look his eyes go wide with shock.

"Amy. Mah corah*. What happened to you?" He gestures to my arms and chin as he inspects my scratched face.

"Oh, that. Umm... I kinda fell on rocks. Well, I guess skidded is more like it."

"You look like you've been in battle."

"That's kind of how I felt. But it's better today. I've turned into a warrior woman." Sort of.

Back when I begged my dad to let me go on this trip, he warned me not to complain no matter how hard boot camp turned out to be. Either I could stay at my aunt and uncle's house with him on the moshav all summer (with possibly no chance of seeing Avi), or I could go on the army portion of the Sababa trip with my friends (and possibly see Avi). But if I chose boot camp, I'd better suck it up.

I'd like you to know that this is me sucking it up. Pre-army Amy would definitely be whining Aba, they make us get up before the sun is up, and run in the dark, and pee and poop in stinky holes, and sleep with our guns, and eat jam with bees in it, and do boy pushups, and march in straight lines, and scale walls, and sleep in beds with springs missing above our heads, and dig holes with big hairy spiders in them...

...but I don't.

"Is Sofia going to be okay?" I ask, because that's the only concern that I have at this moment. I cant lose my only living grandparent.

God cant let that happen.

Although what really scares me is that God can let that happen.

Rabbi Glassman says that death is a part of life. We don't have a choice to live, and we don't have a choice as to when we'll naturally die.

"They'll be taking her for a CAT scan in the morning. "We'll know more after the scan and when we get the results of her blood test.

When she woke up she was in pain and disoriented, so they gave her a sedative. I don't expect her to wake up until the morning, so you might as well go back to the moshav and get some rest." He inspects me again. "Wait, you look different, and it's not just the scratches. Did you get a haircut on the base?"

"Yeah. It's a long story; don't ask."

"Okay, I won't." He knows better than to ask for details, because he's well aware of my special ability to get into trouble wherever I go. He shakes hands with Avi. "Thanks for bringing Amy here."

"Ayn by'ah --no problem. They gave me a forty-eight-hour leave."

I stand next to my safia, bow my head, and pray silently to God to take care of her--just in case He's listening and just in case He wants to answer my prayer.

I don't know what I'll do if I lose her. I didn't even know I had a grandmother until a year ago, and now here she is in a hospital. I feel like she's slipping away from my life already. She never let me tell her how much she's helped me spiritually. During my Jewish conversion classes, whenever I thought about the Jewish matriarchs, I always imagined they would look and act exactly like my safia. I read that Abraham's wife Sarah gave birth at the age of ninety and died at the ripe old age of 127.1 wish my safia could be like Sarah (obviously not the giving birth at ninety part... just the living until 127 part).

"Amy, I'm gonna step out so you and your aba can talk alone. I'll be right outside the door if you need me," Avi says.

My dad stands beside me and strokes my back as we both look down at the sweetest woman I've ever known. "I came home from school when I was six and told her an eight-year-old named Ido had pushed me," he tells me. "Can you guess what she did?"

"Went to school and threatened Ido if he didn't leave you alone?"

"No."

"Called I do's mother and told her that her kid was a bully?"

"No. She told me to handle it myself. She said I'd have to deal with bullies all my life--so I might as well figure out how to deal with them at the age of six."

I try to picture my grandma as a young woman, strong and full of energy.

"Did you know she was in a war?" my dad asks me.

"What war?" I know all Israelis have to serve in the military. The country has been through their share of wars since they were recognized by the UN in 1948, but I can't imagine my grandmother wearing an army uniform or carrying a gun.

"She was in the Sinai War of '56. You should ask her about it.

They wouldn't let women on the front lines back then, so she dressed as a boy."

"Whoa. I can't believe my grandmother was in a war.

I can't wait to tell Roxanne back at school, who brags that her great-grandmother was one of the first women pilots." Pilot, shmilot. My grandmother was on the front lines. I guess I'm not the only kick-ass warrior woman in the family. "So what happened with you and Ido? Did you tell him to stop pushing you?"

"Oh, I told him. Right after that, he pushed me again."

"What'dyoudo?"

"Well, the next day I came to school with a gift for Ido."

"Like a fist-in-your-face kind of gift?"

"No. Like a new basketball my aunt gave me after she visited the States."

Let me get this straight. "Ido pushed you, and you gave him a gift?"

"Since my mom wouldn't intervene, and there was no way I could fight a big kid two years older than me, I figured trying to be friends with him was my best option."

"So you became friends with the bully?"

He nods.

"That's a sellout. You shouldn't have to give the bully something.

That's just wrong on so many levels."

"I had to sacrifice a little in order to get what I wanted. We ended up being friends."

I guess we all sacrifice at some time or another. I just hate having to do it so often.

"Aba, is she going to die?"

"Eventually."

"You know what I mean. Is this it? Is this the start of the end?"

"She had her final chemo treatment last week. They suspect her white blood cell count is low."

"But what if it's more than that?" I cry.

He puts his arm around me. "Let's not worry about that until the morning, when we know more. Let Avi take you back to the moshav."

"I don't want to leave Sofia," I say, watching the oxygen mask fog up when she exhales.

"I know. But you can't do anything for her tonight. You can come back as soon as you wake up in the morning. Now go."

I hug him tight, wondering how I could have ever been distant from my father. I'm so grateful God brought him back into my life.

I don't know what I'd do without him, especially now, with my mom and Marc starting a new family.

I don't know if I'll fit in. "Will they still have time for me and a new baby? But one look at my dad and I know he'll never be out of my life again, no matter if I try to push him away or not. (Believe me, I've tried it. Especially when Avi was in town and my dad was grilling him, having the "Don't Do It" sex talk with both of us multiple times, and acting as an overprotective chaperone the entire time.)

After taking me for a quick dinner, Avi parks the car in front of my aunt and uncle's house on the moshav. It's on top of a big mountain overlooking the Kineret lake.

It's rustic and dusty and total farmland, but it feels like home.

Poor Avi had to listen to me cry and sniff and blow my nose every two seconds all the way from the hospital, although he didn't seem to mind. He held my hand the entire time (except when I was being gross and blowing my nose, and when we stopped for dinner). Seriously, just having him here with me gives me strength.

Avi lives a few houses down on the opposite side of the very narrow gravel road, but he doesn't just drop me off.

My cousin Osnat (pronounced O'snot -- and yes, it's a very popular Israeli name) is the first person to see me. She's sitting on the sofa, watching television with my aunt (DodaYucky), my Uncle Chaim (I call him Uncle Chime, because I can't do that back-throat-noise Hebrew-pronunciation thing), and my little toddler cousin Matan (who is not naked, for once).

They all wrap me and Avi in big hugs. Even Osnat, and she's not the most warm and fuzzy person I've ever met--although we definitely get along way better now than we used to. I can tell she's been crying, too, because her eyes are all bloodshot.

"Amy, what happened to your chin? And your arms?" Doda Yucky looks at Avi accusingly.

He holds his hands up. "Don't look at me. She managed to do that all on her own."

"You beat yourself up?" Osnat says. "In the morning you'll have to tell us how you managed to do that."

I know she's just joking. Normally I'd have some witty-comeback, but I'm too upset and exhausted to think of one.

"Are you hungry?" Doda Yucky asks. "Let me fix you both something. You've had such a long day."

"I took her to Marinado by Kibbutz Ein Gev," Avi tells them. "I couldn't resist stopping there for one of their burgers."

I sit with my aunt, uncle, and cousins in their small living room as we catch up on the past year. Even though we talk every week, it's not the same as actually spending time with them. Uncle Chime laughs when I tell him about my experiences on the army base, and even tells me a funny story about digging ditches when he was in the army. I guess digging ditches is a rite of passage for Israeli soldiers. Doda Yucky shares her own stories about being an instructor on one of the bases. Matan climbs on her lap and dangles off her knees while she's talking. Doda Yucky has always been sweet to me. She never stops smiling, and she loves everyone she comes in contact with.

Then the conversation turns to Sofia's health. Doda Yucky tells me how she found her unconscious. The somber mood returns as they tell me to pray for the best.

A yawn escapes my mouth.

"You need sleep," Uncle Chime tells me. "You look exhausted."

"I am." Although I don't know if I can sleep. Too many thoughts are running through my head, but I'm so overtired, hopefully my eyes will close as soon as I hit my pillow.

After Avi helps bring my suitcases in from the car, Osnat drags her pillow and blanket out of her room. "Amy can sleep in my room. I'll sleep in Sofia's room tonight," she says.

I peer inside Osnat's room. Just like I remembered, it has two twin beds situated across the room from each other. "I don't want to kick you out of your room. You've got two beds. We can share."

"It's not a problem. Really. I'd rather sleep in Sofia's bed. I'd feel closer to her somehow. Besides, you snore."

I give a huff. "That's so not true."

"You're asleep, so how would you know? Seriously, last summer I needed earplugs when you slept in my room."

I look up at Avi. "I do not snore."

"I believe you," he says. "But right now I need to go across the street to let my parents know I'm here."

My heart starts racing in panic. I grab a fistful of his shirt and hold on tight. "But you're coming back tonight, right?"

"If you want me to."

"I don't want you to leave for a second."

"You need to get ready for bed, Amy. I can't exactly be with you then, unless you want your uncle and dad to threaten to give me a second circumcision." He kisses me lightly on the lips. "Take a hot shower and enjoy it. You haven't had one in a while. I'll be back after I say hi to my parents and wash up. I promise."

Famous last words.

I stand in the foyer pouting like my dog Mutt when he watches me put my jacket on. If I was a real dog, I would whimper just like Mutt, too. But I'm not a dog and I have to suck it up and stay positive.

I can do positive.

Taking a deep breath, I grab my PJs and head for the one bathroom. There's still an open keyhole/peephole in the door for anyone inclined to look at someone peeing or taking a dump. I undress quickly, unwrap the gauze from my arms, and turn the water on, hoping none of my Israeli family members open the door without knocking.

"When the water turns hot, it's like the Almighty Lord has sent a miracle down to earth just for me. Being super gentle while soaping the still-raw cuts on my arms, I lather up, scrub, rinse, and repeat a few times before letting the water just run down my body. Ahh, this feels great.

I hear the door open.

"Helloooo, I'm in here," I say loudly, then stick my head out of the curtain to see who's barged in on me.

It's little Matan, with his corkscrew hair and Power Ranger pajamas on. "Shalom, Ami," he says, smiling wide. He says my name Ah-mee instead of Amy.

"Shalom. Do you mind? I'm in the shower here." I know the kid doesn't understand English, but you'd think he'd get the hint. No such luck.

My little toddler cousin pulls down his pants and starts peeing in the toilet next to the shower. Does he not care that I'm in here, totally naked behind the curtain? To top

it off, he starts scratching his butt while he's peeing. Eww.

Please don't tell me every guy does this.

When he's done, he gives his thingie a little shake, pulls up his pants, and waves to me with a big happy-go-lucky smile on his face. I'll never get over the fact that guys don't wipe their wee-wees after they pee. It just seems so unsanitary. It also seems unsanitary that Matan is going out of the bathroom without washing his hands. Totally notacceptable.

"Yo, Matan!" I call after him.

"Kent" Yes?

I'm still naked, in the shower with shampoo in my hair and soap running down my body, with my head the only thing peeking out from the curtain. "Wash your hands, little buddy."

"Lo meda'bear Angleet, Ami." He doesn't understand English, and he's waiting for me to translate what I just said.

How the hell am I supposed to know what wash your germy hands is in Hebrew? I let go of the curtain and rub my hands together using the universal hand-washing motion, then point to the sink. "Wash your hands," I tell him again, hoping he understands this time.

Matan points to my now exposed boobs and says, "Tzee-tzeem g'doleem!"

I know that gadol means "big," and I can just imagine that tzee-tzeem means "boobs" by the direction of his pointing finger.

Would he think it polite of me to point to his wee-wee and announce "Pee-pee katan!" --Hebrew for his ding-a-ling is tiny?

I quickly pull the shower curtain back over my body. Keeping one hand on the curtain, I point to the sink again. "Wash, Matan, or I swear I'm telling your mom you don't clean your hands after peeing." Yes, I'm aware he doesn't know what my threat means, but it makes me feel better saying it.

Doda Yucky knocks on the door. "Amy, is Matan in there?"

"Yep. He sure is."

She opens the door, apologizes, and helps him quickly wash his hands before shooing him out. "I'm so sorry. I'll make sure he doesn't do that again."

Matan points in the general direction of my boob area hiding behind the curtain and says to his mother, "ll'Amy yesh tzee-tzeem g'dokemf

DodaYndsy looks embarrassed as she says, "He doesn't mean anything by that."

"Uh

huh."

I'll

just

file

that

into

the

folder

of

embarrassing/humiliating moments in my life.

After my shower, I change into PJs and feel like a new person. At least a new person with scratched-up arms and a chin with racer marks on it.

"Is Avi back yet?" I ask Osnat. She's sitting on our safia's bed, looking at a photo album.

"No." Osnat, who's my age and will be in the Israeli army in a year, looks vulnerable and lost. "Safta always looked forward to your Saturday calls, you know."

"She never seemed tired of hearing about what was going on in my life." There aren't many people who like to hear the sound of your voice and are happy to listen to you, no matter what you're saying. Sofia is one of those people. Some kids hate talking to their elderly grandparents on the phone, but I can't wait until I wake up Saturday morning and can call my family in Israel.

"Here's a picture of us when we went to the Kotel, the Western Wall," she tells me. I move closer and look at the picture. It shows my aunt, my uncle, Sofia, and my two cousins pushing tiny pieces of paper into the cracks in the Wall.

I've read about the Wall, the only standing structure from the ancient Jewish Temple. It's also called the Wailing Wall because Jews mourn the destruction of the Temple and grieve while praying there. "What are you doing in this picture?" I ask her.

"Putting prayers into the cracks. It's customary to do that. People think God is closer there than other places, and will answer your prayers."

Oh, great. Why hadn't I known this sooner? I definitely think a trip to the Western Wall is in order. The only problem is that it's in Jerusalem, a few hours from the mosbav. In another picture, Matan is kissing the Wall while standing next to Sofia.

I sit on the edge of Sofia's bed, thinking how lucky Osnat is. Our grandma has lived with her since she was born. I know some teens would hate sharing their home with their grandparent, but I would have loved it. Especially my grandma, because she's sweet and kind and has definitely given me good advice when I asked for it (unlike my mother, who's a master at giving me unsolicited opinions, suggestions, and critiques).

"What is Safia really like?"

Osnat looks up and smiles. "Seriously, with Safia what you see is it. When I was younger we used to go out in the middle of the night when we both couldn't sleep and we'd sit on the edge of the mountain and talk... about nothing and everything."

"That's so cool."

"It was. And there's this area about a mile away where eagles fly over a ravine. We'd sit there for hours, talking about Israel and freedom and history." She wipes tears away. "I guess you kinda missed out by living in America. I always think you have it so easy, and I guess I get jealous of your material stuff." Osnat closes the album and sits up. "What's with you and Avi?"

"What's with you and O'dead?" I ask her, quickly changing the subject to her boyfriend. Israelis are not overly gushy or lovey-dovey types, and I'm afraid she'll make fun of me if I open up and really tell her how I feel about Avi. "Are you guys still dating?"

"O'dead and I broke up. He's dating Ofra."

"Wait. Isn't Ofra dating Doo-Doo?"

"She dumped him."

Wait a minute. "Your best friend stole your boyfriend?"

"Kind of. But I mover it."

I guess when Jessica started dating Mitch, Mitch and I were still technically a couple even though I'd already met Avi.

Teenage dating is definitely complicated. Before Avi and I met, my friends and I used to joke that marrying your high school sweetheart was an urban myth. No teen relationships I know of have lasted.

"You never answered about you and Avi."

"We had some issues. But everything's great now."

"Really?"

I think about Avi, and how I can't imagine him out of my life. I'm glad I decided to give us another chance, because I don't want to be an urban myth. I want us to be real. And being real means dealing with real issues (and drama, because my name is Amy Nelson-Barak and I can't avoid it).

I stand by the doorway to see if Avi is in the hallway. Nobody on the moshav locks their doors. Everyone is like family, so they just walk into each other's houses as if they live there. I can't imagine me just prancing into Mr. Ober-meyer's condo in our building without knocking. If he owned a gun, he'd shoot first and ask questions later.

"Shaloml Earth to Amy." I look over at my cousin, who's waving her hand at me. "Are you daydreaming about Avi again? Listen, since I'm not dating anyone, maybe next summer before my military service I'll come visit you in America to meet American boys. I'm sick of Israeli guys."

I hear the front door open and my heart leaps when I see Avi.

He's wearing black sweats and a T-shirt. When he smiles at me, a warm calmness spreads over my body. I think God definitely had something to do with bringing us together. Life is too short not to be with the person you love the most, even if you have to work through both of your emotional baggage while you're together.

Who better to deal with your issues than a person who loves you?

"Hey," he says. "You okay?"

"I am now that you're here," I answer back as I hug his waist and bury my head into his chest.

Osnat pretends to gag. "Ugh, please get out of here before I catch whatever love disease you have."

"Come on," I say, leading Avi to Osnat's room.

He watches from the guest bed while I blow-dry my hair.

Afterward, I sit next to him while he takes the extra gauze the nurse on the base gave me and carefully rewraps my forearms.

"I hope one day I can take care of you," I tell him.

"You already do. You're a constant reminder that life is not one-dimensional. I forget that sometimes."

I lean my back against his chest and hold his arms around me. I feel so safe and protected wrapped in his arms.

"I've got to report back to the base in two days," he says quietly.

"We might not get to see each other after that. I assume you're not going back to the base."

There's so much I want to tell him right here, right now. I turn around and sit on my knees, facing him. "I need to say some stuff, Avi. And I need to say it before I lose my nerve, so don't interrupt me." I take a deep breath, hold his hands in mine, and look into the depths of his eyes. I can get lost in those chocolate depths so easily. "I admire you so much... the way you lead by example...

the incredible drive you have to succeed at whatever you're doing... the way you know how to lead our group with authority, but you can also follow directions like you do with Sergeant Ben-Shimon... I admire the skills you possess in so many different areas... I love the way you protect the ones you love... I love the passion you have for your country and your willingness and dedication to protect it at all costs..."

I cup Avi s cheek in my hand. "I think God had something to do with us getting together, because we're so different. But I seriously think we were meant to be together."

He swipes away tears falling down my cheeks. "God definitely had something to do with it. Amy?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we can do it. You know, just date each other. Nobody else."

"You do?"

He nods.

"Me, too." One by one, my worries and fears and insecurities start melting away.

I lay my head in Avi s lap and he runs his fingers through my hair.

"I should leave," he says after a while.

I wrap my arms around him, holding tight. I know that if he leaves I'll be more of a mess than I already am. Avi makes me stronger.

"No. Please don't go. Not yet." I look up at him, this boy/man who challenges me to be a better, stronger person. According to Liron's assessment, I've ruined his Israeli warrior reputation and he's still unconditionally by my side. I don't know if anyone else in this universe could handle me except a guy like Avi.

I hear the front door open. I'm too weak to sit up. My dad cracks the door to my room a minute later. "Amy, you up?

"Yeah. Just so you know, Avis with me."

"Oh." If it was any other time, my dad would order Avi out. And maybe even threaten his life. But he sees Avi comforting me and his face softens. "Just... keep the door open. Okay? And no touching... things... things, um, things you're not supposed to be touching."

Yeah, that's how comfortable my dad is talking about sex. He stutters and hesitates and then asks me to talk to my mom.

Unfortunately for him, my mom is back in the United States.

My dad is about to give us privacy when Avi calls out, "Ron?"

My dad stops and asks, "Mah?" which means "what" in Hebrew.

"Todah rabah." Thank you very much.

My dad's response is a nod.

Avi slides his body behind me on the bed and holds me tight the entire night. I think he stayed up all night. When I woke up and cried against his chest, he caressed my hair and wiped the tears from my face. When I whispered my fears about Safta dying an hour later, he listened, gave support, and rubbed my back until I fell back asleep. And when I open my eyes in the morning, he's watching me sleep.

"You must be exhausted," I say, my body curling into the warmth of his body heat. It feels so good in his arms, it almost lulls me back to sleep. But thoughts of Safta bring me back to reality.

After a quick breakfast, Avi drives me and my dad to the hospital a half hour away. My uncle and Osnat follow in their car. While my dad and Uncle Chime talk to the doctors and nurses about the next test to determine what's wrong with Safta, and Osnat goes to the cafeteria to get coffee, I sit next to Sofia's bed. Avi leans against the window sill off to the side, giving me privacy.

My grandmother slowly opens her eyes. It takes her a minute to adjust to her surroundings, but when her eyes focus on me she has an apologetic look on her face. She pulls off the oxygen mask. "Amy, motek, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be at boot camp."

"I came to make sure you're okay. And to be with you.

"I don't want... you to see me like this. It's no fun in a hospital watching some tired old lady sleep."

"You're not just some old lady," I tell her while I give her a gentle hug. "You're my safia. How are you feeling?"

"Like an old lady." Her wrinkled, frail hand reaches out and fingers the tiny Jewish star diamond pendant around my neck. She gave it to me last summer during my visit. "I'm so happy you're wearing it."

"I wear it every day. It reminds me of you."

She smiles that sweet grandma smile that makes me feel like everything in my life will be okay. "Are you having a nice vacation?"

"Well, being on the army base hasn't been much of a vacation.

Avis my unit leader," I say, gesturing to Avi over by the window.

"Avi, come closer. I can't see you all the way over there," Safia says, waving him over. "My eyes aren't what they used to be."

Avi kisses my safia on the cheek. He's known her since he was born. Last night he told me she's like a second grandmother to him. "Mah nishmah? --How are you?"

"Beseder --I'm fine. I got a little dizzy. I wish my children wouldn't declare it a national emergency."

"Ima, stop talking nonsense," my dad interrupts her as he comes into the room. "You were unconscious when Yucky found you.

Don't brush it off as if nothing happened."

She shoos my dad away. "Go eat something in the cafeteria, Ron, and leave me alone with the young teenagers here." My dad starts to protest, but gives up when she raises her eyebrows and makes another "go away" hand gesture.

Ooh, I can just imagine her staring at him with raised eyebrows when he was a kid. My dad is a total guys' guy --muscular, masculine, and full of testosterone. Knowing that his frail old mom can make him back off with a raised eyebrow and a hand gesture amuses me to no end.

Once my dad is out of sight, Sofia turns to Avi. "Is my granddaughter a good soldier?"

Yeah, umm... no need to let my sweet, old, sick grandmother know I suck at being a soldier. I mean, seriously, the woman dressed as a boy to fight on the front lines. Knowing that her own flesh and blood can't even scale a wall or aim a gun without having a few stray bullets hit other people's targets could kill her. I take Sofia's hand and pat it. "Why don't we talk about something else?" Preferably a topic that doesn't have to do with what a spaz I really am.

"She's definitely challenging herself," Avi says to Sofia. "Right, Amy?"

"I shot an Ml6," I say, but don't tell her I hit other people's targets more often than my own.

"I did the obstacle course," I continue, but don't tell her I had to be escorted up the rope and had to step on people's backs during my first attempt on the monkey bars.

"I even picked bees out of the jam when I had kitchen duty." I don't mention the whole bee/Nathan/tongue incident, either.

She fingers the bandages on my arms. "What happened to you?"

"Yeah, that. I went on a night run up a mountain. The mountain and I kinda got into a fight. The mountain won."

"That's not true," Avi tells her. "Amy won. She took a hard fall, but kept going."

I guess he's right. I'm still new at looking at things in a positive light.

Sofia rubs her fingers over my fingernails, which are totally trashed from boot camp. "I'm so proud of you, Amy."

"Me, too," Avi adds.

"Avi needs to be back at the base tomorrow," I tell her. "He only got a forty-eight-hour leave."

"Aren't you still supposed to be there?"

"Yeah, but I'm not going back. I want to be here with you."

"For what?" my safta asks.

I don't want to say it. I can't talk about death with the person I'm afraid is dying. "For you. What if, you know, you're really sick?"

"I'm not going to die so quickly, motek --sweetheart. But even if I did, I'd die happier knowing you're doing what you're supposed to do--live--instead of watching an old lady die."Safta, who seemed so weak a second ago, points her small finger at me. Her face gets stern and spunky, and it's another glimpse into her life as a woman ready to fight for something she believes in. "You're Amy Nelson-Barak. Do you know what Barak means in Hebrew?"

I shake my head.

"It means 'lightning.' Amy, you're a true Barak, inside and out. You have a fighting spirit. No Barak is a quitter, you hear me? Now, make me proud and go back to finish boot camp... and be a Barak."

I think my safia can give Sergeant B-S a run for his money.

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 650