We both knew each other when we were just two kids growing up in Boston. Both of our families were affected by the great depression and my father had even been sent to jail for a year or so, all because of the fact that he stole a few loaves of bread to feed my then baby sister.
His father was a barber and his mother was a teacher at a nearby school. However, they almost lost the apartment they had been renting because both of their jobs payment had been lowered drastically.
Seeing as both me and him were only eleven when the great depression really started, we both didn't know what the hell was going on until we turned thirteen or fourteen. I can't remember the exact age, but that was when we knew for a fact that what was happening was bad.
Then along came the war. And this is where this story actually properly starts.
It was in 1940 when he got shipped off to Europe with that big baseball bat of his. 1940 when I thought I'd never see him ever again. And eventually in 1942, when I made my own way over to Europe.
-
"It's overwhelming really. I don't even know why you'd want to go and join this war. Sure, you've got your big bat but I'm just worried." I sighed as we hugged.
"Look. I'll be fine, alright? Anyways, the war will be over by christmas! Then I can come back and it'll be like I never went." He told me optimistically.
I nodded. "Alright. Don't you fuckin' die on me now, Donny Donowitz." I laughed as I wiped away a tear.
He grinned and hugged me again before getting into a jeep with a few other young men and driving away, leaving me standing there on the pavement, as I attempted not to cry.
-
"Now it says here that you can speak german and french? Is that correct?" The general asked me as I nodded.
"That's correct sir. I can speak a little bit of italian too." I told him as he nodded in reply.
"Right then, Ms Reinhardt, that's excellent, you'll be shipping out to France tomorrow morning. From there, you will be aiding soldiers with medical care." The general informed me.
"Right then. Thank you general." I smiled as I exited the office, knowing damn too well that I wasn't going all the way to France to help american soldiers. No, I had another plan. And that plan was to kill any nazi I could find.
-
The next morning, I sat uncomfortably on a small plane that looked to be made out of tin, as I worried about what I was going to do once the plane landed. I clutched onto my leather briefcase that held most of my belongings and glanced out of the tiny window, finally seeing a segment of land.
The plane eventually began its slow descent and I breathed a sigh of relief as I felt the plane's wheels skid against the ground, the engine of the plane still humming as it came to a brief halt.
I stood up and grabbed my briefcase, opening the door to the plane and getting out, walking over to the cockpit, as the pilot got out for a breath of fresh air, him looking over at me.
"Thanks for flying me over. I really appreciate it." I thanked him as he shrugged.
"It's just my job, but you're welcome I guess." He shrugged as I nodded and gave a slight wave before walking off into the wooded area surrounding the plane.
-
It had been about a month since I'd arrived in France and I'd found myself in Paris, singing and playing piano in what people would deem to be "lavish" bars filled with nazi soldiers and their companions.
