12
Yulia
“Bayu-bayushki-bayu, ne lozhisya na krayu…” My mom is singing a Russian lullaby to me, her voice soft and sweet as I snuggle deeper into the blanket. “Pridyot seren’kiy volchok, i ukusit za bochok…”
Her crooning is off-key and the words are about a gray wolf that will bite my side if I lie too close to the edge of the bed, but the melody is warm and comforting, like my mom’s smile. I bask in it, savoring it for as long as I can, but with each word, my mom’s voice gets fainter and softer, until there’s only silence.
Silence and cold, empty darkness.
“Don’t go, Mom,” I whisper. “Stay home. Don’t go to Grandpa tonight. Please, stay home.”
But there’s no response. There’s never a response. There’s only darkness and the sound of Misha crying. He’s feverish and wants our parents.
