I held my pillow close.
My past haunts me. All night I dream of death and typhus. All day I see the people I once held so dead. My flashbacks pull me deeper within myself and the numbers tattooed on my arm label me as clearly as they did almost 50 years ago.
I have never told anyone but it is all too clear. They must read my eyes. The pain in etched into my face along with my wrinkles. My eyes never light up anymore.
They think I'm crazy. I wear the same, red, polka-dot dress everyday. Except for my job I never go out in public. I'm constantly screaming and seeing things. And Paulina's ghost follows me everywhere.
She was weak, dying. We'd taken her from the hospital and hidden her under the floorboards in another ghetto apartment after being finally transported from Westerbork to the Warsaw ghetto once more to await our next destination. But things were becoming dangerous. The soldiers were constantly on the lookout for Jews in hiding. They would randomly burst into our rooms and search for anything. And when they didn't find what they were looking for they took our rations for the day.
Paulina hid with a kind family. That particular family had already helped other sickly Jews. But one day they were transported to a concentration camp at last and Paulina had no place to live. She would surely be killed if she didn't find another place to hide, quickly.
I thought Paulina had found another place to live because she didn't come to our apartment for weekly tutoring on Thursdays like she usually did. I was sitting in the children's orphanage where Father and I found studying easy to do. The orphanage door flew open and Paulina quickly scrambled in. Father wasn't there. He was off trying to find another pencil I could use.
Paulina's eyes had the crazed look behind her pupils. "They're coming," she gasped. "Help me!" With all my heart I wanted to. For the sake of the Jewish religion I had to. But for my family I couldn't risk my life.
I ran past her all the way back "home". As I sprinted down the street, skipping over an occasional body or two, I heard gunshots. That was the last time I was ever tutored again.
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"You may come in now, Ms. Uri," the nurse said. She had a kind look on her face but in her eyes she was terrified of me. I stifled a laugh and followed her into a large room. I took a seat on the huge, squashy couch.
Dr. Mingreen entered almost as soon as I sat down. "Hello, Patty," he said. "How have you been feeling?" "I've had more nightmares lately." "Ah, yes." His glasses peered over his clipboard. "Have you been taking your medications?" he asked, scribbling something down. "Why bother?" I asked, resting my cheeks in my hands. "Nothing will make them go away." Dr. Mingreen shook his head. "You'd be surprised," he muttered.
He handed me another prescription. "Here," he said. "It's the same medicine, just stronger. Take it twice a day for the next two months." I shook my head. He'd never understand the deep pain that scars my soul, that haunts me with every breath, every step I take. I'm cursed with the memory of my past.
-msof57
