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The Roaring Twenties

Wattned
I look through the window. The sunlight and its warmth reaches my skin, but there's still not any warmth and light left in my soul. I can finally see kids laughing again, just being children. But I cannot forget their tears, their screams.

I just came back from a business trip to France. France is finally reviving from all the battles. So are we, so am I. There's just a lot of change and grieve I haven't yet learned to accept. Ever since the Treaty of Versailles had been signed, a German family would come bring a bit of gold, to reduce their debt. As my family owns one of the biggest banks in Belgium, we are the ones that may collect it.  My mother has been asking for me to receive our client, but I can't. Not after losing their brother.

And today is collection day. Most of the time, I go out. Trying to avoid the harsh yelling from the neighbors, the hatred from mothers who lost their sons in battle. It's one of those days when you can really feel all the pain around.

But today I decided to stay. It's been almost five months since I lost my father. Ever since that day, I've been asking myself if he's watching over me, being proud of me. I hope he is. He never approved my past lover. And now, after the war, I don't think anyone would. I didn't think I would bear to see his face ever again. But now I find myself waiting for his little brother, whose eyes have the same green sparkling.

Someone knocks on the door of the room. "Yes?" I sigh, and I'm getting out of my mind. My mother's lovely face shows up from behind the door. She has an excited look on her face, and she looks happy. I think this richness eases the pain of her sore wounds. She lost my father to.

"Sofia, darling, can't you just wear something appropriate for once?" She says with her voice full of disapproval. She looks down at my flared pants, and my loose hair. Nowadays, ladies are overdressing themselves. "Who do I have to impress?" I tell her. I never understood why women would walk around like some toy for man to grab. Likewise, I never met a man with good intentions. I shrug. Other than him.

I take my red lipstick and color my lips, not watching my mother. "Well, just be ready to receive our guest. I have to take care of something, so I hold you responsible for today's collecting." She sounds less excited than she seemed before. I want to say I can't. I don't want to do it. But I can't hide and run away from my problems forever. I bet his little brother Dennis misses me. It wouldn't hurt talking to him. I think. "Ok, mom. I'll handle it."

"Ok love, see you at dinner. Won't be home before." I nod and I hear the door closing.

Alright, let's just get over with this. I grab the military tag that is hanging on the necklace on my neck. The only thing I have left of him. I refused to throw it away when my mother removed every trace of Germans en Germany-influenced items in our house. We didn't want to be seen as traitors. But his military tag? I couldn't. I might never will.

And then the screaming begins. I close my eyes and listen.

"You filthy Nazi!" "Shall we kill your family to?!" "Get the fuck out of here!" "I hope your soul rots in the darkest place of hell." 

They don't deserve that, he's bringing us money, and we're yelling. I don't believe every German is bad. Dennis and his family are the best. They weren't even Germans 7 years ago. When we all moved from England to Belgium and Germany. I've seen Dennis as just a little baby. It ain't fair. But pain that can't be dealt with is turning into anger. People are angry. And they're pointing it to innocent people. They aren't just Germans, they are people to.

I walk through the front door. The yelling had gone softer, so that means Dennis must be close. I open the door while looking to my feet, I guess I'm kinda nervous for the reunion.