Last Words: A Diary of Survival

by Shari J. Ryan

  I drive toward Mom’s but turn off the road when I spot the Starbucks I frequent the most. I sweep Mike’s note off my lap and take my bag with me. My focus is set on my usual table in the corner, but Chelsea stops me before I’m all the way through the door.

  “Hey, girl,” she says from behind the counter. I’ve been coming here for so long, I’ve become friends with the staff. Since I don’t have a normal office, these people are the closest I have to co-workers, so I like to come here when I need social interaction. They're easy to get along with, they make me coffee, and they don't hover.

  “Hey.” I wave and pull my bag off my shoulder, letting it drop to the chair I had my sights on. By the time I reach the counter, Chelsea has my grande coffee waiting for me.

  “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus today,” she says, handing me the cup. I laugh at the irony, remembering Jackson's threat of being hit by a bus tomorrow.

  “It has been a seriously rough week,” I tell her.

  “I was wondering why I hadn't seen you here.”

  “Honestly, I may need a shot of whiskey in this coffee before I fill you in on the story,” I joke with her.

  She glances over her shoulder and pulls her apron off. “John, can you cover for me? I'm taking my fifteen.”

  I drop five dollars down on the counter for my coffee and tip, then head over to my table where I’m supposed to be working.

  Chelsea plops down in front of me. “You know I don't like to be nosy, but Mike was in here earlier,” she blurts out with an apprehensive squint to her eye.

  I press my hand against the side of my face. “That is not what I wanted to hear,” I tell her.

  “He was looking for you.”

  “I guess he’s smart enough to know I won't answer his calls if he were to try,” I tell her. Chelsea is well versed in all things Mike, and as I think back, I realize it’s been years since I had something positive to say about him.

  “What happened?” She twists off the cap of her water bottle and takes a quick swig.

  “I broke up with him. Again.”

  “For good this time?” She sounds as skeptical as Mike did, but laughs a little because it's been an ongoing joke in my life. Evidently, everyone is aware of how weak I am. How can I be the descendant of someone so strong willed, yet, I have such a difficult time figuring out how to make a change in my life?

  “I had a date last night,” I tell her, chewing on my bottom lip, waiting for the excitement that will likely follow her gasp.

  “Wait, wait...when did you break up with Mike?” She’s leaning forward on the table as if this is the most exciting news she's heard all week.

  “Yesterday,” I utter, and wince.

  “Dude,” she laughs.

  “It’s been over for so long that I felt like it was just a matter of me making it official. I don’t think he ever would have broken up with me, even though he was cheating. He had the perfect set-up; a girlfriend for when it was convenient, and the freedom to sleep around whenever he wanted to.”

  “I totally get what you're saying. It’s just that you've broken up with him so many times before. Are you sure you want to bring someone else into this so quickly, and possibly hurt him? I mean, are you sure you’re not on the rebound?”

  “If whatever that one date was last night doesn’t work out, it won’t be because of Mike.”

  “One date, and your eyes are suddenly sparkling at the mention of it,” she says with an arched brow. “What’s his name?”

  “Jackson,” I tell her.

  “See, there it is again, another sparkle.”

  “Stop it,” I laugh.

  “What does Jackson do for a living?” She scoots forward and brings her leg up underneath her on the chair, elevating her height a few inches.

  “He’s a doctor at Mass General—a cardiologist.”

  Chelsea places her hand on her chest and jerks her head back. “Well, excuse me. Yeah, I guess it would be safe to say buh-bye to Mike now.”

  “I’m sort of going out with him again tonight,” I tell her.

  “And you're getting married tomorrow?” she continues, a grin now plastered across her face.

  “Possibly, and maybe I’ll have his baby on Friday.”

  “Be careful, okay, Emma? You’re so used to feeling hurt that I don't want you to fall into another mistake. You deserve more than what you’ve had.” She places her hand on top of mine. “Take your time.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I promise you, this time, it’s about me. I’m suddenly hyperaware of how fast life goes by, and I’ve been so busy watching it pass me by that I’m ready to go all in and experience what I’ve been missing.”

  “Ah, you want good lovin’. Now you're speaking my language,” she says, poking my nose with her finger. “You go get your happy on, girl. You deserve it.”

  My cheeks burn at the thought. I’ve been trying to calm my pulse from our kiss, never mind what comes after that. “You’re so sweet…and romantic,” I jest.

  “You know, I’ve heard that sex releases a chemical that makes you more creative. Maybe it can even help you with your work stuff.”

  I lift my cup to my lips, hoping it’s cooled down enough as I take the first sip. With a mouthful of the steamy brew, I narrow my eyes at Chelsea. “You know, you should be a therapist. I don’t know what you're doing pouring coffee all day. You just—you give the best advice anyone has ever given me.”

  “It's funny you say that. Three other people said the same thing to me this week.” That’s Chelsea. I love this girl. Everyone needs a Chelsea in their life. She looks over at a line growing in front of the counter and purses her lips. “I think my break is over.”

  “I have to get my work done anyway. Thanks for listening to me,” I offer.

  “Anytime, but next time, don't forget your co-pay,” she says, leaving me with a wink and an air kiss.

  “You got it, Dr. Chelsea.”

  Am I rushing things, or am I just living for once? Is there a difference? If so, why don’t I know what it is at thirty-one? I don't know who made these stupid rules that people live by, but everything inside of me wants to see Jackson tonight, and I’m not going to sit around and grieve my six-year relationship for a month just so I can say I’m officially over him. It’s not just Mike I need to be over. I’m over living solely for someone else’s wants and needs. This time, it’s for me.

  For the first time all week, I get through several projects over the course of three hours, and my phone doesn't ring once. It’s like a small miracle. I respond to the six emails waiting for me with questions about upcoming projects and look down at my phone to see I still have a couple of hours before I need to get to Mom’s, shower, and ready for tonight.

  My bag stares at me from across the table, and the addiction I’m feeling to Grams’s story is like a good book I can't put down, except this is real. It pulls at my heartstrings, and though I feel like I owe my heart a rest, there’s no way I can stop now.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Amelia

  May 1942 - Day 150

  I had been able to block out the stench in my block since the beginning, but one particular night in May, it was more potent than normal, making it difficult to sleep. Still, I knew how hard it would be to function the next day if I didn’t get a bit of rest before the whistles blew and the shouting began.

  I folded my hands over my head and turned toward the wall, trying to visualize the mustard fields of golden hues, remembering the scent of flowers that intermingled with the breeze. I would have done just about anything to smell that field once more, to feel the tall grass tickle the back of my knees, and enjoy the sun’s heat, rather than feeling it scorch my skin.

  The door to our block opened and then closed immediately. I avoided looking out of fear for what I might see. Some nights the late-hour entrants were just prisoners who were forced to work extra hours. Other nights, it was a Nazi coming to claim what wasn't his. It’s why I chose to lay
so close to the wall, wishfully thinking if I remained in the darkest shadow, I wouldn't be a target.

  However, it appeared luck wasn't on my side that night. Hands found my bare shoulders, but they didn't hurt me as I would have expected them to. They grazed soothingly up and down my arms, and I wondered if I might be hallucinating—only imagining a gentle touch rather than the roughness we’re all treated with.

  I was pulled from my side onto my back as a whisper tickled my ear. “It’s me, Charlie. Don't speak.”

  If I had spoken, someone would have heard our conversation—someone may have realized I was okay with a soldier being inside our barrack. At the same moment, though, I wasn’t sure what he was doing there. He had never come to visit in the middle of the night before.

  “We need to talk,” he said. His fingertips stroked the side of my face, almost guiding me into the sleep I desperately needed, but there was no way I could sleep while Charlie was beside me. “I’m going to drag you from the room, okay?”

  I offered a slight nod, unsure whether he could see my gesture in the obscurity. Charlie helped me with my dress that I began wearing down by my waist in order to comply with the unexpected demands faster. He pulled me from the bed, and I allowed him to drag me, stumbling as we departed from the block. He jerked me along until we were outside and behind the barracks. We continued until we came upon a secluded area behind the building that held the prison cells for attempted escapees, or those who failed to abide by rules and regulations.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked him in a whisper.

  Before answering me, he handed over a piece of sweet bread. I devoured it, trying my hardest not to lose any of the crumbs, but before I could finish swallowing the delicious food, he placed an ear of corn in my hand too. I tried to nibble on it, but my teeth ached from eating mostly soft foods for so long. I was always conscious of my hygiene, wanting to keep clean and prevent pains in my mouth from decaying teeth, but it wasn't an option there.

  Charlie noticed my struggle, and he wove his fingers through the loose strands of my hair that had fallen free from my knotted braid. “We didn’t get much tonight,” he explained.

  “You don't need to justify it,” I said. “You've given me more than I ever could have asked for.”

  “Amelia, I’m being deployed,” he blurted out.

  “What? What do you mean? Aren’t you already deployed?”

  “The war is getting bad, and they told me I was being sent to Prague to help on the front lines.”

  “No!” I shouted, louder than I should have. His hand cupped over my mouth as he hushed me.

  “I don’t have a choice,” he said. I knew he had a little more say over things than I had, but it didn’t mean I had to agree with it. “How long will you be gone?”

  He shakes his head and peers down to the dirt below us. “I don't know.”

  “I don't want you to go.” It went without saying. Throughout the previous month, our relationship had continued to blossom even within the walls of hell. We were each other’s hopes and dreams amidst the horror and destruction around us, but our young feelings hardly had a chance to develop into what they could have been because we had to hide our relationship. We were supposed to have hatred for each other, and I wondered if his deployment was a punishment for abandoning his dictated beliefs—maybe someone found out about us. If someone knew, I considered that I may be punished too—even if it were just for the simple fact that a Jew was smiling under those circumstances. It was not acceptable.

  Our wordless conversations between our lips—exploring the inner workings of each other’s minds in silence was what we’d grown accustomed to, but I was about to lose my savior, and he was being sent to a place where he would be the one who needed to be saved.

  Charlie’s arms wrapped around me, and he held on tightly. His hand gently pressed against the back of my head until my cheek rested on his chest, allowing me to listen to the fast rhythm of his beating heart.

  Fear was prominent. His heartache was apparent. Loss was in our future, and there was nothing we could do about it. When he deployed, I knew we may never see each other again.

  “I love you so much, Amelia, and I’m terrified you won't be here when I get back.”

  “I’m terrified you won’t come back,” I told him.

  Neither of us could promise each other a different outcome because neither of us knew what our futures held. Waking up each day was a miracle as it was.

  “When do you leave?” I asked.

  “In the morning.”

  “So soon?” I whispered, feeling my heart fill with despair.

  “Yes,” Charlie replied, sounding as heartbroken as I felt. “They just told me before I came to you.”

  There would be no time to spend together before he left. There would be no time to make memories that I could carry with me for the rest of my life—however long that could be. My heart hurt for the first time since I rested next to Papa. I touched Charlie’s face as I had done so many times before, but that time I was trying to memorize every detail—the feeling of his cheekbones, the shape of his eyes, the small cleft in his chin that I had teased him about, and most of all, the warmth of his lips. I needed to make sure I remembered everything before I said goodbye—possibly forever.

  The pain was unbearable. I had learned to feel love for that man, and once again, I would have to endure the good in my life being torn away from me. I wanted my heart to stop hurting. I wanted to pull it out of my chest and throw it away so I could stop feeling, and be at peace like Mama and Papa.

  I wanted to die.

  “Amelia,” Charlie said, placing his fingertips under my chin. I submitted and glanced up into his worry-filled eyes. “Will you promise me something?”

  I knew what he was going to ask me to promise, and we wouldn’t be able to see eye-to-eye. I wanted to run, and he wanted to follow the rules. I shook my head with a silent disagreement, but his hands held my face tightly, stopping me from saying “no” without words. “I know you won’t tell me you love me, but you show me every day, and if you do, in fact, feel that way about me, you’ll stay—you'll keep yourself out of that prison, or worse.”

  “What if you never come back?” I asked.

  “I will find you, Amelia. I promise I will find you.”

  “What if you die trying?” My words sounded empty…without sentiment. Speaking of expiring was common for us. Death was not something we feared anymore; we merely avoided it.

  “What if you die trying?” he snapped back at me. “Please, let’s try and stay alive for each other.”

  It hurt my heart to disagree with him because we had so little time left, but at the same time, waiting for him felt like it would be harder than accepting death as the final page of our love story.

  Our senseless bickering went silent as his lips met mine in the darkness of the night. Melting into his arms, I instantly complied with his touch as I had each time he enveloped me in that way. We would kiss until our lips became numb or until one of us desperately needed more air. Our minutes together came in short increments, leaving us with brief chapters and cliffhangers—ones that left me yearning for more.

  We moved back into the enclosed darkness provided by a tree that hung over the side of the barbed wire fence, and my heel caught on a loose rock, causing me to fall. Charlie’s arms caught me in time to soften the landing, and he followed me down, planting his knees into the dirt. His hands slid up to the back of my head, offering me a place to rest as I stared up into his beautiful eyes.

  He relaxed beside me and draped his arm around my stomach. “Do you think there are people outside of these gates looking at the same stars, wishing to escape from their lives too?” I asked him.

  “Not everyone knows how bad it can be,” he answered.

  “We do,” I tell him.

  “How do you say ‘we,’ Amelia?” Charlie asked. “You’re supposed to be at a university right now. You should be enjoying your life. Instead, you’re
watching your people suffer and die. On top of that, you’re suffering too.”

  “Charlie, neither of us wants to be here. That’s all that matters.” However, I wasn’t sure if what I was saying was true. I had lost Mama, Papa, and most likely, Jakob. Beyond the suffering, though, I was busy working fifteen hours a day, which didn’t leave me much time to think. That was a blessing to me. However, at that moment, I felt everything crash down. Once Charlie was gone, I would have nothing…and no one…left.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, catching me staring past him into the night.

  “No, I’m not,” I said.

  Charlie leaned in closer, stroking his finger in circles on my cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

  “I’m scared to know what I look like,” I rebutted.

  He chuckled softly as if my concern about my appearance was ridiculous. “I see two eyes that gaze intently at life, perfect lips that have had my attention since the day I saw you the first time, and a woman with determination in her every step. Your beauty is natural, and it matches everything inside of you. You’ve lost your family, yet your strength is unimaginable. Every part of you captivates me. You are everything that is perfect and beautiful in this world.”

  The soft crunch of dirt beneath us tickled the insides of my ears as he leaned over to kiss my neck, sending shivers down the length of my spine. He paused briefly to look up at me with a question lingering in his eyes, and I answered by tying my arms around his neck, then pulled him toward me.