EDITOR’S NOTE: This week’s student spotlight comes from Allison Grace, a home-school student from Lexington. To participate, Richland County students are encouraged to offer a family-friendly essay of 500 to 1,000 words, include your name, photo, your grade and school. Send it to News@RichlandSource.com, with Student Spotlight in the slug line. A photo on the subject would be helpful as well.
I felt someone watching my every step as I patrolled that little street in Poland. Often times I had turned, but I never saw any faces, just rustling curtains blocking light from spilling onto the darkened streets.
This night, I was late. It wasn’t really my fault, I had taken my friend’s shift as a favor, but now I had to cut across the entire town to get to my post.
My military issue boots sloshed through the slushy snow, the only sound in the deserted streets, thanks to the curfew. After looking over my shoulder, I ducked into a dark alleyway. This would get me to the other side of town faster than the main streets.
Halfway through, I heard a scuffle behind me. Maybe just a rat, but I couldn’t risk it being a rebel.
Adjusting my Mauser on my shoulder so whatever was in the alley would know who they were messing with, I turned around. “Wer ist da? Who is there?”
Silence.
I was making a fool of myself. The only thing there was a pile of rags. I glared at them.
“You are making me late.” Then I gave them a good kick.
The rags yelped and scrambled away, crying, “Nien, nien, nie krzywdź mnie,” in broken mix of German and Polish.
I felt a flush creeping up my neck. I had just kicked a child, a girl no less.
“I’m sorry,” I said, taking a step towards her. “Where is your mother?” She shouldn’t be out past curfew, but dressed like that she’d freeze before the sun rose.
Her wide eyes locked onto my Mauser and she kept repeating, “Nien, nien.” She held on hand protectively over her chest, clutching the fabric of her dress, almost like she was hiding something.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Slowly, I leaned my rifle against one of the brick walls and crouched to her eyelevel. There has to be something I can do. Then I remembered the hunk of cheese I’d saved in case I got hungry on patrol.
I pulled it out of my pocket. A few pieces of gray fuzz stuck to it, but I figured she wouldn’t mind.
“Here you go, mädchen.”
She didn’t move.
I held it out as far as I could.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, it’s” — I tried to remember the Polish word for food—“jedzenie.” I only hoped I said it right.
Her eyes always on my Mauser, she darted forward and snatched the cheese. “Danke.”
I watched her nibble on it, then stood. If I was much later, I’d get in trouble. But I couldn’t just leave her, she’d die. But what could I do? If I took her to a house, I’d scare the inhabitants out of their wits knocking on their door.
You could give her your jacket.
But then I’ll be in trouble.
You’re already going to be in trouble for being late. What’s a lost coat?
With a sigh, I unbuttoned my coat. The chilly night air slipped right through the shirt beneath, biting my skin. I pulled my arms from the sleeves, already regretting this decision. But I had started. I couldn’t back down now.
I held it out to her. “Here.”
“Nien!” She backed away, shaking her head violently. I had expected her to snatch it from me and look at me like some kind of hero. But that was silly, I was an imposter.
I moved towards her to drape my jacket over her shoulders. She shoved it away and I saw what she was hiding. My jaw tightened.
I couldn’t give her the jacket. The Führer would not be pleased. I bit my lip, staring at the black swastika on my sleeve. She was just a girl.
Hardly knowing what I was doing, I ripped the patch from the jacket, threw it down, and ground my heel over it.
Then I draped the coat over her shoulders, hiding the yellow Star of David.
She smiled up at me. “Danke.”
“Bitte.” I smiled at her, but inside, my stomach whirled. I was going to pay for this.
Allison Grace is a young writer from Lexington. She will be graduating this May and hopes to get a job at the library and continue writing. You can follow her adventures at her blog: allisongracewrites.com
