In Memorium
When I wake up, my contacts were drying out slightly, casting a blurry edge around everything I looked at out the window. Slava's grey Volvo is bouncing around the street, trying to avoid the potholes that loomed up from the asphalt. Potholes in Belarus take on a life of their own, and appear out of nowhere, sometimes forcing people to abandon their cars because they cannot
get out of them.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Pinsk. We're all going to look for the house that we lived in when we were kids."
"We all" constitutes my husband and his two brothers. And of course me, but I don't really count because I never lived in Pinsk, Minsk or anywhere else in Belarus. The dichotomy between the guys and myself is vast, based primarily on the fact that I understand more Russian than I can speak, which isn't much. This, combined with the fact that I will consume anything put in front of me except shuba, is the only mark against me with my new family. We pull into a parking......
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Approximate Word Count: 2823
Approximate Pages: 11 (260 words per double-spaced page) |