Currywurst oder Berliner?

“This is so awesome! I can’t believe you took me to Berlin. Thank you so much.” I hugged my host sister, as we trailed behind her mum.

We were on the hunt for Curry wurst, and Berliners. You’d think they would be easy to find, seeing as this was were people came to try them.

“Hey, the sign says this way…” I began, turning to follow the sign.

I turned back, hoping that they had heard, when I smacked into someone’s chest. Not the chest of my sister, but a boy about 17.

“Sorry Miss.” The boy said in German; thankfully I had taken a 3 week course in German, so I understood maybe 10 words maximum. And sorry was one of them.

“That’s fine. I’m just looking for my sister.” I sidestepped around him, heading to where we were a couple of seconds before.

“Where are you going? That is West territory that way. Do you have a pass?” The boy asked.

“A pass? Of course not. You don’t need one anymore. Where have you been living?” I continued on.

Suddenly gunshots rang out. The boy pulled me back, against the wall. We started running away from the loud noise that shocked me into realising that this wasn’t the holiday I was expecting. A couple of corners later, and me panting like I’d just run a couple of marathons, we slowed down. As we turned another corner, I caught a glimpse of bricks and wires.

I stopped abruptly. “What is that?” I asked, pointing at the bricks.

“What? The wall?” The boy answered.

“The Berlin Wall? No way, that’s not possible. Why am I here?” I began to cry, partially realising that maybe I wasn’t in the right time.

Everyday I went back to that alley, hoping that maybe I’d suddenly get home. After a couple of weeks the visits got less frequent, until months later, I gave up going at all.

Years later, after I’d been diagnosed with a blood clot in my brain, my kids and husband took me back to that alley. Just before saying my last goodbyes to the possibility of ever getting home, I wrote on the bricks ‘Don’t get the Curry Wurst, life tastes better.’

It was my last hope. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain, and doctors would have said that I dropped dead because of a brain aneurism.

50 years later, a group of 3 women walk past. One goes to turn suddenly, then catches sight of some old words etched on the bricks. The group presses on, in search instead for Berliners.