a friend wrote this--

Freedom


I had survived the bombing of London, and for some
unknown reason my father had decided to ship us to the
occupied Netherlands. Living in Holland at that time
in the war was oppressive and difficult, but somehow
we survived.

We eventually came to America, where we found
ourselves in a three family house in Hackensack, New
Jersey. Although times were tough, we loved each
other, and were free. I watched as everyone in my
family learned to speak English, and get jobs that
allowed them to save money for their futures. Soon my
baby brother was a grown young man, fixing
automobiles. He would go on to be a machine shop
manager, then own his own shop, and then a fleet of
shops over the tri-state area. My sister Marta was a
great beauty – when she'd reached that marriageable
age, many gentleman callers would vie for her
affections. She chose her husband wisely; a young,
strong man with sharp wits, from Italy. He was such a
sweet man. Within a few months, Marta and Paolo were
married. Soon Marta was carrying my young nephew,
David.

My parents had some difficulties with English, but
soon found good friends, and jobs to keep us happy in
our apartment. They eventually bought the three
family house and rented out the other apartments to
pay for some of the bills. Even though their
transition to the New Country was never easy, they
were so happy to be free of the tyrannies of their
former lives. They wanted all of us to prosper in the
world; to take the opportunities in front of us and
make the most of our lives.

You may wonder – what happened to me? Well, I've
never been one to gloat, or even make much of myself.
I was always the quiet one, deriving pleasure from the
great successes of those around me. I was a plain
girl, hard-working, with a freshly-scrubbed complexion
and no-nonsense hair. I got a job working at the
organ shop, on Maple Grove Avenue, near Town Hall. I
found the work interesting – dusting the keys of the
organs while the shop dealer, Mr. Sammis, would
practice, or give lessons to those who'd bought organs
from him. I liked the sound of their once gloomy,
then cheerful strains.

Mr. Sammis was handsome, friendly, and looking for a
wife. He and I got along very well, and it was quite
a surprise when he came into the store one day,
announcing that he had a surprise for me. I expected
to find a ring in a box, but instead, he introduced me
to his fiancée. She was beautiful, unlike me, who was
plain. He'd obviously chosen her because of her
beauty, instead of me, who would probably have made
him happier.

But we were free, and life stretched ahead of us like…
like a long, long road. We were happy.

While my brother and sister were prospering, I
continued to work at the organ shop, now run by Mr.
Sammis' wife, Trudy. She was oppressive and
overbearing, and reminded me each day that she was
pretty, and I was plain. She'd say, 'Anna, you'd make
a good, dependable wife for someone who has limited
ambitions.' and I would say, 'Thank you, Trudy.'

One day, I walked into the shop, and there on the
counter was a gun. I was frightened by it, and it
made me think of German soldiers on the streets of Den
Haag back in Holland. I picked up the gun, since I'd
never actually felt one before. It was heavy. I put
it back down, not thinking about anything in
particular. Mr. Sammis came in, grabbed the gun and
said 'My goodness, how careless I've become! Sorry if
that scared you, Anna. I'll put this safely away now,
so there's no danger.'

I worked at the organ shop until it closed down – no
business came to Maple Plain Avenue once the mall
opened up. Mr. Sammis had divorced Trudy and
remarried a few times. Just before the shop closed
down, he said, 'Anna – it's been many years, you and I
together running the shop. It gets me to thinking,
you know… that maybe I ought to leave the place to you
when I pass on.' I told Mr. Sammis that he was more
then generous. But what happened, eventually, is that
he passed away too quickly for him to change his will.
Instead the ex-wives fought over his limited
reserves, and I received nothing.

I found work over at the donut shop. It was hard,
tiring... I had to serve difficult people, always in a
rush. My wallet got stolen one night by that girl who
works the night shift, though she swore up and down
that she never touched my purse. Someone came in the
other day and asked me about my past days in Europe.
She asked me if I'd ever go back, and I said 'Why
would I do that?' I laughed. 'A bus to Atlantic City
would be better!'

My pay from the donut shop was enough to get by. Ma
and Pa had left the house to my brother, to raise his
big family, with Marta and her kids on the top floor.
There wasn't really any room for me, they said, and I
understood. As I said, there was enough to get by,
and that's all that really mattered.

As I stood outside the donut shop on a cigarette
break, I thought back over the years of struggle,
thinking to myself, 'Imagine where I'd be if we hadn't
left Europe and come to America… We're free!' and with
that I stamped out my cigarette and went back to the
counter. I sang a little song: 'My Country 'Tis of
Thee' and smelled the delicious vanilla scent of crème
filling. Today was my day to fill the crème donuts.
I always like this day, which is usually Tuesday.

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i miss writing.