I have 71% battery.
We all run in, my mom goes to call my sister out of the shower.
“Normally it’s at nine,” She grumbles, tightening her robe.
It’s constant messages to everyone I love, and now I’m at 68%.
After nearly 15 minutes of anxious silence (save for the constant siren outside), my brother speaks.
“We have rummikub,” He mutters, “no food or water, but… we have rummikub.”
I look at my sister, and she looks at me.
Why not?
Our safe room is also a guest room, so we begin precariously laying the tiles across the blanket while my parents continue texting and calling anyone we’ve ever known.
‘We’re still safe’
How did we get here?
I can’t help but think of October 1, 2023. Who was I one year ago? I can’t remember.
I miss her.
“It’s your turn, Shir,” My sister nudges me as another explosion sounds outside.
I look at the board, if you could even call it that. It looks more like a pile, with the pieces overlapping and bundled together.
A mess, but I can make sense of it.
“The situation in here is worse than what’s going on out there.” I try to joke, referencing my terrible hand.
Another explosion.
64%.
My aunt calls; she lives in Tiberias.
We all try to calm her and reassure her that God will keep us safe.
The question bounces around in my head.
Will he?
It’s my turn again.
I have three sixes, but I pick a card instead.
The siren starts again.
In the background, the news is on, with reporters repeating, ‘Do not leave your safe room yet.’
Will anyone miss me?
That’s a terrifying thought, but it crosses my mind.
My brother smiles as he lays the winning tile.
If he’s smiling, I guess we’ll be okay.
And hey, we also have Codenames.