The day the invasion came, fittingly, I had gotten up the courage to, once again, try and read my Marx literature in school. Never mind the supposed freedoms here in the good ol' US of A. You're free as long as you don't disagree with or question them, that is. All you hear is about socialist countries are dominated by propaganda. How is it that people think that it's any different here? All we're ever told is how communism is awful and capitalism is amazing. Honestly, the first thought in my head when I recognized the Red Star emblem on the wings is how this would not be happening if the White House hadn't stuck their noses where they weren't wanted and, by extension, didn't belong. But being a Soviet sympathizer was overridden by my survival instincts, the ones that told me to run like hell when someone is shooting at you. So that's what I did. I grabbed my Marx literature and ran.
We were some of the lucky ones. That's what Andy kept saying anyway. He also wouldn't stop repeating himself until we were safe inside his rural home, taking shelter from the chaos in the fortified basement.
Considering how far out that Andy's place was compared to the rest of the town, it didn't come as a terrible surprise that this area was completely devoid of troops. Now, that didn't mean that we didn't hear the occasional chopper or plane overhead.
"Reds are invadin' the town from every corner of the place," Andy remarked from somewhere inside the pantry. He was in there trying to find his unregistered pistol that he had hidden amongst the rows and rows of cans. He was understandably panicked, considering his parents had yet to arrive home.
"We can see that," Maci replied from her position on the couch, nonchalantly filing her nails. Now what Andy saw in this girl, I've no idea. She was my age, a junior, and more of a brainless sheep than anyone else I've ever met. She can't even, now, seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation at and. She wasn't worth a second of my cousin's time, and I can only assume that he was thinking with his cock when he committed to her.
"Go watch the window like Andy told you," I snapped, walking up the stairs to double check that all the locks were in place. "Aren't you good for anything, you stupid whore?" It was seconds after that comment that I was mashed up against the door, hand crunched between the doorknob and my ribcage.
Slightly confused and admittedly a little afraid, I turned my head just enough so that I could see one bulging, rebel flag-patterned bicep about level with my forehead. Of course, this was the previously ink poisoned arm of yet another one of Andy's extremely undesirable crowd of choice, best friend Billy. Instead of being a vapid, self-absorbed slut like Maci, however, this one was in the form of a big, stupid, bigoted and hyper-patriotic redneck. Oh, how I wanted to make a snarky comment. And I would have, but I didn't like the odds of oversized beefcake redneck vs. a 5'3", 130lb Soviet sympathizer. I scrunched my nose slightly when I smelled the chew on his breath as he uttered, "You wanna say that again, commie lover?"
Oh, how it's nice to see that he's already gearing up to collect his sloppy seconds from my cousin. The day that boy comes to his senses and leaves Maci is the day that I'll start considering the existence of God again. "Fuck off," I mumbled from my extremely uncomfortable position against the wooden door. "Shouldn't you be off sucking Ronald Reagan's cock or something instead of trying to get in good with your buddy's girlfriend?"
"What you say, you little bitch?" Billy growled, grabbing a fistful of my deep burgundy-dyed hair from the back of my head and yanking back hard so that I nearly lost my balance off the top step. Until then, I hadn't even noticed that he had moved down a couple of steps.
I whimpered at that swift, jerking motion that nearly sent me downward, but I refused to back down in the face of danger. It was stupid, but I felt that I had pride to protect. I was small and therefore had to be intelligent to balance it out. Well, clever and snarky seemed to work fine in this case. "I see you've been in rigorous practice," I replied, having given myself a moment to recover from the initial shock and pain. "Couldn't get your cousin in the sack this time, I see. Had to occupy yourself by other means, I suppose?"
I probably would have deserved every last ounce of what I would have gotten for that last remark, but the sharp click sounding at the bottom of the steps immediately caught both of our complete attention before my least favorite beefcake had made any moves to retaliate. We both recognized the sound. Someone, more than likely Andy, had just switched the safety off on their gun. Not so coincidentally, that is exactly who we both saw standing at the bottom of the steps with his pistol raised. My now-favorite cousin was aiming that pistol at his best friend, the one and only oversized dullard holding me captive by my hair. Never was I happier or more relieved to see that same familiar Milwaukee Brewers cap, flannel, and work boots. I'd be lying if I said that it didn't at all make my day.
"Hey asshole, let go of my baby cousin," Andy commanded. It's no doubt that he could never take Billy in a fist fight, but he was the one with the gun. He had the authority in this instance.
After a few moments of frustrated mumbling and pretty loud cursing, I was free. Immediately, I ran to embrace by cousin in relief. To make the moment even better, there was soon a knock at the door that was revealed to be Andy's mother and his younger sister, Chelsea.
Their reunion was a teary one, the bony, middle-aged blonde woman tightly embracing both Andy and myself while all nine-year-old Chelsea could do was sob into her brother's shirt.
"What's wrong?" Andy whispered, kneeling down to get at eye level with his baby sister while the guests took the task of locking up the entrance.
"D-daddy…" she stuttered, her eyes puffy and red with tears. "H-he was in a f-fire in the mill. Mommy s-said he wasn't coming home."
That was enough to get Andy bawling, and even I shed a few tears. Uncle Will had been my favorite uncle. Then a thought crossed my mind. "Chelsea…" I said hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer. She turned toward me. "Do you know anything about my dad?"
The girl nodded, and with that, my eyes grew almost frantic. I needed to know if anything had happened to my father.
"Is he okay?" Again, part of me didn't even want to know, but I was eternally relieved when she shook her head to a firm nod. It was then that Aunt Brooke pulled me aside.
"Farrah…" my aunt began, clearing her throat. "Your father was asked to un-retire last week. He left for California this morning. As far as we know, he's fine. He had asked Will to help you move your stuff up here this afternoon. The circumstances ended up just a bit different…" At that moment, she took a long, staggered breath "…but I'm sure he'll be glad to know that you're safe and alive."