Time Travel

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Strange how the darkness takes a different hue when there is snow in the fields and fog in the air; more a milky black than a pitch black; a lighter shade of dark. Reka preferred pitch black; it made her blind to the shadows. In this light it almost looked like ghosts hung in the hedgerows; the ghosts of her life? The car hummed along the motorway being watched by silent snowmen, scarecrows, mice and owls as it carried her home. She was glad she was not driving; happy to let someone else take the strain; happy to stare out of the window watching the miles of motorway pass her by. She longed to be at home in bed, cuddled up to the one she loved, but she was four hours from home and the rate this fog was coming down, they might have to add another hour to that.

Reka closed her eyes and tried to let the motion carry her to sleep, but she wasn’t really very tired, and the large late lunch still sat uncomfortably in her belly.

She sensed they were slowing down and opened her eyes.

Up ahead blue and red lights flashed through the fog. Her stomach flipped taking her back twenty-five years as it did. She could still see the faces of those soldiers as they’d made them stop and get out of the car. The crude jokes they’d made about shooting the men and taking the women to have some fun. They’d been searching for deserters or the enemy, and although her and her friends were neither, that meant nothing to the soldiers. The troops were young and scared and bored and stupid and living on a knife-edge fuelled by energy drinks and sleepless nights, and they didn’t care whose side you were on. Eventually they’d let Reka and her friends go, but not before scarring the younger Reka for life.  

As they approached the roadblock, her stomach continued to tie itself in knots. She could taste the fear she’d felt all those years ago. She was staring straight ahead; trying to avoid eye-contact with anyone outside the car. She could see the guns hanging around the men’s necks. She felt like someone had walked over her grave. They were at snail’s pace now allowing the police to have a good look. She willed the patrol not to stop them holding her thumbs till they hurt. To her great relief they were waved through. Obviously the police were searching for the people smugglers that were working the route from Greece. Vesna’s little black Citroën was of no concern.

As the flashing lights receded into the distance, the fog seemed to lift a little and the driver put her foot down. Reka closed her eyes and let her stomach unravel. She felt a little daft for her overreaction at the blockade; letting a silly incident from twenty-five years ago affect her now. She thought of home, of opening the front door and the one she loved coming bounding towards her, barking and wagging its little tail.