The Bridge Digital newspapers Croatian edition 1990s | Page 13

apologetic look before walking in to the
living room to turn of the Tv.
When he didn't come back I put
down my fork to see him still standing
in front of the screen. "Roy?" He didn’t
answer, didn't even twitch. I repeated
my question but still he gave me no
response. I saw him lift a shaky hand and
brushed it through his hair. His voice
came out as fragile and hoarse "mom.
What ship did dad travel with?" Not
understanding what that had to do with
anything, I shook my head slightly,
"Scandinavian Star, Why?" Once again,
he did not answer. His shoulders were
shaking now. "What is it?" My words
sounded harsher then intended. His
voice was nothing but a whisper "It's up
in flames mom".
On shaky legs, I slowly rose from
where I was seated, not caring for the
food that would soon go cold. My heart
was hammering in my chest. Roy still
stood frozen to the ground, with his
eyes glued to the screen. His facial
features were lit up by an orange hue
coming from the screen.
We both stood completely still.
Neither of us dared make a sound as we
watched as the flames swallowed the
ship where my husband most likely lay
dead. It was absolute chaos. People
were jumping of the ship, screaming and
crying for their lost ones. Firemen were
trying their best to stop the raging flames
from doing further damage, but still we
saw no sign of Oliver.
A sob ripped through the room.
Roy's shoulders were shaking furiously.
He lifted a hand over his mouth unable
to tare his eyes of the screen. He was
gasping for air, having trouble
breathing. The panic of losing his dad
was just all too much for a young
teenage boy. In my own panicked state
of mind, I couldn’t do anything other
than let him scream and cry into my
shoulder. We sank to the floor and held
on to each other, wishing we could turn
back time and not let him go. Roy dug
his fingers into my back trying his
hardest not to let the pain and panic
engulf him.
None of us knew what to say, but
still he managed to gasp out the question
neither of us knew the answer to, "Is he
okay?". He didn't lift his head from my
shoulder so his words where muffled by
the fabric of my shirt. I couldn't do
anything other than hold him tighter
and cradle him at a slow pace and hope
along with him that his father managed
to escape the raging flames.
S