Memories II

I had lived in the city of Ulm, Germany, under the shadow of the magnificent Ulmer Münster my whole life. Growing up with my twin brother and younger sister, we had ruthlessly explored the cobbled streets near our small home, leaving no corner unsearched.  With our bikes to carry us anywhere, Ulm was our whole world.  I remember clearly from the haze of balmy, laughter-tinted memories a single day during the summer of 1932. My brother and I had gone for a bike ride down to a small general store to purchase bottles of cold lemonade.  The summer sun beat down with unusual ferocity that day, and the temperature was nearly eighty, an oddity for our city.  Drops of water were condensing on our cool, sweet beverages when we dropped our bikes outside of our building, the peaked roof offering little shade from the blinding sun.  Lifting an arm to wipe away the sweat that had gathered on my brow, I noticed a girl, about my age, sitting on the steps of the building next to ours.  The bottom floor had been empty for many months after our elderly neighbors, the Brandts, decided to move closer to their grandchildren. I assessed the figure on the steps, taking note of the girl’s light brown hair and large eyes. I grabbed Erich’s collar as he ran up the steps of our building, and nodding my head towards the girl on the steps asked,

“Who is she?” Erich looked, and then gave a noncommittal shrug, saying

“Papi said there would be some new neighbors. I guess that’s them.” Then he hurried inside, clutching his bottle of lemonade.  I carefully set my lemonade in the basket of my bike, and then secured it to the rack that ran alongside our building. My curiosity taking over, I approached the small figure. As I drew nearer, I took in details about the petite girl that had previously gone unnoticed. Though thin and mousey, her brown hair was slicked neatly back into two tiny braids.  Her shoulders, though slim, were held erect with a certain dignity, and her head was high. Her most striking feature, however, were her eyes – they seemed to crackle with energy and intelligence. I had the feeling that, once these eyes had set their sights upon a goal, only a fool would dare cross her.  Suddenly nervous, I wiped my sticky palms on my skirt as I walked slowly up the stairs to the porch, feeling the intensity of her gaze burning a hole in the top of my head. Finally reaching the step where she sat, I took courage in my obvious seniority, and plastered a smile on my face. Sticking out my hand, I said in a rush

 “Hi, I’m Beatrix Rosenthal, I live right over here in this building right there,” I flubbed, waved my arm wildly in the general direction of our edifice, then continued after only a short pause.

 “You’re with the new neighbors, right? What’s your name?” Giggling nervously, I hastily wiped my hands on my skirt again, waiting anxiously for her reply. With a slight smile warming her face, she grabbed my hand and shook it, saying

“Sophie. My name is Sophie Scholl.”