When We Met... (A Forever Now Short Story)

When We Met... 1851

The Day We Met

1851

Since the first time I saw her, I knew. I knew she'd be the one. I felt her presence from the first time she set foot in America. I was standing on a platform when a pair of eyes caught my attention. A child's eyes. They wandered over my body a second before reaching to my face. I smiled a little and turned back to my task. But her eyes continued to look at me. I looked back at her and it for a moment I couldn't look away. Entranced, I smiled at her.

Her eyes, unwavering, dared me. They looked at me innocently yet they made something in me burned. She never once took her eyes off of me. Could she be my next assignment? I thought. Nonsense, I told myself, I'm not on Guard duty. But those eyes etched themselves in my brain, my body. I blinked and looked at the woman next to her. The woman, her mother I presumed, turned to her and said something in a foreign language. German. The mother told her it was rude to stare, especially at someone on duty. I smiled and turned away. Her eyes lingered for a bit before she turned and looked at her father. Gently, her father picked her up and put her on his shoulders.

I saw the other guards tense. They were now keeping an eye on these foreigners.

I, on the other hand, straightened and looked forward once more. But soon her eyes were on my body once again. This time I didn't acknowledge. How could this child enthrall me so much?

Finally at the front of the line, the girl and her family were questioned. I looked on, curious for their name. The father, probably the only one who spoke english, talked to the officer who suddenly turned to me. Dutifully, I walked to the desk and saluted.

“This is Kryzstofer,” The officer told them. “He will be assigned to you.” Her eyes shinned.

“Ja, okay.” I stepped around the desk and smiled at the family.

“Ich bin Kryzstofer.” I am Kryzstofer, I said shaking their hands. The father took it and introduced his family. The child stared at me in the same awe as before. I looks at her and asked, “Wie heiβt du?” What is your name?

“Nein.” No, she said laughing. “Du wissen bereits, mich.” You already know me.

“Mikaela!” Her mother yelled. “Es tut mir leid!” I apologize.

“Ich kann nicht Deutsch sprechen.” I don't speak German well, I replied stunned. “I speak Polish.”

“Potrzebuje pomocy.” The child said suddenly, laughing. “Zabłądziłem .” 'I need your help... I'm lost.' in POLISH!

“You speak Polish?” I looked at the parents who nodded no. The officer coughed and turned to say, “Why did she say that?”.

“Ich verstehe nicht.” He said absentmindedly. I don't understand.

The mother was equally shocked. She screamed and said some obscenities at the father, who apologized at me. But I could not hear them, my eyes were glued to the little girl. The girl, around 7 years old, looked at me with a smile on her face. Her sister, who was hiding behind her father, had never once looked at me. I smiled and put my hand in my pocket taking out a chocolate bar. I split it. The sister wouldn't take it, though. Mikaela took the pieces and gave one to her father and put the other in her sisters pocket.

As I lead them away, my mind lingered back to the girl, Mikaela. There was something about her, something that captivated me in a way no one else could. She is seven, I told myself, a child! I lead them to their assigned house, something only the rich could afford, a few streets away.

As we walked, Mikaela talked to me in her native language. Although I understood most of it, I let on like I couldn't. She was fascinated by the littlest things. The way horses ran, the way the lights were lit, the way the streets curved. I laughed and explain, as best as I could, why the horses walked that way, why the lights were dimmed and why the streets curved. She listened intently and her eyes burned into mine.