Concrete Jungle

Chapter 18

Exactly an hour and a half after the train first lurched from its position in Kiev, Ukraine, it came to a grinding, screeching halt at the Gomel, Belarus train station. Sasha didn't nap the entire time but also had to show her passport at the border as well as her plane ticket saying that she was only staying 3 days and than heading back to New York. She also made it clear that she worked for National Geographic and was there on assignment as well as gave the border officers the number of whom they needed to contact to confirm her identity. She was used to this from her many travels abroad but it still felt strange saying it all in her native tongue. They didn't give her any trouble except asking if she was a native of Gomel:

"Miss Morozova, it says on your passport your birthplace is Belarus, were you born in Gomel?" The first one asked.
"Yes, I was."
"And this is your first time returning?" The second one followed up, eyeing her carefully.
"Yes, it is." She replied calmly, returning eye contact. She knew this was all part of them doing their jobs.
"In Ukraine, you were there on business too?"
"Correct."
"How long were you there?"
"Two weeks."
"That will be all. If we have any other questions, we will contact your employer." The first one said as he gave her, her passport back and she nodded once at them both as they moved onto the next passenger.

The rest of the ride was uneventful and she hesitated for a slight moment before getting her suitcase and travel bag and getting off the train with the help of a conductor whom she tipped. DC had given her the name of the hotel she would be staying in and all she had to do was find a taxi. It was late but trains pulled in and out so finding one wouldn't be too bad of a deal. Once she flagged one down and got in and they took off, did she really look around the city which had bore her. Nothing looked like she had remembered, though she was only 9 when they immigrated. The Paradise hotel looked more like an office building on the outside but she had specifically asked for nothing fancy when they were going to book for her. She checked in promptly and pulled out her notes and blue journal. The following day, she would take a taxi to her old neighborhood if it was still standing but for now before she fell asleep, she briefly read through her notes and after sending a goodnight text to her mom, hugging the blue journal to her chest, she fell into a deep sleep.

The following morning, she woke up around 10am as she hadn't set an alarm for herself. She had nowhere left to rush. This was her own personal project and was going to be done at her own speed and on her own time frame. Three days were more then enough for everything. She had the beginning of the story already from the journal itself, now she just needed to find the ending or some version of it. After showering and dressing comfortably, she grabbed the journal and her backpack with her usual tools and set off to find breakfast and another taxi. The first was easy to locate in a little cafe beside the hotel and the second was called for her by the hotel's front desk. Once the driver arrived, she gave him the address and asked if the neighborhood was still there:

"Of course it is. Many things have been rebuilt and others......well......that land is still untouchable." She immediately knew he meant the location where the hospital stood. By the look on her face, he knew that she knew, he couldn't help but ask:
"You lived there before?" Sasha just nodded looking out the window.
"When did you leave?"
"In 1989."
"So you're a Chernobylite?" When she looked at him sharply after his exclamation, he shut his mouth and kept driving.

She hated that phrase with a passion greater then death because of the treatment her brothers received because they were. Two boys born the year of the disaster both with health conditions because of it. She remembered how scared her parents were about the doctors and government officials trying to take George away to some asylum and how only by escaping to America saved him from certain death. As the taxi bore her closer to her old neighborhood, she asked the driver to stop at a flower shop. There she picked up a small bouquet of flowers and they continued to the destination. When he got there and she paid him: