On the Other Side

\"Once again I would stress that I am guilty of having been obedient.\" ~ Karl Adolf Eichmann

Nothing that is truly important can be concealed by darkness alone. Such things transcend darkness, distance, and time. On that crisp January evening, night had fallen, but the darkness could not cover everything. Light poured from one second-story window. That was not unusual; the light in this window would stay on for hours to come. The lateness of the hour had no bearing over it, or the activity within. However silent, the occasional flurry of movement in the light revealed not a hint of fatigue.
This lit window was all that set this home apart from its neighbors, who were quickly disappearing in the coming darkness. Inside the window could be seen the darting figure. She would not sleep, not now. It was 11:08 at night, still early by her terms. Yes, a few more hours would harm no one. This was the nocturnal world of Kristen Fifer.
Kristen, not Kris. This was one simple thing that she was always on guard about, and everyone knew it. Her parents, fast asleep in the room down the hall, were all too familiar with this. It was rooted in a younger Kristen, who had loved to tie her hair with ribbons, and wear shirts edged with lace. Endearing, yet oblivious relatives had once greeted her with, \"Ah, hello there Kris! You are such a lovely young lady these days.\" Now they knew better. She had never been a Kris, nor had she wanted to be. She dismissed it as a boy’s name, and refused to accept it as her own.
Now eighteen, she still answered to nothing other than Kristen; although she now preferred to have her hair down, and had lost her taste for lace. No longer did she breathe femininity, but that did not change her stance on the subject of her name. It only served to frustrate her sister in the next room over. They shared a closet, which connected the two rooms, and could be used as a door. It frequently was, as the two would often spend this stretch of evening together. The meetings managed to bring two completely unlike people together through a common interest, unusual though it was. Morgan was two years younger than Kristen, and was different from Kristen in just about every way but that one.
As would be imaginable, Morgan was everything Kristen was not. She had very thin patience fer aer appearance, not because she was unconcerned by it, but because she did not want to bother with the effort. Next to Kristen, she felt unattractive, which was only one reason she resented her older sister. Morgan wished she could shorten her name to match her less feminine exterior. It was of little concern, in more recent years. The name had grown to suit her at sixteen.
Tonight, Morgan was not in the mood for staying up. High school required all the energy Morgan had to offer, and even though this was not a school night, she felt she needed all the sleep she could get. That was fine with Kristen. In only a few short months, she would be walking with the graduating class of 2003, which was enough in itself to take her mind off school. Seeing her work through to the end was important to her, but not so important as to make her pass up something still more important. This was the reason she was awake while her parents and sister had long since turned out their lights.
Anyone who sees the light in the window must wonder, \"What is she doing that keeps her up so late?\" That was her secret, one that her parents and even her friends were only so familiar with. Her circle of friends was a close one, so naturally each member assumed that she knew everything there was to know about Kristen. Mr. and Mrs. Fifer naturally assumed that no one could know their child better than they could, so they believed they knew all about Kristen, and Morgan as well. In reality, they had only scratched the surface. The degree to which they were unaware was overwhelming.
Kristen hoped beyond hope that it would stay that way. She knew full well that it was the type of thing that would send anyone into shock if they found out all at once. In the center of her floor, Kristen was surrounded by a collection of books. These books, of all sizes, shapes, and ages, were all there for the same reason. It was her secret, lying in plain sight on the pages of these books.
She laughed. But it wasn’t the kind of laugh she would have given in response to Morgan’s morning appearance. It was hollow, like a cackle. The sound would remind a listener of a patient undergoing an exorcism. This could be the same sort of process, or it could be quite the opposite. Kristen was not a Satanist; she wore no inverted pentagram. Instead, her neck was encircled by a gold chain, from which hung a tiny gold swastika.
The room was silent again. Kristen took the charm in her fingers, shifting it back and forth and reflecting back the light in all directions. It mesmerized her; the swastika was comforting. The day it was given to her was a vague memory, but it had been a Christmas present from Morgan three years earlier. Not long before, the two had developed their alliance.
How exactly it began was irrelevant. It was out of her memory’s reach, anyway. The earliest thing Kristen could remember was tiptoeing through the public library after school let out for the day. She was a freshman then, with little else to do but stay out of sight while the upperclassmen occupied the malls and skating rinks. They would not hesitate to expel any freshmen who set foot in their territory.
One day, pulling a tattered book off a shelf, Kristen looked at the cover to find a photograph of Adolf Hitler giving her a piercing stare. There was something about that look that intrigued her, even though Hitler had only been a vague notion in her mind until that moment. She gave it no more thought, and came to that place as often as she could for months to read the book until she had finished it. She did not know how she found the book or what became of it, but she still remembered Mein Kampf.
That was, it seemed, what had brought her here. Morgan had been uninterested by it at first, but it gradually grew on her. It wasn’t so much the philosophy of the Third Reich that caught her interest, but earlier. She preferred the warfare of World War I. Not that there was no compatibility between these themes; Morgan clearly found the German side more appealing than the Allied side.
With Kristen, the perspective was the same, only furthered. Morgan had picked up on it, but said nothing of it. She knew it was nnliknlike Kristen to describe someone she disliked as \"being so Jewish.\" It was such a common thing, that it was no more noticeable to either of them than saying each other’s names. Kristen’s growing appreciation for what she had read all those years ago went almost entirely unnoticed by the adults in her life, while many people her own age were aware of it to a certain degree. Her interest in the topic was undeniably noticed by all.
But apart from the focus of their interest, there was little out of the ordinary in their secret. Kristen leaned back against the foot of her bed leafing through a book cradled in her lap. This was the way things were, and she would not have had it any other way. Now that the hours of the early morning had arrived, Kristen had made up her mind to turn out the lights before long. She had come to pages of grey photos of flags, posters, and people. Among the people were many of Hitler’s supporters, and she gazed on each with reverence, and was that a glimmer of admiration?
Slowly closing the book, Kristen sighed. \"I’ll look at this again tomorrow.\" After placing the book on her dresser, she stretched out on her bed and stared at the ceiling. As she reached over to turn off the light, she paused and remained motionless, as if trying to remember something. Quickly, she turned her head to see the book on the dresser. She eyed it vigilantly, then turned off the light. \"What it would be to be one of them,\" she whispered in the silent blackness. After shifting back and forth for quite some time, she slipped into sleep.