Spring 2007 High School Edition
Where My Love Is
Heather Robinson
Creative Essay (11th-12th)
Third Place
Canyon View High School
Teacher: Susan Merrell
My grandma wasn’t always a crying old woman in a wheelchair. She used to be a strong, lively woman.
Nineteen hundred forty-three. Alexandra waited, looking across the snow-covered valley reaching to the mountains. From where she stood she didn’t know what those many miles may bring. She hoped she wouldn’t see him.
She dreaded his approach – tall, angry man emerging from the snow. Her husband, The Traitor, pale and fierce in a treacherous uniform. She hoped not to see him.
All evening she kept watching, trembling every once in a while. He had betrayed his country for the Nazi army. She knew he expected the news to have reached her by now. The snow had started after she heard and each icy flake felt like desperation for her and her baby. He’d be home soon. She kept a frightened watch.
In those days, new Russian mothers didn’t know anything about pregnancy or birth. She looked out the window, praying for the safety of her unborn child and herself. The baby kicked as if to say, “Mother, stop standing there worrying and hide!” She continued watching for him, insisting that she wasn’t worried.
Suddenly, she saw him, a dark lump emerging from the snow. She rushed to the kitchen to warm up soup, cut the cake, and freshen up her hair. He came in, damp and cold with betrayal. She smiled because she wanted to act normal. “Tell me about your day,” she said to him. While he ate he talked about boring military protocol and dropped subtle hints about his traitorous ways. Outside the wind blew and the snow wasn’t the only thing chilling the soul.
In the morning, Alexandra was walking. The Traitor kicked her out and left her to walk home alone. She had three hundred snow-covered miles to cover with her baby close to coming. If she could make it home her family would take care of her.
She felt pains in her stomach she never knew before. She dropped into a field where the intense pain led her to having her baby. People from a nearby farm house heard her and gathered around to help.
Two-thousand six. The daughter of Alexandra said:
My daddy died last week, and we went over to his house. Everyone was crying and trying to find something to do to keep their minds busy. I talked with my brother. My other brother would be sixty-one if he had lived longer than two years after The Traitor took him. My mom talks of going back to the cemetery to be buried with Daddy. I know a lot about her from memories and stories she told me. I know how she was, before.
Daddy was a strong man and he just collapsed. It was awful because he exercised and played ping-pong almost every day and we didn’t expect him to leave so soon. Everyone was crying.
Last week when we were reminiscing about Daddy, I told my daughter, “He’s not gone. I can feel him here. He’s with Grandma saying, ‘Don’t worry sugar, I’m still here.’”
He had always said that while I was growing up. That day when we were reminiscing, my daughter asked me, “Tell me about how Grandpa saved Grandma, the way they always told it. Tell me the story, Mom.”
I told her saying:
The night Grandma had been walking all alone past curfew, she was terrified because if someone was caught out after curfew they were shot. She didn’t even have her baby to comfort her.
She heard a wagon coming so she quickly jumped into the bushes. She carefully slid into the back of the wagon beneath a pile of hay, the only way she’d arrive to the next town without being killed. The German soldiers thought they heard something so one hopped out to check the back. The soldier lifted the hay and saw Grandma praying there with pleading eyes. He simply put his finger to his lip, signaling to be quiet, and jumped back into the front of the wagon. She rode to the next town where she had a safe night, only to be captured the next day and shipped to a concentration camp.
She spent many weeks in the concentration camp until they turned it into a death camp. She was a hard worker so they decided to ship her to a hard labor camp.
Close to the gates of her new home they stopped to count and divide the people. In a nearby bush there was an American soldier hiding. Grandma was the only person who caught a glimpse of the handsome you man. She felt an unknown urgency about her and ached to see the man again. Suddenly she felt a hand on her arm and without realizing what was going on she was yanked into the bush. “Shh,” he said. Grandma was in an absolute daze and didn’t realize she was being rescued. The American soldier saved her and she didn’t even know how. The next thing she knew, she was safe in a nearby town, hiding with American soldiers.
When my mother told this story she always cried. They weren’t tears of sadness, but tears of joy. She smiled at the American solder who saved her and who soon became her husband. She had always said she would never date an American soldier; I guess she would only marry one instead. Even if I had seen the stories take place, I could never love my mom and dad more than I do now—being there only through stories and the emotions of my parents.
Two-thousand six. The granddaughter of Alexandra said:
Late at night I knelt by my bed to pray. The room was silent except for my own pleadings with God. I asked him to protect me on my excursion and keep me safe.
I was going seemingly so far away to college. What an event it would be. The day before Grandpa’s funeral my grandma told me, “You’re smart baby; don’t end up like your mamma.” My mamma told me, “Keep God’s spirit with you. Continue to pray and study your scriptures. Don’t let anything get you down and call often.” I was so scared I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to change my mind and just stay home but I was already registered. I told myself I wouldn’t cry the whole time I was gone, and then I did. I know that my friend would tease me about it.
I put my scriptures in my bag. At Juniper Hall I sat in my room and read them. My grandpa, I thought, my God, helped me. Everything was stressful and uncomfortable. I wanted my mom’s squishy tummy and her soft hands rubbing my back. The other girls were talking about how cute the guy was and who they wanted to bone.
At least I had my scriptures. I was afraid someone would mock me for reading something so different from most of the people here, but they didn’t. I knew I was supposed to take these classes.
I prayed in my room and my scriptures showed me the way to comfort. I was in the same city yet so far away from home. I never missed people with standards until I came to Upward Bound. I was lonely to see someone who wouldn’t swear the whole time. People thought I was “lame” – being willing to stand for what I believe in and not swear or wear short sleeves. They asked me all kinds of questions about why I dress the way I do when it’s so hot or why I won’t eat sugar. All along, I was just a regular churchgoer, laughing with friends and loving my family. We were always singing about being a pliglet, having no money, and stuff.
It was while I prayed in my room that I understood that who I am is my mother, her mother, and my grandpa. It was he who made sure I didn’t kill myself on this little college experience and kept me safe at night. Every weekend, when I return, my mom always picks me up and gives me a hug. I know my grandma would if she were here. My grandpa just stands back, then comes forward and holds me when I really need it. I love home.
| English Department | College of Humanities & Social Sciences |