The Nineteen-Nineties were in Black and White (Short Story)
Northwest Review 2008, Fall, 46, 3
This book is available for download with iBooks on your Mac or iOS device, and with iTunes on your computer. Books can be read with iBooks on your Mac or iOS device.
Before the war, I'm told, my brother was a clown. He sometimes dressed in mother's clothes, and he made dirty jokes, and he pulled pranks on everyone--even Grandma. There were pictures that testified to this, I'm further told, but they were lost. I do remember him taking me down to the sea, which we could see from our flat, and we would skip rocks together in the white sunshine. The sea was the kind of green that exists only in cartoons and memories. Sometimes we'd get frustrated with skipping the rocks and we'd start throwing them. We threw them at the tourist boats when I was very small, and then sometimes at the HV soldiers before we knew any better. After that we had to stay inside basically for years. Drago doesn't talk anymore, at least not in Croat, but I still think he is funny. He makes faces and laughs out loud at mother when she gets angry over something small. Let me tell you, it is an unnerving thing to be laughed at by somebody who doesn't speak, and mother absolutely hates it. She gets quiet and goes to her bedroom to listen to her old music tapes. Then Grandma comes in and brushes Drago's hair from his eyes and tells him that as long as you can still laugh, you are doing okay.