Reflections of a German American (also known as "The Third of September")

A writing experiment. Based loosely on my family's own situation in the United States, but not my actual life experiences.

September 4th

Aoife Sternberg stood on the bridge, staring into the flowing water below and searching for something in the foam, or maybe it was in the waves. The water, perhaps because of the sun or, more likely, due to her own mind, look a startling, bright green and was in great contrast to her own dark hair and her black dress. Her skin was so pale in the sun she looked like a ghost, felt like a ghost. Interesting, that the sun should be so flattering to the water and so cruel to her, but she supposed she never deserved her name more than she did in that moment. Her father, she had been told time and time again, took one look at her when she was born and declared that she was Irish. "She is Irish, which is good. Americans like the Irish, but they are not so sure about us." No one dared to tell him that before the Americans hated the Germans they hated the Irish.

This, he had said, having grown up in the United States and only knowing English. German to him sounded like Dutch and he understood as much of the language as he did French or Russian. When confronted he would not deny this, but would remind all present that the name of their town, "the town my grandfather moved to in 1899 from Magdeburg" was established and known as New Berlin, but was decidedly changed to Washington during the Second World War. Aoife would hear stories growing up about when Michael Sternberg was little and how the town would be full of celebrations with German food and beers, the German flag (of the Weimar Republic) could be seen in peoples' homes, and the language was spoken as if it were as necessary as oxygen for the sanity of the mind. However, as "non-Germans" moved to the town for work and soon discovered that many of the inhabitants still had family in East Germany, Michael Sternberg remembered less and less of these stories. By the time Aoife was old enough to start asking questions, she was shocked to learn that her great grandfather was not an American born citizen, for the only language he was able to speak was English and the only memories he had to share were of Washington. She, like her father, blamed much of her broken identity on these facts. Today, her lack of faith could be explained by these facts. The Italians could be catholic, the French could deny the existence of God by attending Mass on Sunday, but Germans did not know what to believe. A German-American could be catholic and a bad German or Protestant and a failing Christian. Falling into the latter category, she did not find comfort in the Bible like her mother - who, before her marriage, had belonged to the former category. Aoife therefore envied the Italians, for even if they lacked faith they could still turn to their rosaries and confessions be comforted immediately. Being a failing Christian, she could only try harder and pray more and know that even if she did both the Lord didn't have to listen because she was undeserving of such care.

Therefore, today she was glad she looked Irish and not German. Perhaps she could pretend that she was Irish Catholic and praying to St. Patrick would take her troubles from her and to the Lord. Being Irish in looks and faith would allow her to hide, unlike her brothers who resembled her parents in almost every way. When visitors looked at her brothers, their countenances became solemn and their words kind. Her look and name gave them pause and it was intriguing to her to see them try to decide what they made of this woman who was most certainly a part of the family and almost as certainly not. She would be able to hide behind her black hair and rosary avoiding the whispers and stares. The stares were too much, but the tears and the wailing pierced her very soul until she was sure that they would drive her mad.

Perhaps she was mad.

It was not their father who had died, though, it was hers. She was not granted the right to cry or scream or crumble as the visitors were. As long as she was her, she had to pretend as if her heart was still in her chest and it did not hurt to breathe. Remaining here, she had to be a failing Christian, an American German who had to find her identity only in America when she so desperately wanted to find it somewhere outside these borders. She wanted to be able to go away, somewhere she could tell stories of what it was like to be surrounded by generations of dead relatives and to feel pride in what they had built in their own county. Where she could speak the language of her ancestors and feel pride and not worry, especially not worry that someone who looked like her in Magdeburg had done terrible things in the name of her people. She stared into the water, hoping it would take her away to such a place. Perhaps her knight would come by, wondering about this beauty on the bridge. Maybe the weather would turn and she would be out too long and those at the house would wonder where Aoife had gone and whether or not she would return. What she imagined most, though, was finding her childhood home as it had been on September 2nd.

None of these things happened, for Aoife was not very beautiful and knew that handsome men only every happened across handsome women. As Aoife knew this to be true, she also knew that it was her ego which told her that she would somehow be important enough to control the weather and the thoughts of others. Indeed Aoife was not important, so there was no reason for the world to do as she wished because tomorrow it would be the fifth and there was nothing she could do to stop it, to make it slow down, or to speed it up. She had to live through each second in its entirety and she wanted nothing more than to fall into the water and to take Aoife Sternberg from this world as swiftly as it had taken Michael Sternberg.

But Aoife Sternberg was not that important, so she turned around and made her way home.

Author's Note

Please leave comments. Interested particularly in critiques on the voice in this, the flow, etc. Not really interested in technical mistakes as I am putting this in "journal", but if you're commenting anyway then I will welcome comments wholeheartedly. Thank you!