East Memphis, Tennessee

I thought on what Charlene said for the next week. But then, it was time for school. I didn't want to go, and I was very nervous. I like school and all but the thought of being called a Jew Nazi hung in my head. At this school, we had to wear uniforms. The skirts were blue plaid, and the shirts were a white button down blouse. Knee socks were required, and blue sweaters were optional. Grandmother told me that every girl had black loafers, so she went out and bought me a pair which made me feel even worse about taking her money.

I really didn't want to take her money for frivolous things. She was already paying for the private school which I'm pretty sure she had to make a deal with the headmistress to let me in with my criminal record.

In the back of my mind, though, I knew that Grandmother just missed having someone to take care of. She kept herself busy with the silliest things. She would spend extra time in the kitchen baking and cooking. This made me wonder if she knew that there was a war on. It was so hard sometimes thinking how men like Ruth's boy, Robert, were over seas doing our fighting while we stayed at home doing things like making unnecessary food. Thoughts like that made me want to go over and talk to big ole Hitler myself and try to make him see things my way.

Those people didn't have to suffer over there. Haven't the Jews suffered enough? Isn't there anything else to fight over? Anton didn't even want to fight. He wanted to save people and heal them not use some big guns to blow them apart. When I thought about that, I really hoped that he had tried to miss people purposefully. He didn't belong there. None of them did. They all had families or were married with little families to take care of back home.

The Monday that school started wasn't my favorite and wasn't my worst. It was school. It was a nice relief to be around boys who actually cared about school work. The girls, however, were extremely prissy and all had their hair done just so. I wouldn't let grandmother touch my hair with a ten foot pole. So mine was just normal flowing down my back with tangles. Thank goodness, Mother's permanent is long gone.

The good news was that no one said anything to me which meant no one called me Jew Nazi. But they actually didn't say anything at all which wasn't helpful because I got lost a few times. The teachers understood why I was late to class, and only one was mean about it.

I could see myself falling into a pattern quite easily at the academy. In the afternoons, Grandmother had some sort of activity planned like having tea at some other grandmotherly lady's house. Afterward, I would do my homework at the kitchen table while Grandmother cooked. After dinner, I had about an hour to myself which I used to read.

April 12, 1945

One night after dinner, Grandpa had the radio on. He said he had heard something important about the war while at work. Since the reformatory, I hadn't had much use for the radio. The war just seemed to never end. But I remember this night distinctly.

Grandpa, Grandmother, and I crowded around the radio for the announcement. Through the static, came an announcer's voice.

"…the late President Roosevelt leaves the presidency to Vice President Harry Truman. It is a sad day in America, but we hold the greatest hope that with President Truman, the war will end."

We all looked at each other in shock.

"… Several concentration camps have been liberated. This has been a big day in the history of America in war and back home."

When the news was over, music that seemed too cheery for the moment filled the room. "I'll go put on some tea," Grandmother said. We had been listening to the radio at the kitchen table. Grandpa turned it off, and we sat in silence as the water heated on the stove. Grandmother didn't put the whistle on; I suspect it was so the nothing could spook us.

The next day after school, I got a call from Charlene.

"Patty?" She said excitedly.

"Yes?" I asked hesitantly.

"You get to do your first investigation. We need to start printing about the camps over there in Germany. There is evidence out there to suggest torture and starvation. They're calling it war crimes."

I was excited to be let in on something big about the war, "Okay. That sounds great, Charlene."

"Meet me at the office in thirty minutes. Can you do that?"

I snuck a look over my shoulder at Grandmother taking some sort of cookies out of the oven. It looked like it was the last batch.

"Yes. I can do that," I said quickly into the phone.

Charlene and I stared at each other across the desk. In between us were photos taken of the camps that had been liberated by the Soviets. I felt sick. There were dead bodies in the pictures and awful emaciated bodies of people who looked like they should be dead.

"We can't put any of these pictures out there," I whispered.

"We have to. It's our obligation. People need to see what's going on out there. If we don't, the world will never hear of these people. These are people, Patty. They had families who are searching for them." Charlene's face was set firmly.

I felt sick. "I know this didn't happen to Anton," I whispered.

Charlene nodded. "And I made sure of that. Remember? That's how we met. I was checking out that prison camp in Jenkensville to report the conditions. Thank God they were nothing like this. But people have got to know Patty. They've got to know about this.

"I need your help on this," She continued, "I need your perspective. You know what I mean, right?"

I did know what she meant. She meant that I would know what it's like to have someone I loved in a prison camp.

"You're a smart girl, Patty, and you're mature enough to handle this." Charlene looked at me sincerely from across the table.

"Okay," I said, "I'll have the article finished for Sunday. That gives me two days to work on it. You're right. The world needs to hear about this."

With that, I left because I didn't think that I could take one more minute in that stuffy office with the eyes from those horrifying pictures staring up at me.

On the walk home, I wondered how I would go about writing the article. I couldn't say that I knew any of the victims personally, but I had known a soldier who was in a camp. He was treated fairly, at least until he was shot.

After my school work was done, I sat at the desk in my borrowed room. I stared at the wall in front of me for three hours. By the time it was eleven, I had everything written in my head. So I began scrawling it as fast and neatly as I could so I wouldn't forget anything.

The Prisoners, Like You and Me

BY Antonia Alexander

Europe is very far from you and me, but the families have the same dynamics. The soldiers have wives, parents, and siblings. The country people have wives, parents, and siblings. And they are being stolen out of their beds for doing the things that you and I have the right to do here, in America.

Across Europe, reports are coming back to us about the horrors and atrocities of the concentration and prison camps. It is time for the world to know, so I am telling you. I am also telling you that I have known someone in a prison camp, but he did not suffer so. He was lucky. But, out there, in Europe, they have our and their men in these camps.

The Soviet Union is working with us to liberate these camps such as Buchenwald from which the pictures have not even come back yet. Below, are pictures from the others. Remember, you and I have something in common: the loss of something great; the loss of freedom.

Charlene had agreed to add more facts when I took the article to her the next day. She knew how hard it was for me to talk about Anton. But in a way, it felt good too. On the walk home, Charlene's words from a few weeks ago spun around in my head. The evidence that we were provided with was obviously very real, so what could she possibly have meant?

An image of Anton's shirt flashed through my mind, the blue shirt with the hole shot through my father's initials. My head throbbed as I tried to find the missing piece in my brain that had been haunting me for the past four months.

"Do you ever wonder if the police make up evidence in order to get the truth out of people?"

I blinked at her wondering where this topic was coming from. "I'm not sure. I hope not."

"But what if they knew there was something there, but they didn't have the proper evidence. Don't you think they would make something up to get someone to admit to the crime?"

Then, I had it.

I stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk, too, before wheeling around and heading straight back to the office.

"Charlene! Charlene!" I yelled when I arrived.

Her fiery red head appeared above a cubicle, her face alarmed.

"Charlene!" I yelled.

"What is it?" Charlene whispered frantically. "What's wrong?"

"It's Anton," I sang out. "Why didn't you just tell me?

"Tell you what?"

I hugged her around the waist. "Oh, thank you! Thank you for making me realize!"

"Realize what?"

"I have to go!" I yelled before starting out the door. Charlene was behind me, though, pulling on her coat.

"Where are you going, Patty?" Charlene called down the street before catching up to me. "Hey!" She grabbed my arm and forced me to a stop. "You can't come into that office yelling about him like that."

I nodded thinking about her nails digging into my arm.

She slowly broke out into a smile, "Took you long enough."

We began walking again.

"I've got to do something. How do you think they got the shirt? What if they have him in New York City, right now? Oh my God! What if they're trying to get answers out of him?"

"I don't know," Charlene said quietly. "But, I also don't know if he's really alive either."

"Charlene!" I cried out. "Don't say that! Don't get me all excite for nothing and then say that."

"Patty-"

"Look, Charlene, I've got to go. I have to go find Anton."

I hurried down the sidewalk while Charlene stood uncertainly, cigarette still in hand.