Unfolding, as It Should

Through the atmosphere of mass hysteria, she recognized a familiar fragrance amid all of the turmoil, producing a sudden feeling of security and strength. It was Boboy, her father carrying her to safety. Through the havoc, against the flow of the other villagers, they frantically ran for their lives with little Teesa following right behind them, step for step. For what seemed like forever, with wafts of bullets whizzing by their heads, they made it to a back row of huts behind a thicket of smoldering trees. Climbing the blood-stained bamboo steps of the farthest shelter, through the thatched doorway, they ran inside and collapsed onto the grass matted floor, while attempting to catch their breath. They knew it wasn’t secure, but being there gave a sense of a safety barrier from the horrors outside. Inside were three wounded Amerikano soldiers, broken and moaning in pain lying on the woven mat. Boboy took the little girls and placed them down right next to each other. They were both horrified to see the bloodied wounded soldiers, and tried hard not to stare at them, but could not look away. Marita and Teesa began to cry as Boboy calmly brushed their hair off of their faces. His gentle touch and warm smile gave an assurance of security as both girls were nestled in the warm embrace of his outstretched arms. Boboy kissed them both on the top of their heads, making the scared little girls feel better, at least for the moment. He looked directly into his daughter Marita’s eyes and calmly said, “Stay here kasama ng Amerikanos. I’m going to get your mother and brother, keep very quiet, I’ll be right back, hindi umalis hanggang sa makakuha ako sa likod, don’t leave until I return”. Giving Marita another hug and kiss and before running back out into the mayhem, he turned to give the little girls an encouraging smirk and wink. Whenever he did this, Marita knew everything would be okay. Then he quickly ran outside, determined to find Lucita and Tony to bring them back to safety. As the dreadful sounds of war drew near, angry men outside were shouting. Marita recognized the language to be the one spoken by Tomiko and her family. The only difference being that this time it was followed by the clamor of gunfire. This was clear indication that the aggressors were working their way closer, searching through each hut and not taking prisoners or leaving any alive. A very frightened Teesa sat up close to Marita, clutching her arm. Those furious men and the smell of smoke got stronger as they approached the safe confines of their thatched hiding place. Marita placed a finger on Teesa’s lips and quietly said, “Shh. . .” With all of the chaos happening outside, slowly one of the wounded Amerikano soldiers painfully pulled himself up onto his arms. Leaving a trail of blood he dragged himself towards the others wincing in pain as he whispered, “Man, the japs are getting closer. We gotta move or we’re dead!” Watching this unfold in front of her caused Teesa to gasp with astonishment and disbelief. She was surprised to see that one of the wounded soldiers was her older brother Pete. She rubbed her eyes trying to get a better focus. What is Pete doing here? She wondered in disbelief but remained frozen next to Marita. He was broken and beaten with his face covered in dirt and blood as was his tattered Amerikano green soldier’s uniform and helmet. He anxiously looked at Marita and quietly said, “Kami na tumakbo o sila ay pumatay sa amin”, “sweetheart, we have to run now or they will kill us”. Poor little Marita was scared and confused. She promised her father that she would wait for his return. Closing her eyes holding the St. Betina Zita medal that she always wore around her neck, in her folded hands, she prayed for a sign from God. Any small sign, telling her what to do. Suddenly, within the sounds of gunfire and agonizing screams, her fear and anxiety melted away. A smile appeared on her sweet muddied face because among all of the turmoil of their impending discovery by the Japanese soldier’s she heard the music of a familiar voice. It was Tomiko singing. “Mareeeta, Mareeeta, hurry, follow me.” Suddenly, everything was silent and black. Thirty-seven-year-old Teesa jolted up in her bed, out of breath, gasping heavily as if she had just finished one of her sessions of hot yoga. The UCLA tee shirt she wore for sleeping was soaked with perspiration and she was trembling. It was one of the more vivid and disturbing dreams yet. Reaching over to switch on the night stand lamp and sitting up in bed was her husband, Miguel. Already realizing what just happened he was sympathetic, offering consolation. Placing his arm around her he spoke softly, “Are you alright, sweetheart?” She slowly nodded, still catching her breath and then she shook her head. “I don’t know if I can make it through the funeral tomorrow Miguel.” “It was just another dream baby, and it’s over.” He took a Kleenex from the night stand and gently dried her eyes wiping her face. Grabbing a bottle of water he offered her a drink that she happily accepted. Miguel removed her soaked tee shirt over her head and threw it into the corner of the room, landing next to her pink sneakers. “Here, put this on,” he said, as he took off and handed her his lucky sleeveless USC sweat shirt, already warm from his body. “Now try to get some sleep, and I promise we’ll all get through it together,” and gave her a tender kiss. Resting her head down onto Miguel’s shoulder they both laid back down. Everything was quiet, a stark contrast from a minute ago. Teesa began to quietly cry. Not only because she was back in the warmth and safety of their West Los Angeles bedroom wrapped in the loving arms of her husband. But also feeling the relief to know that she and Marita were no longer two scared little girls, running for their lives in the war ravaged village of De La Cruz.