by
Marlene McCarty
September 2021
Where have you gone, Lucy? Child of my dreams. You with the pools of
darkness in your eyes. Eyes that sometimes cloud with the misery of a doomed nation in their shimmering depths.
You filled my barren arms that morning. When the too-young Canadian Soldier first heard your newborn mewing and pulled you from the rubble--the only survivor in the camp--he ran screaming about the 'baby in the bunker'. And I, too young to be judgmental, too full of hope for the resurrection of that ravaged land, fought long and hard for the right to make you mine. To bring you here to this forgiving shore and keep you safe.
And so it was. You became the 'Bunker Baby,' and all of Canada became your parents. But it was I who became your 'first' mother.
We watched you grow, Lucy. Me and the nation. And you flourished here amidst the love of your rescuers. At first we were shocked to the core. When the news came dribbling in about the bombed terrorist camps. Shocked to find that not only were there the kind we had suspected, but females too. Many of them had been with child. And we asked ourselves if it was possible to 'breed' terrorists.
And for twenty years, I've watched, Lucy. Watched while my heart ached. Saw you at ten, combing the archives on your viewer. Pecking out each snippet of your past. Hunting down each imagined memory.
What were you looking for, Lucy. . . who?
And still they fell--and rose again. To surface where we least expected.
Here, there, and everywhere. And you watched and listened. Until tonight. Then you were gone into the darkness. But now I know there were signs; I dismissed them. The blush on your cheeks. The glow in your eye. Unmistakable. The bloom of first love along with something else . . . something much more deadly.
Perhaps I should have listened. Heeded those who said I was making a big mistake, and that you should have been left in the bunker. What will happen to you, Lucy? I destroyed your note. Not sure of its meaning and too frightened to think of the possibilities. You'll all be hearing from me. Love, Lucy.
And now, God help me. God help us all . . . .
****************************************************************************************
©2001 Marlene McCarty
*Bunker Baby previously published at Wynterblue Thunder (April, 2002)
