"Odessa!" The shouts of little girls echoed as I crossed the threshold of the shabby apartment. It's been two years since I've seen this place, and nothing changed. Nothing ever changed in Charlestown, Massachusetts, no matter how much time passed. The people will always be poor, they'll always be either Irish or Italian, there will always be a bar on every street corner, and the mob will always run the streets at night. That's how Charlestown is, that's how Charlestown will always be. It's the shittiest of shitholes and almost no one makes it out. Nobody except me.
When I was born, my mom struck a deal with a crooked government official. I was to be brought to Russia every year as a peace offering and they could do whatever they wanted with me. My parents never thought twice about the shoddy deal or how it would affect me. They only cared about the money they'd receive from it. At the cruel age of three, I was shipped off to Russia for the first time. For eleven months, I was put through grueling figure skating training and workout regimens. I tried everything to get out of it, yet nothing worked. Eventually, I had the sense to stop trying and start surviving. After all, the Russians can do anything they want with me, I should be lucky I don't have it worse.
"Mila, Livvie, hello," I greeted, "Do you know where Jack is?" They both shrugged. "He's in Colorado trying out for the Olympics," Mom answered. "Mother," I greeted. "Odessa, your trainer told me what you did, only second place?" she asked, disapproval clear on her features, "I have half the mind to keep you right here for that stunt." I smirked. "Well, you can't, you have no control over what I do or where I go, you gave me away," I reminded her as I pushed past the haughty Russian woman.
"Don't you dare walk away from me, Odessa, I didn't raise you to be a brat!" she yelled. "You didn't raise me at all," I informed her as I dragged my bags to my shared bedroom. Jack and I share a room because I'm barely home and he's the only boy. It works out in his favor. How could I not know that Jack is trying out for the Olympics? Probably the same way he doesn't know that I've been selected to participate again. I completed my first Olympics for the Russians at age eleven, winning silver and bronze, which was impressive for my age. This time I was expected to earn at least one gold medal. I had to win. No one fails the Soviet Union and gets away with it, especially not the American exchange student.
•••
"I can't believe you didn't tell me," I gushed. Jack had finally called home to share his news, and I was the lucky one who answered. "My coach told me not to," he explained, "The Soviets bug the phones at your training center and the USOC is very apprehensive about stuff like that, we can't have Commie spies messing with our athletes, can we?" I laughed, knowing he didn't believe all that junk. "How was training?" he asked. "Long and intense, same as usual; plus Mother's mad I didn't win every event," I answered. Jack scoffed, "Unsurprising." I laughed, my agreement.
"So how are you and that boy of yours..., Alexandre something?" Jack asked. "We broke up," I said flatly. "What'd he do?" Jack accused. I rolled my eyes, "Nothing, I'm going to the Olympics for the second time and he's still stuck at CSKA, so naturally, he got all pissy," I shrugged. "So he dumped you?" Jack asked. "Don't be daft, Jack, I dumped him," I corrected. "For that?" he asked. "Got a problem with that, hotshot?" I asked. "Just sounds a little harsh is all," he answered. "Yeah, well, I have to focus this year; General Malekov expects me to win gold for my country," I explained. "Your country?" Jack asked. "My country, their country; I don't know, does it even matter?" I asked, "I can't take another beating, Jacky; I'm still throbbing from the last one."
The Russians have full control over me, I'm not a person; I'm their property and they can use me however they wish. It was a tough pill for a three-year-old to swallow, but I eventually learned to accept it because I didn't have a choice. "How bad was the last one; you still have bruises?" Jack asked. "Only on my stomach so it won't be visible," I answered. "Does it hurt?" he asked. "Doesn't matter," I shrugged. "Odie, just humor me, I'm trying to play protective older brother here," Jack begged. "Fine, only a little, but it's nothing too serious and I can still do tricks so it obviously isn't life-threatening," I answered, "Now, why are you still on the phone with me when you should be out celebrating?" I inquired. Jack went on a rant about the 1976 national championship and how Rob McClanahan stole the ring right off of his finger.
"So are you calling me from your room?" I asked. "Nah, the phone in front of the bar," He answered. "So you're ranting about your teammates out in the open where they can hear you?" I asked. "Not my teammates, my teammates are from BU," he corrected. "Well, my people are American," I said, "but when I put on those skates and that team jacket I'm just as Russian as everyone else because, like it or not, I skate for the Soviet Union National Team." Jack sighed. "It's not the same thing, Odie," he said. "You're right it's not because, unlike me, no one's forcing you to be there, no one is holding a gun to your head, you won't get beat up for disobedience; you chose to be there on your own accord to represent your country," I reminded him, hoping to get the message through his thick skull.
"They held a gun to your head?" Jack asked. "Of course they did; don't change the subject," I said. "Why didn't you tell me?" He asked. "Because you can't do anything to fix it and that would destroy you," I explained. "But they can't do that," he argued. "Mother signed the papers; as long as they bring me home once a year, they can do whatever they want," I laughed, bitterly, "Don't be like me; don't let the mistakes of others define your life," I begged. "When did you become so wise?" Jack asked. "Just take my advice and don't waste this opportunity; I want to see you at the Olympics," I urged before hanging up the phone. Let's just hope he listens.