The Wall Crossers

Wed 12 Jan - 10:00am Tempelhof: Anja and Margot - Olivia's perspective

I pick up my duffle bag and my travel satchel and walk quickly back up to the front of the terminal and look out through high glass windows onto the beautiful January day. I feel that Anja has sent me a message—a sign, with what that elder gentleman said, down by my gate.

I stand here watching all the people coming and going until I am certain: my flight is boarding now. In my satchel I have my orders: report to Ft. Dix New Jersey on Thu 13 Jan 1972 for processing out of the Army. That is tomorrow. My flight today will arrive JFK in New York later this afternoon, and I will bus to Ft. Dix and spend one final night in Army barracks—alone.

It is time for me to hurry down to my gate, but still I stand here staring out, watching the cars and busses and taxis go by in front.

While I am here just inside the doors to the airport's main entrance, mind wandering, a memory unexpectedly comes back to me. This memory of back to that day when Anja and I made love... it was before that though, earlier in the day... we were flirting and Anja was being goaded on by her friend Margot Bendler.

It was just a couple of weeks ago, three days after Christmas, a few days before that awful night when we waited for Horst at the Wall. I had gone to Anja's flat, and Margot was there. Margot and Anja have been like best friends for a long time, but usually Margot is nowhere to be seen and rarely spends time with us when we are together. On this day when I arrive and come through the front door, they look up both smiling and obviously have been having good time together.

Margot's mother is white and father black. I do not know much about them except that there is money, just like Anja's Father and their other friend Jelena's family. This is how they met, in a school that required supplemental tuition.

Margot's skin carries the warm, soft hue of a light acorn. Her dark brown eyes glimmer with flecks of amber, shifting subtly in different light. Her wavy hair, cascading past her shoulders, is often over-straightened and bleached into a strikingly stark blonde. If I could choose the most captivating figure in any room, it would undoubtedly be Margot's. Her voice, naturally mellow, transforms into a husky tone whenever it suits her intentions. To me, her only flaw is a streak of cynicism tinged with a touch of temperamental unpredictability.

Margot greets me, "Hallo, Livia, wie geht es dir? (how are you?). But the way she says Livia is sort of sing-song and yes even very sexy voice. She and Anja both start giggling. I look over to Anja and she claps her hands over her eyes, tilts her head down, mouth closed tight trying to stifle her giggles.

I look back to Margot. Though she is shorter than Anja, hers is a commanding presence. If she is in a room with many others, she stands out with her bearing, her attractiveness, her voice, the power of her personality, her changing-color-eyes. She can be sarcastic. But also, warm and caring at times, at least toward Anja.

Right now—her eyes are sparkling, reflecting light, she is looking superior as always, her blonde hair casually splayed all around her face, rings of hippie beads around her neck and cascading down her chest. She is wearing a yellow tube top and black hot pants, presenting herself even in this room of just two friends as stunning. Now, she has sucked her lips in between her teeth as though to keep from saying more, or like she has been caught revealing a partial secret just they two are sharing. She looks over to Anja.

I look back at Anja also who, head still bowed a bit, spreads her fingers still over her eyes, and looks at me between fingers like she does when she is feeling sheepish! Has Margot been putting her up to something again?

"Was trinken wir?" (What are we drinking?)" I ask. They don't answer. They seem to have had a bit to drink though? I pull an ottoman close to Anja where she sits on her love seat.