Born On Berlin Way

Connie’s aunt said Christine and I were talking our own language. We were eight and nine and playing cards. When we spoke to each other, we were channeling our refined German genetics. Christine and I adored each other and were inseparable. We would take hikes all over the Oakland Hills. We spoke on the phone with Juanita Miller. As the ‘White Witch’, Juanita gave advice on the phone for the Love Lorn. We pretended to be married, on the verge of divorce. We disguised our voice so we would sound older.

Little did we know, we were a hundred years old. Our silent ancestors spoke to us in the background. They begged us not to forget them. Now, I alone exist. Christina has left me alone among the base savages, the uncultured incestuous greedy ones. The Haters of Beauty and Art have overrun our Museum. I have taken the place…