From Anna

Bad times these. The terror has turned the world grey. The sounds of marching boots, rifles clicking, men shouting. My own blue eyes don’t shine in the mirror as I wash my face. They are cold, tired, and wasted on this current world.

This war has forced me to pretend to be something I am not. German. Whatever blood my mother brought into our family that gave us blue eyes, I’ll never know, but for now I am grateful. We aren’t watched as we walk down the street. They are too ignorant to understand. We hide amongst them, Jews in German clothing. That’s what my father says anyway, usually with a smirk.

Day after day, we pretend to be just like them. All of our important possessions have been hidden or burned. Our papers have been changed. Our names rearranged. The only thing I can’t seem to change is the heart inside of my chest. It rages. Every time we see another family taken from their homes. Every time another group is shipped away to a camp. I’m nearly of age to join the military. What will they think of my fresh papers? What will they think of my disdain for them?

Today is like any other. I’ve cleaned, had breakfast, done my morning schoolwork as my father instructed, and now I’m sitting in our dining room cleaning out my current selection of books. They are slowly being replaced by new authors, ones suitable for our current situation. When will it end? As I flip open the pages of “And This Is The Light,” a small envelope rushes to the floor. The room is so quiet I can hear it settle onto the wood.

It has my name on it! When did I last pick this book up? Must have been months. I flip it over a few times, looking for a return address or a name. Nothing.

I rush to the desk in the corner for a letter opener. Father has one sitting right on top. I flip the envelope one more time, slice the top open, and pull out the document inside. School paper, lined, and pretty cursive letters covering both sides.

It begins… “Dear Joseph, I’m not sure when you’ll see this letter. I’m hiding it here in the hope that you’ll be missing a strong female character in your life.” Anna wrote me a letter.

The room tilts and for a moment, I’m weightless.

“I don’t know where we’ll be when you read this, if you ever will. I know the German police have been questioning my father. They tell us we shouldn’t live in our home. That we didn’t purchase it legally. That the papers my father has with the information must be incorrect.” Their beautiful home is up the street. A new family lives there now. A young couple with two beautiful young children. Not Jewish, of course. I think of the children playing in the front yard and how, more than once, I’ve wanted to shout—anything to make them feel even a fraction of what we’ve lost. I know they don’t understand. But I do. Isn’t that enough?

“I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to stay here. Mother says we may have to move. I don’t know. I don’t care. I only wish to stay here with you. To go back to our days in school. To go back to our long walks through the park. The trees could keep tossing leaves for us to catch. To go back to a time when we weren’t being pushed out of society for our lineage.”

I can picture my last walk with Anna. Our parents had pulled us out of school, but we could still see each other once our work was done for the day. We walked for over an hour. Admiring the trees. The beautiful day. At the time, I wanted to tell her that she wasn’t merely a walking companion. Unfortunately, it was too big a feeling to make it out of my mouth.

“I’m writing this just in case I don’t get a chance to say goodbye.” She didn’t get to. I don’t know where she is.

“I want you to know that I’m sorry we never got the chance to have any really big adventures, but I’m so glad we got to explore our city together. I would have never done it on my own.” I can picture her smiling face, half hiding behind brown hair. Wind tossing her skirt around her legs. The light in her eyes as she realized I was watching.

“Maybe that is why we’re in each other’s lives. To bring each other out into the world. Now we may be exploring a whole new side of life. The complete unknown of the future.” The uncertainty of war that all my schoolbooks tried to teach me. The things I never thought I could see because they were gone. Now they loom over my family in the streets. They watch for signs. They hope for allies. They whisper and lie. They creep into my home, riding on fear and prejudice.

“I do know one thing. You are my first love.”

My heart has exploded. Just now. This must be death! The warmth is spreading through my chest and into my head. The slight ringing in my ears must be angels. Maybe this isn’t such a bad way to go.

“You probably think I’m a foolish girl, and you don’t care about such things yet, but maybe someday you’ll see. No matter where we go. We’ll always have that.”

My father rushes through the doorway connecting where I’m sitting with the kitchen. His face is red, he’s breathing fast, and his eyes look startled but settle only slightly when he sees me. He moves again, this time to pick up some of the books on the table.

“Joseph. You must put these away. There are men headed here. Men who need to believe what we say.” I look from my father to my letter. My brain hasn’t caught up to his words. He’s made it back to the table for another set of books.

He slides them randomly into the small collection in the living room on the other side of the archway. The letter is still in my hand. I am still in my chair. I feel as though I was just with Anna in the park, how did I end up here?

“Joseph. Up. Now.” He pulls on my arm and pulls me out of the chair. The authority in his voice stirs some fear in the pit of my stomach. He doesn’t speak to us like that. I begin to put the remaining books away, but the letter is still in my hand. My mother and sister quietly enter the room.

My father points to them. “You’ll need to make tea when they arrive. Be steady. We have nothing to fear. Look to be doing something else when they come in the door. Mother, perhaps in the kitchen. Darling, some school work on the table? Bring it down now.”

She obeys. Her ponytail flipping as she runs up the stairs. My mother takes a long look at me. Her eyes are pleading as if she can relay a message to me with them. I don’t hear any message. I just see a scared version of my mother. My father squeezes my shoulder, bringing my attention back to him.

“What is this?” He points to the letter.

“A letter. A letter from… Anna.” I start to open it, but he closes my hand.

“Get rid of it. Some of these books are bad enough. We’ll have to explain that our children our very smart, very curious.” He looks to my mother for confirmation. She nods in agreement.

“I can’t. I can’t get rid of it. It’s all I have! I don’t know where she is.”

I pull away from my father as my sister comes behind me. I knock into her, and the books spread across the floor. She hits the ground to pick them up, rushing, shaking. I can’t understand how far I’ve come in the last few moments.

I look to my father again. Panic is taking over the warmth in my chest. It’s sharp. It stabs away the happiness I felt. My heart is beating faster even though I’m standing still. I should be afraid.

“Son. Is there anything in that letter that gives us away?” Yes. Yes, a lot of things. He can’t know. I don’t want to lose this small piece of who I actually am.

“No.” I lie. I lied to my father. He won’t trust me. He must see the wreck that I’ve become before him.

He gives a long look into my eyes and decides. “Okay but put it away…” He’s cut off by a pounding on the door. My mother jumps and heads to the kitchen. My sister already has her books open on the table, a pencil in her hand. I walk into the living room looking for a place to put the letter.

“Coming.” My father calls. He’s looking at me. A fake smile in place. He looks to my sister. He looks toward the kitchen door where my mother is standing. As he turns toward the door I hear a voice, someone deep within, tell me to throw the letter into the fire. Prod it quickly before the door opens.

But Anna. My only memory. What if I can’t find her? What if they moved to another country or changed their names like our family did? What if I can never tell her that I feel the exact same way? She’s not foolish, was never foolish.

“Now,” says the voice. My hand opens above the flame, and the letter slips between the two pieces of wood. I brush them together with the metal prod and quickly place it back. As my father opens the door, I sit on the couch and pick up a newspaper.

German Troops Achieve Glorious Victory on the Eastern Front! is the headline. My father greets the men, and again, we pretend.