identity | reus + lewandowski

I breathed in the smell of the salty ocean, a smell I'd been familiar with for nine or ten days now, and ran a hand through my hair as I sat up and made my way up the ship's stairs and onto the deck.

"Look, mama," Chris spoke, running up to me. At eight years old, he looked much more like his father than he did me; especially because his hair had grown much darker and he was no longer blonde. "We're here."

"Are we?" I smiled down at my son and rubbed his head full of hair, looking up over the deck to realize that he was entirely correct. This was it—New York—and I couldn't believe my eyes.

America, America. Over in over in my head, as my eyes began to water from happiness. I was alive, and in America! At last, I was safe. I had that lovely Judy Garland song in my head from the Wizard of Oz; something about going over the rainbow, dreams that you only dream of really coming true. The year was 1947 and after so many years of strife, we had finally escaped Europe.

Quickly, I ran to Robert and jumped into his arms. I felt as young and exuberant as the same Margaret that I was ten years ago. Seventeen again, and Robert's beautiful smile caused him to look just as young as he was ten years ago as he pressed a long, romantic kiss to my lips.

"Gross!" Yelled Chris, as he tugged at Robert's pant leg to get him to let me go. I smiled onto Robert's lips and jumped out of his arms, only because I had to go pick up Klara, before I lost my baby daughter in the midst of all of the other immigrants.
The ship was, after all, packed.

"Look at that, Klara." I spoke, scooping her into my arms and pointing to the ocean. The green statue of liberty, which I'd learned about briefly in school, years and years ago. "We're free."

Klara looked at me, her eyes big and blue. Sometimes I hated myself for feeling so sad whenever I would stare into her eyes. All I could see was her father, who had died so unjustly. So brutally, so inhumane. If she ever were to ask me about him, which I prayed she didn't, I didn't know what I would do. But I saw the future, as well. There was nothing sweeter than the satisfaction of knowing that you had someone planted on this earth to continue your bloodline.

Even a sense of revenge. If Hitler hadn't been such a coward to put that bullet into his own brain (not that I'm complaining), I would show him my beautiful family; I would spit in his face and say look, you failed. You failed to kill us all, and Jews will live on forever!

"And look at all of the tall buildings, Klar." I continued, taking her small hand and pointing it to the skyscrapers. I had only seen them in books, dreamed about them whilst living in a ghetto. "And the small ones, too. Papa and I will get married, and you'll grow up to be such a strong woman. Maybe you'll even work in one of those buildings, and make lots of money. You're a smart girl, Klara. You mean so much," I paused. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Smiling, I looked back down into her large, glassy eyes. My baby smiled blissfully, giggled and buried her nose into my neck before speaking, her lips causing my skin to tickle. "I'm ready, mama."

"So am I, Klar." I looked up at Robert—who, after all of these stress-filled years,  was still so beautifully handsome—despite his classily graying hair. He messed around with Chris, ruffling his hair, before pointing to Klara and I and having our son rush over. Chris ran over and held his arms out, so I gave him an eyebrow raise before instructing him not to drop his sister, carefully placing Klara in his arms.

Robert drew in a breath from afar, taking a little pause to perhaps soak this all in. I could see the sorrow in his eyes, because for him, immigrating to America meant he was truly letting everything go. The fact that both his wife and his son had been murdered, and he could avenge neither of their deaths. The fact that he was leaving them completely, by sailing halfway across the world. I understood wholeheartedly—in fact, it was a lie for me to say that I didn't feel the same—we were on the same boat.

I waved him over and watched as he spread a small smile onto his lips and walked over. He was in such good form, I was so proud of him. I was, too, I supposed; though I don't think my arm ever quite healed from that terrible piece of cement falling on top of me, as it still hurt after all these years.

"I love it here already." I spoke, feeling the large ship stop. I stared at the crowded boarding deck, filled with so many other Jews who were being reunited with lost lovers and family. It was such a perfect sight. Happiness, only happiness, was everywhere.

"I couldn't disagree." Responded Robert, as the four of us began to board off of the ship. It was going to take forever to register and reclaim our luggage, but compiled, we had practically nothing. My most valuable and inanimate possessions were the necklace Robert had given me before he left for the war and my diary. That stupid diary. Why had I taken it with me to America, especially when I swore to leave my old life behind?

I had completely compromised myself. I was stuck between wanting to forget everything about what had happened and wanting to remember it all the same, but I think I leaned towards the latter. To forget about the series of horrible events, which did not yet have a name to call itself, would be like forgetting myself and who I was—forgetting my identity—and I wouldn't dare  attempt to forget what was mine, forever.