Not Just Another Fun Holiday

By Rachel Dib

“Hello!” I flounced over to another group of people before anyone from the first could respond. “Hello!” Seeing their confused expressions, I chuckled and skipped down the sidewalk.

When I heard a woman speaking Spanish into her cell phone, I couldn’t help but exclaim “¡Hola! ¡Soy Leah!” She glared at me, but I was too giddy to care. I had a bet to win.

I passed a car with the window rolled down, and the speaker blaring the news. “Tensions in the region haven’t been this high since the war in 1973.”

“That’s depressing,” I mumbled and jogged up the street belting out “hellos” as I went. Then I turned the corner—and the road disappeared from beneath my feet.

Before I could scream, I landed and tumbled down a dusty rock-strewn hill. When I came to rest at the bottom, I lay there, gasping for breath. I heard shouting and the roar of engines nearby.

Did I wander onto a construction site? Where were the signs? Why am I suddenly so hot?

As I stood, a sharp whistle pierced the air—and the world exploded.

Clumps of dirt and debris rained from the sky. With a yelp, I dove behind a nearby boulder.

Someone grabbed my arm. “This way!”

I followed without thought, covering my head with my arms as another explosion rocked the earth. “Are we being shot at?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Surprised, I looked up to see my rescuer was dressed in an unfamiliar military uniform: mechanic-like coveralls with rank insignias stitched onto his shoulders, a battered helmet, and combat boots.

I staggered backward. “Wait, who are you?”

His gaze grew impatient. “I’m Chaim. Now unless you want to die, hurry up.”

Though I didn’t appreciate his gruff manner, I figured if anyone knew his way around an attack, a soldier would. I bit back my frustration and quickened my pace. “What happened?”

Another high-pitched whistle. Another boom. I screamed.

Chaim remained unperturbed. “This way.”

We crawled up a packed dirt embankment and rose onto a hill overlooking a desert landscape. In a valley several hundred yards below, the shattered remains of a tank burned behind the front line of a raging battle.

As we watched, soldiers dressed like Chaim marched past us toward their embattled comrades. Most shouldered rifles, but some carried stretchers. Their fatigue was clearly heavier than the equipment they lugged, and their expressions were grim but determined.

No. How? I don’t… I tried to stand, bent on running away, but Chaim pulled me back down.

“Don’t expose yourself.”

As soon as the warning left his lips, another explosion slammed me face-first into the earth. With ears ringing and coppery blood on my tongue, I lifted my head. The desert swam. I focused on the horizon rippling beneath the setting sun.

My stomach lurched as Chaim hauled me to my feet. I bent over and vomited. When I straightened, my head felt clearer.

“Let’s go.” He pushed me toward a troop of soldiers sheltering behind some stone ruins.

I tried to turn around—scramble away—but Chaim grabbed my arm.

“Don’t you want to say hello?” he snapped.

“What?”

“You were participating in World Hello Day, were you not?” He gestured to the soldiers. “They’re the reason for the holiday’s existence. They gave their lives so that you can prance down the street making a nuisance of yourself. Don’t you want to tell them hello?”

I swallowed, but my throat was too dry, my mouth gritty from the sand floating in the air. “I don’t understand.”

Chaim nodded. “Oh, that’s right. You thought it was a game. Just a fun holiday you and your work buddies could wage a bet on.” He smirked. “Who can say hello to the most people on November 21?”

He swung me around to face the tanks engaging in the valley below. “Do you think war is a game?”

“Of course not. I—”

The earth rocked with another explosion. The soldiers around me didn’t even flinch.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I whispered.

“None of us should be here.”

Pain edged Chaim’s words, catching me off guard.

“That’s the real point of World Hello Day—to solve differences with words rather than aggression. To say hello to someone you might not otherwise feel inclined to. To open communication.” Shaking his head, he began to descend the hill toward the battle.

I reached out to stop him. “Wait! You can’t go down there. You’ll die!”

“You can’t die twice.” He turned back to face me, revealing a shredded neck covered in blood.

I squeezed my eyes shut. When I reopened them, Chaim stood amongst a host of soldiers from both sides, all with grievous wounds.

He smiled sadly, and the soldiers as well as the desert surroundings began to fade. “Remember us next time you say hello.”

Someone touched my shoulder, and I jumped.

“Are you okay?”

I blinked. Though I once more stood amongst familiar buildings, Chaim remained. He wore a curious expression, his gaze fixed on something behind me.

“Are you okay?” an accented voice repeated.

Realizing Chaim’s lips hadn’t moved, I spun around to find a young man studying me from behind strands of curly, dark hair. I jerked away from him, and he flung up his hands. A wallet flew from his grasp and landed at my feet. A picture of a familiar soldier peeked out from the top.

“Sorry. I—” The young man stepped forward to retrieve it, but I snatched it up first.

I swallowed, my hand shaking as I returned the wallet. “Who’s that picture of? Looks old.”

“Oh, um.” He slipped out the photograph. “My grandfather. He was a tank commander who died in war.”

“Chaim.” I glanced around, but the ghost had vanished.

He lifted a brow. “Sorry?”

I shook my head. “I know of that war. It brought about today’s World Hello Day.” I offered him my hand. “So, hello. I’m Leah. It’s nice to meet you.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachel Dib is a stay-at-home mom of three small children. After marrying a soldier, she left her home state of South Carolina to live in random places across the United States. Her short fiction appears in anthologies published by Havok Publishing, Ye Olde Dragon Books, Iron Faerie Publishing, Brigids Gate Press, and The Last Line literary journal. She also was awarded Havok’s “Most Prolific Author” for 2022 and 2023.

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