The Pretty Lady

My dad was always bringing people home and most of the time they were really interesting. One time he bought home this really cute guy. Well, as a presumptuous little girl I took a liking to him.  It must have been pathetic. I don't remember anything but him being nice to me. Robert Shane I thank you for not hurting a little girls early crush on you.

And then there was the pretty lady who came one day to our house. There was a man with her, but something about her drew me to sit by her side. The sadness in her brought me close and kept me there.

We had a house full that day--don't ask me why--but there had to be a house full or she would not have been sitting on the piano seat, but she was. I sat on the floor right next to her.

She was in a suit, a gray suit, I know I thought that the color was not a good one for her.  It brought out all the sadness that was inside her. 

And then I saw it. 

The tattoo on her wrist. 

That series of numbers. She was rubbing them softly. 

I asked--What's that??

My dad came unglued. 

I had done it again. Asked a question when I should have been silent. Typical me. I looked at her with tears in my eyes, and said--sorry. 

She wouldn't let dad punish me. She looked at me and said--some bad men did this to me and a lot of others. And then she patted my cheek and said--don't ever forget. 

How could I forget?? 

The holocaust is the most heinous thing to happen to humanity EVER. 

Don't forget!!