A Mother's Tears • Ch. 4 of 16
The Revolution
It was a cold day in December when the initial gunshots rang out in the large city of Timisoara—, signaling the start of Romania’s 1989 revolution. Back in Bucharest, Gabriela’s office was bustling as it had always been—, the coffee machine was on, music was playing from the corner of someone’s desk, everything was perfectly standard. The radio suddenly cut out as the song stopped. What replaced it were dozens of shouts and what sounded like a massive crowd booing and chanting “down with communism!” My mom couldn’t believe her ears. There was no announcement as to where it was happening or what was occurring at that moment, only the loud noises of an oncoming revolt.
About that time, a courier walked into the office from Section Five of the capital and was going back soon to deliver another package.
“What’s happening?” my mother frantically asked. The woman raised her eyes from the floor and softly said;
“The revolution’s started.” Everyone in the office stood wide-eyed, not knowing what to say or do. My mom begged her to relay a message back to her niece who worked in Section Five as well.
“Tell her that I’m okay and to meet us at home.” Others asked the same favor of the courier before her trek back into the center of the city. There were so many requests to send messages to loved ones that the woman began writing them all on the palms of her hands. Gabriela’s boss called and asked for her personally. She picked up the receiver not sure of what he could possibly want at a time like this.
“Get home as quick as you can,” he told my mother. Everyone knew the moment had finally come—, the uprising had begun. All circulation throughout Bucharest stopped cold. No cars were driving around, the roads were nearly deserted. My mom hugged everyone and left to go fend for herself in the uncertain streets outside. She stopped by a bakery to pick up four trays of pastries in case we’d have to leave the city. On the corners she began seeing soldiers standing atop their tanks handing out flowers to people walking by. She reached up and gave them some of the desserts she was holding, tears streaming down her face.
“Long live Romania!,” they said to her.
All communication throughout the country came to a halt. Nobody could reach anybody else. My mom couldn’t even speak to her sister to make sure everyone was okay back home. The only thing coming from the radio was patriotic music on a loop. No newscasts, no bulletins to report, everyone was clueless as to what was happening. Only random spurts of gunfire could be heard from outside, that was all people had to gauge on what was taking place. I was only three at the time as both my parents became glued to their television set. They finally saw what all the commotion was about.
A New Reality
Nicolae Ceausescu’s speeches were usually met with an anxious silence and stares from his oppressed people below the balcony he used as center stage. Not on that fateful day. What began as a few sporadic boos amongst the large crowd soon grew into a sonic assault on the stunned dictator.
The hail of gunfire right below our second-story window got louder and more frightening once nightfall came around. My parents and I laid down on our stomachs hidden away from any stray bullets that could potentially burst in through the glass. The next morning looked much the same. My uncle picked up my parents and I from our apartment. The car swerved in and out of the streets with people scattered about. Looking out through the window I could see tanks and soldiers from the safety of my backseat. The protesters held up the revolution’s unofficial symbol; a Romanian flag with its coat of arms ripped out of the center, like a hollowed sun surrounded by a glow of yellow hope. A new day, a new life—, the horizon was nearing.
They’d captured the president and his wife and were preparing for their sentencing which would surely end up in execution. The improvised courtroom was a single folding table at which Nicolae and Elena sat in silence while listening to the brutal charges being brought against them both. The soldiers brought out zip-ties which they tightened around Nicolae’s hands. Elena was up next.
“Don’t you dare touch me!,” she yelled. “You will not tie those around my wrists!” She pleaded over and over until she too, realized it was useless. “I’ve treated you like my own children!” she finally gasped out in utter despair. The scene was being broadcast on a live feed to the entire country. The army readied their rifles, opened fire, and shot them both in the open street—, they collapsed like their regime. Laying lifeless on the pavement, blood slowly drained from the backs of their heads and dripped down through the sewer grates for the world to see. Romania’s revolution was very much televised.
Of all the governments which were overthrown throughout Europe that year, theirs was the only one whose dictator ended up dead. It didn’t matter much though, things were getting worse—, even after the revolution, there was no certainty anymore. The protesters tried, in vain, to reclaim control of their country and establish democracy but were beaten to power by the communists’ successors. A near anarchic atmosphere was slowly growing in the capital city and those surrounding it. Though the gunfire had ceased, there were no governing officials to reinstate order.
“We have to leave,” my dad finally said to my mom and I. They knew it wouldn’t be an easy escape. Nobody was allowed to leave the country at that time without a valid reason—, even after communism had fallen.
Airport Anxiety
Time slowly passed by as the moment finally arrived for the departure. It was unseasonably hot, even for August. The car’s air conditioning was on full-blast when it reached Otopeni Airport just outside of Bucharest. Gabriela was getting ready to say goodbye to her family for the last time before eventually being reunited with Marcel and I in a far greater land. She gathered up her luggage and looked toward the backseat where we sat with the biggest hopes in our hearts for my mother.
“I love you,” she said to us all—, kissed everyone in the car, held me tightly for a few final moments, and she was off.
The building was heavily guarded, especially after the revolution had ended just a mere seven months prior. In Romania at that time, you needed to have an inside person for everywhere you went, for everything you did. My parents had plenty of people they were in good relations with that helped out in a variety of ways; the butcher sold them the best cuts, the clothier held onto the finest garments for them to buy, and now that Gabriela was about to leave her home country for the last time, she needed a person who could expedite the process of getting her onto that airplane as quickly and seamlessly as possible. She saw her dark-haired friend from the lobby and walked directly over to her. My mom placed her two suitcases she had fit an entire life into down on the inspection table. Instead of unlocking them both and searching through every little pocket and corner for contraband, her friend simply smiled at Gabriela and let her pass through without the slightest bit of hassle.
She slowly walked through the spacious airport—, making sure she didn’t look too eager to leave once and for all. My mom gave her fellow citizens one final look and thought to herself how she’d never return. It wasn’t hatred for the country that she felt, but instead a sorrow for having to live under its past circumstances for so long that it forever tainted her experience there. Of course she’d made tons of memories that she’d never forget—, but they all paled in comparison to the new ones she’d make in her new home. She snapped out of her daydreaming and came back into the present moment.
Finally Headed to a New Home
Upon reaching the right gate, she handed over her boarding pass and on her way through the connecting tunnel she went. My mom walked down the long corridor with confidence, she knew true freedom was mere hours away. Once in her window- seat, she held out her hands and noticed that even her palms were peeling from the stress she felt. In the chairs next to her sat two well-dressed American women who began speaking with my mom.
“We’re headed to Los Angeles, how about you?”
“New York,” Gabriela coyly answered. She’d reran the plan over in her head multiple times; once in the big city, she was to meet with Marcel’s friends, stay with them and wait for us to come three months later. That was the next step in her journey.
The moment the plane slowly lifted up and off the ground, my mom’s emotions came rushing over her as she suddenly felt like laughing, crying, anything, all at the same time. The land, much like her many memories of her native home started to shrink outside the small window—, further and further the plane pierced the atmosphere and slowly reached an altitude above clouds. There, Gabriela let out the long exhale she’d kept pent up from earlier that morning. My mom knew that she was headed for a foreign country—, where things were better, where freedom and true democracy existed, and where she wouldn’t be afraid to walk to work any longer. I’ll sweep the streets if I have to, she’d thought to herself, willing to do anything it took if it meant starting over with fresh opportunity and a new life for her and her family. The plane soared through the air as she finally closed her eyes. Being too excited to sleep, Gabriela replayed all of the new possibilities she could eventually encounter in her mind as she was at last headed for America—, Land of the Free.