The Wall Crossers

September Loves Arrive - Monday

Monday

Anja's perspective

It's Monday morning and I'm arriving at work. It was a weekend of almost big things: I almost got a marriage proposal on Friday; I almost made love to my girlfriend? on Saturday; and I almost got my best friend on Sunday to admit the leaning of my heart is a good guide for what I should do about all of this!

As I walk up to floor third, I see friends who smile and say, "Hallo, Anja!" This makes me feel happy. I am loved here, by my co-workers.

After the weekend—after my talk with Jelena, and then again in her car this morning, I am certain now: Livie and I are—friends. Not only is a US soldier someone who will leave me, there is this from Jelena Wenn es keinen kuss, das ist ein warnschuss (If there is no kiss, that is a warning). And between Livie and me—there has been no kiss.

Jelena has said Livie is a friend—keep it that way. At least she does not object to friendship! I could not bear to lose Livia. I often think I love her. Maybe my heart is at fault. But certainly, we are at least friends!

It is a beautiful day outside! I am glad to be—entschlossen (resolved) in my thinking. I am now at floor second—Livie's floor. But I continue on... up the stairs. Glad to finally feel my mind is settled. Yes, we are very close. Some friends are that close. Of course they are! And that is how it is with us... between Livie and me.

Humboldthain Park on Saturday. The day was wonderful, except... it did not turn out the best that I had hoped. There was closeness, but no kiss... that is a warning. I am now walking into my bay—taking off my jacket to hang it up on the coat trees.

As I hang my jacket, I see Elke is already at her desk. I look over to my desk... there is some small thing placed sitting on its flat surface. My desk I had cleared on Friday, before leaving for my dinner date. What is this on my desk? As I get closer, Elke looks up at me from her work and says, "Guten morgen, Anja!" Then she looks over to the thing on my desk. I look at her, say "Morgen, Elke" as she tilts her head, scrunches up her face, and then shrugs. But she pushes back her chair to watch me. At first I had had a crazy thought—that this is a gift... from Elke!... of all possible people, why would I think this of her? I smile at this crazy far out notion! She seems as mystified as me. It is not from her.

I put my bag on a hook on the small wall I have for pinning up notes. I see: it is a very small box, wrapped in some dark pink (or coral?) colored paper. Under that is a folded piece of paper. A note?

I stand here—in front of my desk. Elke whispers in English, "It was there when I arrived for work. Open it. Anja. Open it. Go on!"

I look at her. I shrug too. Then I quickly scan our bay to see if any other girls are here close by. I see only Catrin Albrecht, one of our Brigade personnel assignment specialists. She is watching me, curious, hands paused on her typewriter. I decide to ignore her. I look back at the note and package. I slide the note from underneath and pick it up. Typed on the top of the folded paper are these words: Open the box first, then read this note.

I set the unfolded note back down on the desk. I reach down and pick up the box. Elke steps over next to me—watches my hands. I hear her soft, shallow breathing. Then she holds her breath, waiting. I easily detach the paper. I remove the small lid from the box.

Inside: soft cottony stuffing material and lying on this—a small golden ring with a stone. I pick up the ring. The stone—is coral. Elke says, "Oh... Anja." She sucks in air. Her breathing is more rapid. I look at her. She flicks her eyes to mine. They convey the imploring look of one who is expecting a loss. Why?