The War Game (10 page)

             
First thing, there were not nearly enough beds for all the people present. The soldiers would put two or three or even four people to a twin-sized bed. A few sheets and one blanket. No pillows. Second, a lot of these people were sick and looked (and smelled) contagious.

             
We got in a line with some other people that were late to the party. I guess if you want to pick out your bed, you had to get there early. I was getting anxious as most of the better beds were filling up. I didn’t want to get split up or share sleeping space with someone who would cough on me all night. People don’t bother to use their arms or hands to cover their mouths when they cough anymore. And sometimes things come flying out that should stay in a body. Like lung tissue.

             
John and I were assigned a bed with the woman and the boy we saw earlier. Not so bad, they looked well enough that I wouldn’t worry about tapeworms slithering in between the sheets.

             
The two of us stood looking at the bed. I bit my tongue as I caught myself almost blurting this out loud to John, “When I imagined going to bed with you, it wasn’t anything like this.” Good thing I thought that one through, didn’t want to give him ideas no matter how great his tan was.

             
There were lots of little holes in the sheets, marked by teeth bites. I pulled down the hole-ridden sheets and saw a rat. I screamed. I woke up some people, everyone stared at me. The holes should have been my first and only warning.

             
When the rat looked at us I foolishly expected it to scamper away. It was defiant and stood up on its hind legs in a pathetic attempt to make itself look bigger. Even the littlest dog will do that. Actually, especially the littlest dogs. People (and animals for that matter) are at their most dangerous when they realize they got nothing left to lose. That’s why I try not to be naive. I know I will get out of here and to Canada someday but I know I have to exchange a bit of blood for that. But these people here, they are moved around like game pieces so they are too exhausted to fight. Or to care anymore.

             
John took hold of the sheets at the end of the bed and snapped them up. The rat went flying into the wall and ran away.

             
John got into bed and waited for me. I was hesitant. How could he do that like as if the rat were just an ant? John shrugged. “I’ve dealt with worse when it comes to animals.”

             
I crawled in and stashed my anatomy book in the pillowcase. I made a plan to sleep on top of the blanket to avoid any rat droppings but I was just too cold now to care. See. A place like this made you stop caring. I tried to remind myself that there were worse things in this room than rat droppings. But that made me feel worse.

             
The woman and her child got in. She made the child sleep on John’s side, probably since John was the tallest of us four and the kid was the smallest. I guess that was fair but I would have liked more sleeping room on this bed. And the mattress wasn’t made out of wood. It was made out of cardboard. The finest of cardboard, I’m sure.

             
We left our shoes on and I slept with the book between me and John. I don’t think he minded. I put the wristwatch on my ankle, underneath the blanket so no one could see what I was doing. I folded my sock over the watch. The socks should have really been thrown away but I wash them every other week or so. There’s more holes in them now than fabric.

             
I did have strange dreams before I woke up. I dreamed about the strip mall before it became a camp. I was a little kid again and I went up to a gumball machine. I put in my two-dollar coin. Instead of a gumball, I got an eyeball. Somehow I’d failed to realize the entire glass bubble was filled with severed eyeballs.

             
For the first time in a long time, I slept through the entire night. Although I slept funny on my neck. I had John pull me out carefully. I’m not sure when he woke up or even if he had fallen asleep at all. I think he was waiting for me to wake up because he told me the guards wouldn’t open the doors until the sun was up and shining.

             
A few people were left in the strip. But they were either sleeping or too sick to get up, I told myself. But I didn’t believe it. I knew a stiff, dead body from a sleeping one.

             
I tried to lie to myself but it usually didn’t work. I hadn’t decided if that was a bad or a good thing. What was more critical to survival? Denial or the hard, cold-blooded truth? I hadn’t decided on that either.

             
“How long was I sleeping?” I asked.

             
“Just about forever,” John was flipping through the pages in my anatomy book. “I really needed to pee but I didn’t want to leave you alone. There’s some restrooms in the market, that’s what people around here call the place where they trade an old sock for a broken pen or something equally as stupid.”

             
“I actually could use some socks,” I mentioned. “Why did you hang around for me?”

             
“Mostly because of the way the soldiers were looking at you,” he said.

             
“So you were jealous?” I poked fun at his protectiveness.

             
“Nah. Those men came in, opened the doors, and then went shopping. Do you know what I mean?” he asked.

             
“They confiscated some junk from tree girl?” was the only thought I had.

             
“No, they shopped for women. Sometimes boys. They’d go around with a list that they keep in their heads. Some of them were really specific, too. Not just hair color, but certain ages or skin color. Every girl they took wasn’t much older than you.” Then he looked straight into my eyes, “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

             
“Fine by me,” I shrugged. I knew I should probably be feeling fearful of the soldiers taking away girls like me but I was secretly pleased that John was looking out for me.

             
We walked to get some apples but they were all gone. The branches lay broken like it was done to spite us, to let us know that the tree would never grow fruit again. John cursed the soldiers. Then we went to play another game in the dirty courtyard, this time tic-tac-toe.

             
And the next couple of days became something of a routine. I’d sleep in, John would wait. We would alternate carrying the anatomy book around. Every once and a while, we would thumb through it and find another gross but fascinating fact about the human body to share.

             
We walked around aimlessly. We would avoid the marketplace, partly because of tree girl, but mostly because you can only look at the same old crap for so long.

             
We hung out in the courtyard mostly, sometimes near the now vacant apple tree. It was the fourth morning that we could hear voices coming from the market. Angry, screeching voices. So, being curious (and shamelessly nosy) bystanders, we had to see what was going on.

             
I could tell immediately that there was some drama with tree girl and the blonde girl who willingly gave me my book back. Her name was Laura. I still haven’t learned tree girl’s name yet but one doesn’t tend to be bothered learning names in places like this.

             
“You stupid bitch,” the blonde girl had her hands on her head. “You think you’re entitled to everything! Some of us have been here for over a year! We took care of that tree.”

             
John and I swerved through the gaps of the crowd to get a front row view. When we came to the front, we saw about a couple dozen rotten, spoiled apples. Many of which were still on their clipped branches.

             
The crowd started to disperse, although I could tell many of them were silently fuming about the loss of the apple tree.

             
I looked at all those apples that the creature was now sitting on; brown, some eaten to the core, some started to decompose, complete with bugs. What a waste.

             
I felt bad for the tree. Hopefully it could somehow heal itself and grow again next year. But then, I don’t know much about trees.

             
John and I went back to the courtyard to hang out. When we spotted Laura coming out, John waved her down.

             
“Hey, sit down with me for a bit,” he offered.

             
“Sure,” she said. Her hair was practically all white but beautiful. She had long nails, which were filed to perfection. And painted.

             
“You have nail polish?” I asked incredulously, probably almost frightening her.

             
“No, I traded a hair magazine to have my nails painted. But a lot of the women here do have makeup. You know, some nail polish, lip stick, eyeshadow. Stuff like that. They like to give make-overs. But for a price.”

             
“Looks good,” John was looking at her face.

             
“Oh, I’m not wearing any right now,” she said.

             
Yeah, whatever. Nobody’s lips naturally shine like that. He was still looking at her face. I wished he’d stop.

             
“So,” he started and didn’t finish.

             
“So what?” she teased.

             
“Any bombings here?”

             
“Bombings?” she repeated.

             
“Yes, bombs,” I answered, with a barely veiled tone of annoyance. Those things that fall from the sky but aren’t falling stars you’d wanna wish on. I felt like a third wheel all of a sudden.

             
She looked at me and I could tell she felt that tone. She crossed her arms, “No, this camp hasn’t been bombed out. But I’ve only been here a short time.”

             
“Where were you before?” I asked, trying to feign curiosity to make up for my growing jealousy. People love to talk about themselves.

             
“I was at home, on my bed, with my dog. Avoiding my American English homework. I was assigned to read three chapters in some book, I don’t even remember the title. But then the men in gray came and took me away. And here I am.”

             
We sat in silence, just thinking.

             
I remember being introduced to American English in school. The teacher would say a few words or sometimes a full sentence and we would repeat it back. They taught us the Pledge that way. But the flag in the class had to be changed every couple of weeks, depending on whether a state decided to leave the union or another state decided to divide. Eventually, instead of saying the Pledge of Allegiance to a flag, we said it to a television monitor. My first interaction with television and it was a fake flag flapping on a red screen.

             
She started to do something with her cuticle. “I find it funny that not too long ago, I didn’t want to read a book. Maybe a fashion magazine. But now, I’d trade food for a book. At least for a book that doesn’t suck. I’m sick of reading about dogs and pet grooming. I’m tired of old, outdated information from A-Z. Well, almost A-Z, I’m missing a few of the letters. I’ve only come across lousy poetry collections, dog magazines, and picture books since I’ve been here. Your bus was probably the fourth time that other people were brought here. You can only read a poem about winter and feelings so many times before you start to rip out your own hair. It’s so boring here.”

             
“Well, yeah, it’s boring-what did you expect from a confined camp? Did you expect five-course meals? A cup to pour water in? Wireless Internet access? Bathrooms that have paper on the rolls every time you use ’em? A television that you can watch while lying in your cardboard bed?” I wanted to ask her, but I kept my mouth shut.

             
“My dad’s good friend Rob was taken away just a week before I arrived here. I think my dad lost ten pounds that week couldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat. And then they came for us.
             

             
They had to drag my mom away, but it wasn’t them she was mad at. She was mad at him-my dad. ‘Look what you did! Look what you did!’ She hated Rob even more. Called him a whore. And that’s when I last saw my parents.”

             
I hated it and loved it when people spill out all four chambers of their heart. I hated it because it made for an awkward situation where you had to pretend to care and that you hadn’t heard it all before. Loved it because it was something you could use to blackmail someone. Also, there was a small chance that they might have a really good story.

             
“We should hang out sometime,” John told her.

             
What the hell. This had better not turn into a stupid date. Where could they possibly go? What could they possibly do? Take her to the cafeteria for the daily slop? Go shopping for rags and candlestick stubs in the crummy market building?