Chapter Three (post two)

Pre-read note: This is literally just written (which is why it's being posted at 2am) so please forgive any non-flowing parts or any spelling errors or typos. Thank you. 

Chapter three, section two, part two: 

That wasn’t the last time I saw her. It would be the second last time, but I would count it as the last time, since the very last time was not something I would want to remember. The very last time was something that I’d bury deep in my mind and hope to forget, but we all know you never actually forget what you want to forget.

It was during the freezing winter of 1945, when I was dressed in warm German wool while I watched the people I used to know slowly starve. Used to know – that’s how I always thought of them as soon as I wore the swastika on my arm, that’s what happens when you turn to the other side – the people you would have died for become the people you used to know. They literally, slowly yet surely, became people I used to know as the Germans starved the Netherlands. The elderly and the young slowly were the first to be killed off in, I would learn later, surprising numbers. The numbers grew as the winter went on – but as a soldier, you’re not told the numbers, you’re never told the numbers.

 My family was well-off. My father had worked for the government, before he’d been part of the German resistance movement which led him to his death. I assumed, as I lived in my military barrack-style accommodations, that they would be ok. They’d have enough to get by. I tried not to think of Sofie, though, with her three younger brothers, a father off at war and a working mother trying to put food on the kitchen table.

Then, one day, I ran into her. She was bundled in wool stockings and coat, with her hair all pinned back instead of its usual loose waves, and wore a tight lipped smile that I knew wasn’t genuine. Lugging what seemed to be basket filled with some sort of purchases, she was trekking through the heavy snow fall through the downtown area. It was growing dark and, since the city was starving and freezing, no one was out. No one, that is, but us in green wool, and Sofie.

I don’t know what she was doing out. I don’t know why her mother didn’t send one of her brothers with her, at least. I don’t know why the soldiers thought they had the right to cause trouble, but they did. Three of them started walking behind her, whistling and joking loudly. They weren’t guys I knew, although they would probably have been staying in the same barracks as me. Their noises got louder and more cocky as we approached from the other side of the street. The visibility was poor, so at first I didn’t realize it was her. I didn’t agree with what they were doing in the first place, and I could tell the other two soldiers I was with didn’t either. The one on my right was watching the group with a sort of death glare that I only wished would work. I don’t remember his name, but he’d been another street kid that they’d picked up and put the badge on. We started walking towards them, crossing the street, and at first I followed the other two, but then I noticed that oval face and those blue eyes, and I stopped dead.

Luckily the two guys I was with didn’t notice, and just kept walking. I saw Sofie look up at the two buff soldiers coming towards her, cornering her, and I saw her eyes grow huge and her breath suck in. The three soldiers behind her were laughing and calling still, gaining on her heels, and I saw her looking for a way out, a way to escape, but there was a brick wall to her right and the other two soldiers approaching her from the left. She was trapped.

I wanted to call out to her. Once she knew it was me, trailing behind but there, I knew she would have felt better. Even if she’d thought we would have to take on five full grown men, it’s always better to have a friend. But, as she looked around with big blue eyes, I didn’t say a word. I didn’t come to her rescue, I didn’t even say a word. I watched as she finally stopped dead her tracks, clutching the basket to her side. I watched as she looked between the loud, laughing group behind her and the two quiet soldiers marching towards her from the left. I saw her almost cry out at them, but she seemed lost for words. Then one of the soldiers I’d been with, the one who’d also been a run-away, called out not to her, but to the guys behind her. For a second she was caught in the middle, with the three soldiers growing defensive and my guys not giving in, but quickly the three who’d been harassing Sofie realized there was no point in arguing, that they weren’t going to get to this girl. They threw some more insults into the cold winter air but then turned around, and walked away.

I stood, stupidly, in the middle of the street as all this happened. I watched the three soldiers trek down the road as the other two, my two, asked Sofie if she was ok. She stumbled over her words as she responded yes. I stayed far enough away so she wouldn’t be able to see my face. She thanked the soldiers and glanced at me, the chicken, before continuing her trek through the snow.

I regretted it instantly. I felt the guilt rise from my stomach through my spine, into my head. I knew I’d done the wrong thing. Even if I was dressed in the enemy’s costume, I loved her, and I’d neglected her. I’d abandoned her when as soon as things had gotten rough for me, and then I hadn’t even come through when she’d needed me for something as small as standing up for her. And for what? Because I was ashamed of who I’d become, because I was ashamed that I was on the wrong side. But, standing there, watching her start down the street, I know that I wasn’t ashamed in that moment to be wearing a green wool coat with a red symbol on the arm – I was ashamed of the very person I was, the kind of person who abandons the ones they love the most.

I followed her home. I know that sounds terrible, but it’s true. The other run-away and the other soldier continued down the street, but I told them I’d meet up with them later, then I followed Sofie as she walked. I kept a good distance between us, and the heavy snow helped keep me out of sight, and although I knew I was doing nothing really, I needed to know that she got home safe. I needed to know that I wasn’t completely useless. I needed to know that she was still alive, breathing, ok.

I watched her open the door to her cottage-style home and be engulfed into the light and the warmth. I imagined her brothers raiding the basket she carried and her mother asking her how the walk was, and Sofie complaining only of the cold. I watched as the girl I loved stepped into her house, taking the last piece of my heart with her.