Kolya

A mysterious death in a distant land sixty years ago found a home in my heart and it is equally as mysterious as to why.

Kolya

          It’s like he’s still there, hidden under all that ice and snow. Water below him is frozen still. He’s cold. Very cold. So am I. They have found all but three of his friends. They lay nearby as cold as he. Why did they separate? Why did they not stay together? It’s not that they would have lived any longer but would have made it home sooner and as they died together would have been buried together. He was always smiling and looked so happy in all the photos taken on their journey. No one knows when they are on their journey to their death, well most don’t know. They didn’t.

          It was so long ago. Sixty years. I didn’t know him personally. I was only three years old when he died at the age of twenty-three. I don’t think I will ever have another birthday without thinking of him and all his friends now. I was turning three when he was dying. I can’t explain why it all seems so important to me now, but the moment I found their story by accident, something inside me stirred. The moment I saw his photo, my heart nearly ceased. A gnawing in the pit of my stomach that caused a butterfly effect. My eyes teared up and I knew that if I gave in to the feeling that I wanted to cry, I wouldn’t be able to stop. And I haven’t. I’m not saying that I had the feeling that I knew him like maybe from a past life or something. It wasn’t like that. It was like I wished that I could’ve known him, been in his presence to see that extraordinary smile. I find myself wondering what his voice sounded like, what it would have been like to hold his hand. I had no idea why I was feeling or thinking like this. Why had none of the other photos of his friends affected me other than feeling sorry that this awful thing had happened to them? I even felt sorrier for his family, especially his mother, than I felt for any of the others. I can’t explain why. I’m sixty-three years old, it’s not like a girlish crush on a handsome man. This is way different. I even asked myself questions like, ‘does he remind me of someone dear to me that I have lost, like my Daddy or a friend?’ The answer is ‘no’. He looks nothing like my Daddy or anyone I have ever known.

          I find that I think of him often, on cold days and nights especially and when it snows or when the wind blows and howls past my bedroom window or early in the morning just before dawn or when I look at a bare tree against a grey sky or even at the mention of snow-covered mountains.

          What is it about him? I really want to know. Right now, as I type this, my body feels cold even though I’m in a warm house with warm clothing and blankets surrounding me. I’m cold and thinking of him. Kolya, T-beau, Nicolai.

          From the moment I stumbled across this tragic story, I felt an overwhelming need to learn more. I saved everything I found. Every now and then, I pull up the photos and look at them and each time it’s like the very first time seeing them. It’s like I’m looking for something new to appear, something I missed the last time I looked. I touch them like he’s going to feel it. I talk to them as though he can hear me. I wish.

          I hope to God that he never felt whatever hit him so hard that his skull was crushed into his brain. I hope to God that it was an instant death. I hope he didn’t feel pain. I hope that God had mercy and took him from his shell moments before the injury happened. I hope he never felt the cold as the others did. I hope he never had time to think of all the ones he loved, to miss them, to fear never seeing them again. I hope he never knew he was dying. I hope he’s in a warm beautiful place with all the ones he loved that died before him and all the ones who have died over these last sixty years. I hope he’s happy and still smiling. I hope that maybe, just maybe, someday, when it’s my time to go, I’ll get the chance to meet him, even if it’s just in passing. I hope I get to touch his hand just once and say ‘hello’ and see if any of my questions can be answered. Oh, how I wish. Rest peacefully friend of my heart.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

This is excellent, both for the strong writing skill employed, and for the touching subject matter. Isn't it odd how we can link ourselves to someone in the past on a very personal level like this? I've done it, and maybe many others have, too. The why and how can set me thinking hard for a good long while. Perhaps, for those of us who do this, it's a sign of well-developed sense of empathy.
I very much enjoyed reading this.

[Lea Sheryn]

This is so intriguing. If you expanded on this, you would have a very good book.