Out of the Past

Twelve year old Andy Yablonski was walking home. The boy had a pleasant time with his best friend, Brain Marshal. It was one of the rare evenings where Andy didn't have to babysit his baby sister when his parents and grandparents were doing their usual adult things – reading, carving with wood, or cooking exotic meals. Unlike most parents, Andy's stayed at home after dark. They wanted to watch their children interact with each other, Coraline and Alex Yablonski would often say when their son questioned their stay. They were busy enough with their work outside their home to not watch their son and their daughter. Andy's mother was an assembly line worker for a car company, and his father was a carpenter. Both of them worked hard to finance their children's education. Sometimes though, they allowed their son to stay with a friend after school if his grades were high. Tonight was one of those nights, and Andy smiled, remembering of what his grandfather had told him before he left with his thick Russian accent.

"Be careful what you say, boy. You never know who will turn you in to the police." Misha Yablonski grew up in Russia during the infancy of Communist Russia to Polish refugees, and remained suspicious of the police and of the government. His wife and Andy's grandmother, Amor, had similar views. Before their son, Andy's father, was born, they had met and married in Spain and moved to the States in 1955. Andy loved his abuela and abluelo very much even though they lived in the same house with him. Unlike all of his classmates, Andy lived in a three generational house. Although he didn't say otherwise to encourage teasing from his friends, Andy enjoyed hearing his abuela sing to his baby sister in Spanish as she went to sleep and eating exotic meals that his friends had never even heard of. Andy Yablonski was a happy boy. That was about to change.

It was November 19, 1989.

Andy opened the door slowly to not wake his light-sleeping grandparents. He removed his shoes quietly. The five foot three boy looked around to see if there were any Spanish chips his grandmother made for him sometimes, knowing somehow that he was always hungry. There were none. Andy continued to look for any signs of life in his house – a reading lamp still on perhaps, or his father completing another project – but there was no life in the house. It was pitch black. Andy continued to tread carefully in the house, feeling something. The boy didn't know what it was, but he it was an eerie feeling. His breathing could be heard in the silent halls now, and for the first time he wasn't afraid of the scolding he would get from his abuelo. He prayed for it. Cautiously, the boy opened the door to his room, suppressing a scream that threatened to escape from him. Squinting his eyes, he saw a small form lying underneath the sheets of his bed. Lily, Andy thought with relief. He sat down heavily on the bed, reaching for her gently. Although she was past her infancy, Lily continued to prefer sleeping in his room more than hers that she shared with her grandparents. The moon was shining brightly in Andy's window, making her dark hair look black in the moonlight. The older brother stroked his six year old sister's hair tenderly, seeing how calm she looked when he brushed back her bangs. Her skin was pale, and her chest was still as she huddled in a fetal position. Still. The word echoed in Andy's head. He somehow couldn't comprehend as he continued to stare at his sister. Her chest wasn't moving. Andy started to shake Lily, his mind numb and empty. She didn't respond with her usual happy reply that he was finally home. "I'll never leave you, because you're the best brother ever!"

"Lily?" The voice didn't belong to him. It was too hoarse and quiet to belong to Andy. "Lily?" His voice became desperate as the shaking continued with no response. "Lily!" Hardly daring to breathe, Andy lifted Lily's small form from his blankets and put her in the prone position. He put his ear close to her heart and listened.

There was no heartbeat. Somehow Andy's useless mind continued to function. His dark blue eyes continued to stare blankly at his baby sister's form. She was dead. Andy felt as if he stopped breathing at the realization. His sister was dead. He stood frozen for a minute, knuckles clenched and white until his feet managed to move to his parent's and grandparent's rooms. He called for them. They too were deathly still and pale. No breath came from them. His abuelo's brown eyes stared at his living grandson.

It was then that Andy started to scream. He screamed and screamed until his voice was hoarse and his nails were digging into his palms. His knees buckled under him and continued screaming. Even when he called them and they came, they told him that he was still screaming.

Thirty-two year old Dr. Andy Yablonski was checking on one of the computers for an update on his patient's status when he noticed the date on the screen. November 19, 2009. Andy closed his eyes and sighed. It had been twenty years since… He opened his eyes again and quickly looked over his patient's status before jotting something quick down as he logged out. Andy suddenly become aware of the hushed whispers exchanged between Dr. David Lee and Ryan Abbott.

"Did you know that the Russians were our enemies during the Cold War?" David asked his younger friend. Andy detected a hint of teasing in his voice.

"Yeah, I know that." Ryan seemed oblivious to David's teasing.

"I bet you didn't know they were Communists," David whispered. Ryan vaguely shrugged his shoulders, visibly uninterested.

"You know, David, all Russians weren't Communists." My grandfather for one. Andy said, startling them both. Ryan looked surprised that he had overheard their conversation, but David just looked mockingly amused.

"How nice it is for you to join our conversation, Andy," David replied. He rolled his dark eyes at Ryan. "He always defends the Russians. No one knows why," the younger physician continued in a whisper.

"My grandfather was a Russian." Suddenly at Andy's voice both medical professionals quieted. Their smiles were gone. It was known throughout Three Rivers that Andy rarely talked about the family he had lost at a young age. Until now. "He wasn't a Communist. In fact, he hated them. He used to tell me that I should never be in a room with a Russian, otherwise they would slit my throat for being an enemy of the state." Andy's eyes were clear when he told them this. He seemed to be aware of them. "He never wanted to go back to Russia."

"What was his name?" Ryan's voice was almost inaudible, but Andy heard it.

"Misha Yablonski." Andy paused after pronouncing his grandfather's name. It had been years since he had said out loud…because it was too painful. Only Rena, his love of twenty-seven years knew the history about his family. "My grandfather was born to Polish refugees shortly before World War II. When I was boy, he used to tell me about the carnage, agony, and despair he had faced during the war. He made me promise that I would never become a soldier." His grandfather's face echoed in the physician's mind. Misha Yablonski had been forty-six when he died. Although his grandson had labeled him old, the man's hair was pure dark brown. Unlike most Russians, Andy's grandfather was clean-shaven and laughed most of the time. Looking into the mirror twenty years after his death, Andy was always astounded of how much he looked like Misha Yablonski when his grandfather had been younger. Same dark hair. Same blue eyes. "My grandfather fled from Russia when he was a teen after his parents died. He went to Spain, and immediately fell in love with the language and culture there. Even though my grandfather still had his thick Russian accent that he abhorred, he always spoke Spanish to me when I was around."

"Spanish was your first language?" This time it was David who spoke. He had remained spellbound when Andy had spoken about his late grandfather. He knew what it was like to not want to speak about your past – only in a much different way. However, he was surprised. He thought that Andy's first language was English.

"Yeah. I'm used to the stares." Andy smiled, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "My grandmother was shocked when my father wanted our household to speak English instead of Spanish. "'Spare me, Misha, our son is an American now!'" I still remembered how she winked at me as I struggled to contain my laughter." Now Andy fell silent. He was tense suddenly, and Ryan and David were waiting for their friend to continue. "My little sister looked so much like our grandmother with her olive skin and dark brown eyes. She was kind like her too. I still remember trying to wake them up, and failing to."

"What happened?" Ryan's voice was a mere whisper.

"Carbon monoxide poisoning." Andy's voice was devoid of any emotion. It was now that his eyes were glazed. "I wasn't there at the time it happened, and when I came home…they were dead." He gritted his teeth to stop the tears that were threatening to flow. "I still remember shaking Lily, screaming her name, and of how she didn't wake." Andy took a shuddering breath. "I will never forget that. Apparently when the ambulance arrived, I was still screaming and holding onto my sister. I didn't want to let her go, they said. I don't remember that."

"How old were you?" David asked. His voice was strangely calm.

"Twelve. Their organs were donated with my permission. The doctor couldn't save them. "'It's time to say goodbye,'" he said. I did say goodbye, in more ways than one."

"What happened to you?" Ryan asked.

"Another time," Andy muttered vaguely. He started to walk away as Ryan continued asking questions.

"Do you visit their graves now every day? Is that why you're late all the time?"

"Another time," Andy replied. The smile that didn't reach his eyes rendered Ryan speechless as he saw the tall physician cry.