Love Fro Me

• Kathryn Wood, Grade 11, MacKillop College
• Short Story
• 2011

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

Dear Heidi,
Daisy chains. That’s what I think of, first. After all of this, that is what you make me think of; innocent girls weaving flowers to make our priceless necklaces, beautiful, missed.

I wonder if you remember that day in the paddocks at home; the way I would look at you after my every proclamation to seek your approval? I wonder if you remember telling me everything I said was ambiguous. Did you notice the slight slide in my smile? It wasn’t criticism¸ you said, it was extreme creativeness that allowed me to say things and invite others in for their own interpretation. But you’re not here anymore. Ambiguous, where? For how long? But even at the end of all this, I’m going to tell our story.

Miriam Little. You always said it was a plain name that I had far surpassed. Heidi Millam-Houssy, your name seemed dignified in a way my measly two syllable name could never achieve. You never noticed our differences; your freedom and my imprisonment, my homeliness, your golden-girl good looks. German, Jew. It’s the last one, Heidi, which makes people nod in understanding, a Jewish girl, really, how could I expect any better? You didn’t seem to notice our differences, but everyone else did. You and I put on our necklaces and I marked our similarities. Peeping toms looked over the fence and saw the dangers of me with you. Social class. Ethnic background. Again, what it really came down to was German and a Jew. I remember asking you once, if it was bad to be a Jew. You chuckled and said “Oh Miriam, of course not, Jesus was a Jew and he is the most famous person ever.” I remember sighing at your ignorance, replying “But we crucified Jesus.” You nodded wisely “But you don’t find that out till the very end of the Bible, most of the time Jews are portrayed as models of discipleship.” I remember marvelling at your logic, the common sense in the answer. You had an answer for everything, Heidi, except to my most important question.

Heidi, I wonder if later this period in our lives might become documented as the Jewish holocaust, if the pages will be littered with the mindless slaughter of millions.. I am just one in those millions, a number of six digits. But I want you to know, Heidi that I found out before the end why you left.

I remember the day they found me. I was lying in our field. They had all gone; I was alone Heidi, humming our songs. I was wrenched to my feet and marched to our Jewish line. It seemed a kindness, at the end Heidi. Everyone had gone, starvation had all but conquered us. I am just one in a million Heidi, and even though everyone says I’m not in your social class, I dared to think of you, when I walked into the showers. I took a deep breath, Heidi, it’s like the calm before the storm. They’ve got my number already drawn through with single red line but I’m here, Heidi. My name is Miriam Little and you were my best friend. I am nervous now, so I say our words over and over again; “Fly home little birdie. Fly home.” Good-bye Heidi, I’m flying home.

Love