The Wall Crossers

JAG - Judging a Girl

Early Morning – Thursday 13 January

I am in my bunk in the compound of the Provost Marshal. I am having a dream.

In my dream, I am ten years old again. My parents and sister and I are living in the Waughtown district where it all really began—where I became a girl. I hang with girls at school. I call myself Barbara. Boys wait for me, in ones and twos, in groups—deride me, threaten me... sometimes hit me with fists, brandish knives. Sometimes I am injured.

In the dream, Mama is shouting at me—telling me I must go now to Church.

Mama: "Bobbie, you will get dressed and go to Church... now!"

Barbara: "I don't want to, Mama. Please? Some of those boys go there too."

Mama: "Yes!" she rages, "You are going!" Her eyes are flashing. I am afraid. "That nice older girl from up the street will walk you to church... she will protect you."

Barbara: "No! Mama, please not her. She never wears any clothes!"

Mama: "You can't judge a girl by her clothes, Bobbie!" She is getting angrier. "Now do as I say and get ready to go!"

Barbara: "No!"

Mama: She lunges at me. Grabs one of my wrists. Slaps me with her free hand. I break away from her grip and run into the bedroom I share with my younger sister. She is not home. I stand in the far corner, breathing heavily, thickly, back against the corner, I slide down, sitting now on my knees, begin crying softly.

Mama: "The girl is here, Bobbie!" She sounds sweet now, for the girl to hear how sweet she truly is. She says to the girl, "He is in the bedroom."

I see the girl's silhouette framed by the door, searching the room, she finds me, now her eyes rest on me. It is twelve-year-old Leida. Her soft brown hair is long and flows all down on one side. Her warm amber eyes call to me where I cry in the corner. Her eyes glow in a warmth of affection for me. Her body is shimmering in the dream, but I see all of her features. Even my young innocent eyes can see she is becoming a woman already. She smiles at me. She walks across the room, looks down at me, holds out her hands.

Leida: "Lass uns gehen, O-li..via (Let's go, Olivia)."

Barbara: I look up to her, wiping my wet eyes and face with the palms of my hands, still warm from the fear and the upset. I am still snuffling. "I don't speak, German, Leida. And why did you call me Olivia?" I notice she stutters slightly when she calls me that.

Leida: "Lass uns gehen süßes kleines Mädchen (Let's go sweet little girl)," she sweetly instructs me, again. She bends down and takes my wet hands in hers, pulls me up. I comply and stand as she helps me.

Barbara: "I don't want to go. I am afraid. They will hurt me. I will be killed." I am snuffling.

Now we are standing facing each other. She is eight inches or more taller than me. She sighs, leans down and whispers with warm breath into my ear.

Leida: "Geh jetzt mit mir, meine Babyliebe, und es wird ein Leckerbissen für Sie sein! (Go with me now, my baby love, and there will be a treat for you!)"

Barbara: "What treat, Leida?" I am recovering and relaxing now in Leida's presence—in her warmth. My child eyes begin to sparkle hopefully. Somehow, her German makes sense to me.

Leida: "Nach der Kirche gehen wir nach New York und leben! (After church we will go to New York and live!)"

Barbara: Now my hopes are dashed. I pull away from Leida. "No! I am too young." I step to the side, consider running from the room. Mama steps into the doorway, fills it, arms crossed, blocking any escape.