Often at night, my sisters and I would go out and lay on the grass. The night was always alive with chirping crickets, an owl in the distance and even the occasional bark from the neighbor’s dog. The sky was lit with thousands of stars, twinkling as if competing with the brilliance of the moon.
“Look right there. It’s a heart,” I said on one of those nights, pointing towards the sky.
“Uhh, Estherly, you always see hearts!” my older sister, Oma, said, laughing.
“It sort of looks like a heart, if you squint and look at it sideways.” Anika giggled.
“It’s as plain as day! Right there over the tree, a big, beautiful heart! I can’t believe you don’t see it!” I said, standing up and pointing again.
Laughing, they grabbed my arms and pulled me back down to the soft, dewy grass. Hand in hand, we would spend hours lying under the night sky, sharing our hearts as only sisters can. Our bond, our loyalty, and our love was solidified under those stars shared with the whispering winds.
A gun fires, jolting me from my memories. Grabbing my hand, Mae looks at me with wide, petrified eyes. Searching for Henry, our eyes meet, and I’m reminded how much I’m in love. Even during this horrible time, his subtle smile lets me know that, for now, we are not in imminent danger. On cue, soldiers rush our way and usher me, Mae, and our schoolmates back to class, breaking the stare between Henry and me.
“Gather your things. Get back inside. Move it!” demands one of the men.
Making our way back to the brick schoolhouse, more shots ring out. Panic sets in once again as the sound moves in closer. I stare up at what used to be a beautiful, historic building, the schoolhouse I’ve always been fortunate to call my home away from home. The broken windows almost look as though they weep for the grand presence the building once was. The two-story schoolhouse used to have twenty classrooms. Now, with most of the students and their families either deported or murdered, they cram what is left of us into one room on the bottom floor.
Pain ravages my back, and I’m knocked to my knees. The gravel scrapes my hands, and I can feel cuts on my legs from the forceful blow.
“You’re too slow, girl. Get up now!” he orders.
Without a sound, I do as I’m told. Horror strikes when my yellow star falls from where it was sewn on my dress. I reach for it, seeing the thread had come loose, and hope the angry man won’t notice it’s gone. My hand trembles as I pick up the star. Taking a chance, I hold it back in place over my dress.
Blood flows from both of my knees and hands. The dirt and small pebbles sting my wounds, but out of fear of another attack, I ignore them. I catch a glimpse of my aggressor walking beside me, a man three times my size, strutting along, swinging his whip. The look in his eye is cold, but nonetheless he is satisfied with himself and his assault. My stomach knots as I think of how self-righteous he is.
Tears build in the corners of my eyes, but I will never give him that satisfaction I know he must be looking for. Keeping pace with me, he glares, seemingly waiting for me to do something he does not approve of. Don’t cry. Estherly. Hold yourself together. You’re almost inside. With my heart beating faster, my stare stays fixed ahead of me, my eyes not daring to waver. A single tear makes its way down my left cheek and rests at the corner of my lips. I wonder what Henry must be thinking as he’s watching this spectacle. Thankfully, the tear must have gone unnoticed because the soldier on my case doesn’t say anything about it.
A blond soldier keeps the door to the school propped open with his tall, medium-build frame. He ushers the other students by, yelling in a brash tone and waving them on with abrupt, grand gestures. Mae, a few steps ahead of me, hesitates and is met with a push from a short, hefty soldier that forces her through the door. Unable to watch what Mae is going through, I turn my gaze towards the soldier holding the door. I catch a glimpse of his crystal-blue eyes and turn my gaze back to the ground in front of me. Other soldiers on the playground yell from behind me. I long for the days when all I could hear was the sound of laughter or teachers blowing whistles.
My hand briefly grazes Henry’s as I’m rushed inside the classroom. For a moment, it seems as if time stands still. My cheeks flush and my heart overflows with adoration.
“Get inside!” yells the man who struck me.
His boastful voice makes me jump and quicken my steps as I make my way through the small classroom. Putting on my jacket with another yellow star sewn to it, I take my seat next to Mae. The wood of the chair is cold, and splinters stick at my legs through my dress. Mae, wide-eyed, glances at me. I try reassuring her with a smile, however from the look on her face, I’ve failed.
Doing her best to keep her students focused on studying, our teacher, Mrs. Bakal, writes math problems on the blackboard. Mind drifting, I stare out the window. The big beech tree outside the window sways with the soft fall wind, as its leaves descend slowly, dancing their way to the ground.
“Estherly,” she says, with her soft tone. “You need to do your schoolwork.”
I look up to see my teacher standing near my desk. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bakal.” I sigh.
Smiling at me, she makes her way back up to the front of the classroom and continues with the sums. Concentrating on math is the least of my concerns. I can’t help but let my mind wander again. I long for this day to end. I miss the warmth of my home and family, especially in these terrible times. My education has always been important to me, but with the uncertainty my community and family live in, my wish is to be near them now. When I’m at school, I spend most of my time worrying what might be happening back at home. I want to learn, but I’d rather be at home with my family. Home is one of the only places I am safe.
Fidgeting in my chair, I try to ignore the stinging on my knees. The dried blood cracks, and the wounds split open again. A tiny droplet of blood trickles down my leg, no doubt finding its way to my white sock. Doodling hearts and turning my zeros into flowers on what is supposed to be my math paper keep me looking busy. Math is not my strong suit. Oma is the math wiz in our family. She can solve any problem in her head in seconds. She finished school in the top of her class last year. It was a proud moment for the Krauss family.
A soldier yells, “It’s time to go home!”
Standing up, I gather my things. I wait for Mae to grab her books and we walk out of school towards the sidewalk.
“How are your legs?” Mae whispers.
“I will be fine. They hurt, but they are minor scrapes,” I say, looking down at my bloody socks.
“I swear, Estherly, when I saw him hit you, I wanted to run over and push him, but I was so scared.” Tears well up in Mae’s eyes. “Oh, Estherly, I’m so sorry.”
Taking her hand into mine, I give her a reassuring squeeze. Since the Jewish community was attacked, Mae and I rely on each other as best as we can.
“There was nothing you could do. If you tried to intervene, something worse would have happened to you or me.”
Walking hand-in-hand, we make it to the sidewalk.
“This is where we say goodbye.” I pull her into a hug. “Go straight home, and remember the curfew,” I say in her ear.
Mae nods and turns, heading towards her house. Turning in the opposite direction, I start my journey home.
Walking down the street, a cool gust catches the hem of my dress as dry leaves swirl around my ankles and smash underneath my feet. I love the crunching sound they make and try to step on as many as I can. Mixed in with the sound of the leaves, there’s also the familiar thud of a soldier’s boots hitting pavement behind me. Fear sets in, and it takes all I have to keep moving. I walk past darkened shops, ignoring them and focusing straight ahead.