I Was Anastasia

by Ariel Lawhon

I’ve never realized before how clearly men need leaders. How adrift we are without them and how the mere sight of one can breathe courage into a room.

My dad was one of those men you feel walking into a room. He was six-foot-two. Black hair and blue eyes. Uncommonly handsome. He was a former cattle rancher and military police officer. He had physical presence—the only thing he had in common with Tsar Nicholas II—and I brought back his memory to write this scene. My father died almost seventeen years ago in the most horrific and tragic of ways. Maybe that’s why I superimposed him into this scene? Possibly. Probably. Regardless, when I think of the Russian Emperor returning to his family, I think of the way I felt at eight years old when my father came home after a trip to Israel. He filled the entire room and I knew that I was safe.