Even though I am twelve I feel like I am growing up too fast for comfort. But war does funny things to people.
Friday morning I put on my blue wool pea coat, over my best dress and my floppy felt hat on top of my straight dark hair. Mama silently packed my rucksack she purchased at the school. Only the absolute necessities could be packed. I suppose my doll house and its residence weren't a necessity. Gilbert the goldfish, the watercolor set, the music box, and my favorite quilt were not essentials, but that depends on who you ask. Someone made the mistake of listing school books as a necessity.
I wasn’t told, like the other children, that I was going on a holiday with my school. I heard the governor announce the night before that evacuations would begin the next morning. Mama was never the type to sugarcoat things.
But Papa was the opposite of Mama.
He didn't let the world get to him. It was like he had a superpower, or an invisible shield and sword to fight off the dragons of bad news and sadness. Some people wear waterproof coats called slickers, but papa, I'm pretty sure he wears a coat that is worry-proof.
Papa wouldn't be able to say goodbye to me at the station since he owned the local newspaper. He told me he had to go to work or else the newspaper shop would explode because of too much information pouring in.
Before he left for work, I hugged him and kissed his bristly cheek, staining his tan coat with my tears.
“Remember Suzanne,” he spoke softly to me. “Imagination is stronger than fear. Don't let the world change you if you can change the world around you first.”
“Don't worry Papa, I won't forget what you've taught me. I'll always be your Suzanne.” I plopped his fedora on his head for him. “I'll write to you every day and tell you about all my adventures.”
“I can't wait to hear about them.”
I slung my gas mask over my shoulder. Papa helped fasten a brown label to my coat with my name and school written on it. With Mama carrying my rucksack, we left Papa standing on the front steps of our flat as we headed to the railway station.
My sense of excitement grew as I drew near to the station. Teachers and schoolmates were crammed like sardines on the train platform as if we were leaving for a holiday. A train whistle pierced through the air, drowning out the voices of the volunteers. Trampled toes could not be avoided in the dense crowds as we were pushed this way and that, like dodge’em cars at the fairground, but it was definitely not as fun.
The number of handkerchiefs and kisses exchanged by mothers with moist eyes made by excitement plummet. My stomach dropped like a rock. The realization that I was heading for an unknown destination in the countryside filled me with dread. Even though I was surrounded by thousands of people, fear and loneliness closed in around me like the steam from the departing train already filled with evacuees.
Closing my eyes tightly I whispered, “Papa, I promised I'd try to remember what you always told me: ‘Imagination is stronger than fear.’”
Waiting along the train tracks, sandwiched between volunteers, children, and baggage, I looked up at Mama's face. With head erect, she remained impassive, all but for the quiver of her perfect crimson lips. Her lips were like a red rose blossoming among snowdrifts of pale setting powder. It suited her well, for it reflected her strength and resilience in the hard times.
I followed her gaze down the track, spotting the white smoke of the next steam train billowing up into the soft orange morning sky before I could see the train itself. I pictured smooth scoops of pastel color sherbet on the horizon coming from the smokestack.
The train approached the station in slow labored chugs, and I thought of the adventure books Papa would read to me. In an instant, everything around me became a lush jungle. Birds with brightly colored feathers flew overhead. Tree frogs chirped to the symphony of warbling birds. A warm glowing light from the front of the train filtered through the tangle of vines and foliage. The train was looking more like a trolley now. Gone were the crowds and baggage, handkerchiefs and tears, the shouting and shoving, but most of all fear.
“Where are you headed?” I asked the little girl next to me with honey-colored curls. She hugged her lumpy sack of belongings.
“The same place as you...The country?” She wiped away a stray tear.
“We might be going to the country,” I said, “But how could we get there on a trolley? How will it get through all those vines?”
“What do you mean?” asked the little girl.
“Don't you see it coming? Hear its bell dinging? It's green and blue, and it's trying to get through the jungle,” I pointed at the train coming into the station. “It's going to take us to a far-off land. A place only children can go, except for the teachers, who will give us our lessons outside under the sun. On the ride there they’ll serve ice cream for breakfast and lunch.”
“I don't see anything,” the little girl sniffled.
“Look harder!”
“Ah I see it now!” Dimples appeared on the little girl's rosy cheeks. “I do hope we are going to the same place!”
“Do you have your treasure map?” I asked, fingering my brown name tag.
The little girl muttered, “It's not a map though…”
“That's what they want you to think,” I said out of the corner of my mouth. “There's a reason they put your name on it. It is your own special invisible map that will lead you to your new home. It might be an enormous castle, or a fairy tale cottage, or a mansion with a library and horse stables.”
The little girl tinkered with her name tag and stared at it in wonderment with her large blue eyes.
“Don't tell anyone, but I'm smuggling my cat, Jingles along.” I put a finger to my lips and pulled from my pocket my yellow toy cat. “He's actually a real cat. This is just his disguise.”
The little girl hurriedly dug through her sack and produced a worn-out teddy bear. Her smile appeared again. She looked up at me with eyes that no longer twinkled with tears, but with amusement.
A stocky tan-faced boy shuffled up next to the little girl. His sour face was as wrinkled as a walnut.
“Hi, there!” I thrust out a hand. “I'm Suzanne!”
He grabbed the little girl by the hand. “Come on Chrissy.”
“Wait, not yet!” Chrissy yanked her hand free of her brother's grasp. She hoisted up her gas mask and asked me, “What does this do?”
“That's for when we arrive at our new home. The goggle part helps you to see magical creatures like fairies and elves. The mouth part translates your language into theirs so you can talk to them.”
The boy's face unwrinkled. “Where will our new home be?”
“Your name tag has an invisible map on it. You can use the gas mask to see it.”
Chrissy smiled at her brother.
Mama brushed back my long strands of brown hair out of my face and asked, “What did you tell that little girl that made her so happy?”
“Imagination is stronger than fear,” I smiled up at her. “But I didn't tell her, I showed her.”
“Your father would be proud,” Mama whispered, and then kissed my forehead.
Everyone and everything slowly melted away like sherbet from around me, except for my belongings, the train, and my new friends. The jungle was maturing by the second and so was I.
