The Wall Crossers

Wed 12 Jan - 9:45am Tempelhof: Walking into the Airport - Olivia's perspective

I walk into the airport. I have decided to carry my bags on the plane and not check anything. We do not have customs at Tempelhof—we will process through customs in New York on arrival.

I look at the board and find my Pan Am flight and gate and begin walking that way. I had no breakfast, so I stop at a shop and buy an Eiersandwich and some tea and sit at a small table eating, watching the other travelers. I see few soldiers traveling today for some reason. I am glad. I do not want their company right now.

I am a short timer. My last full day in the Army. After almost three years.

Walking down to my gate there is an announcement: boarding in 10 minutes. We are on time.

All these people I see sitting here. They, and I, will be in NY in a few short hours. Can I really run away to NY leaving Anja behind in East Berlin? I take my ticket out and look at it. I never considered going AWOL, ever, in my Army career... and there were some bad places to go to... some bad times.

I remember that December at Greensboro NC airport. Infantry training platoon-mate PFC Kenny Thomas with his wife and parents. Me with parents and sister. They are seeing us off--to Oakland. Then to the war that many ran away from. They are all crying. I am watching. I am not crying. I realized: they have no choice. None of them. Kenny was drafted. 

I am the only one there who chose. My family there because I chose. Kenny leaving his wife. I was sad for him, but determined. My sister cried because she knew--she could lose her only sister. But I never considered not going, even though so many others had taken that path. And I always felt they too chose a path of courage. Even they had to cross their walls.

I could not just walk away, from my orders. Can I do that now? This is Anja. It is a different situation. I am done with the Army—did my time, my duty.

Could I get a job in Berlin? Find work? Maybe for the US government, like Anja—work in her department! Far out!

The only thing is, right now, that seems like an impossible dream. A matter open to the heart, but not the head.

As I stand watching, an elderly man walks by with a young girl, who is maybe 16 or 17 years old. I hear him tell her, in German, something that sounds like, "Trust your heart my dear one." He is probably her Grandfather.

I step toward them and say, "Entschuldigen sie bitte. Was hast du ihr gesagt?" (Excuse me sir. What was that you told her?).

He turns, strokes his silver beard, narrows his eyes, and regards me: a typical soldier in front of him by all appearances save for the bit of peach lipstick I had applied this morning, the peach nail polish, and the long hair. And he says, "Zweifle nicht an deinem herzen, wenn du angst hast." (Do not doubt your heart when faced with fear.)

I step back, stunned, mouth open and eyes wide, and suddenly feel as though my heart is exploding in my chest. "Anja!" I cry out!