The City of Immigrants

I woke up in the alley. I looked at my watch. My parents gave it to me for my birthday. It was the only thing I had left to remind me of them. It was 5:30 A.M. I never slept well. Not anymore. I didn’t have food served to me every day. As much as I hated the boring food I used to eat every day, I missed it now. My life was already bad enough before my parents were murdered, but now I don’t have a home. I’ve never been to school, either. I can’t read or write. I can’t even speak English that well either. I feel like the whole world is against me. I have nobody on my side. You might be wondering, “Why don’t you just tell the police? Why don’t you go to an adoption center?” You see, these days that’s not how it works here in New York. The police are corrupt. They don’t care. They don’t get paid enough to care. They’re just as bad as the criminals they’re supposed to stop. My family and I were immigrants from Germany. We moved here to be safer, but this place isn’t that much better. There are gangs everywhere. The streets are filthy. There are diseases everywhere. There’s rats, waste, and dirty water. The only way I can get food is by stealing or rummaging through the trash. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, there will be some leftovers left on the street. I’m pretty much like a nomad who lives in the city. I wake up early before everyone else is awake, try to find food, and then I walk to another street.

One year ago

It was my mom screaming that woke me up. As soon as I heard it, I knew something terrible was happening. I jumped out of bed, panic building up inside my head, as I heard two men shouting violently. Two men I had never heard before. They were outside, banging on the front door. I ran across the hall into my parents’ room. It was my mom who started speaking uncontrollably. She had tears streaming down her cheeks. “Get out of here. They’re coming.” I heard the men barge through the front door. “Go. Through the window. Save yourself. I love you.” I tried to say something, but she kissed me hurriedly and pointed to the window. My dad did the same, and I nodded. I heard the deafening noise of a gun firing in the hall. Although I was nine years old, I was very skinny and I was able to climb through the window. As I prepared to jump down into the back yard, I looked back one last time and gasped as I saw my parents collapse with a shriek of agony. They were dead. A man holding a gun stood next to them, searching for anything valuable. That was the last time I would ever see my parents. Then the men looked around and were surprised to see me. My adrenaline kicked in and I jumped down onto the grass in my backyard. I ran, and ran, and ran, and I never looked back. It was almost automatic. No matter what, my legs wouldn’t stop. 

One year later

After I found a piece of bread, which was quite fortunate for me, I walked towards another area of the city. For you modern people, New York is a beautiful city, especially at night with all the lights on the buildings. You would be shocked to see what it looks like now, in my time. There are a few tiny, drab tenement buildings - I lived in one of them - filled with poor families struggling to pay for them. The buildings have a few rooms and no windows. There aren’t even any streetlights. I think about my parents all the time. I don’t even understand why anyone would want to rob us. We didn’t have any money. We could barely pay the amount it cost. I reached the street I was heading to and ducked into a narrow alleyway. Then, miraculously, I found a few coins on the ground. That might not sound like something important, but it made me so happy. I gratefully picked it up. I counted up my money, and I decided that I was going to go and buy some food. I couldn’t wait to have somewhat clean food that I didn’t have to steal or take from the trash. I couldn’t believe somebody had been foolish enough to drop something without noticing. Looking down, I realized how dirty I was. Would they even let me in? Would they just kick me back out onto the street? 

I decided to go to the bakery. I walked out of the alley and I was about to cross the street when I heard people screaming and running. I saw a few men running towards me. They were attacking people and taking their money. I tried to run, but my legs were rooted to the spot. A man grabbed me by the collar and hit me across the head with something hard. I collapsed to the ground, unconscious. 

“Are you okay?” a nervous voice asked me repeatedly. A woman was standing over me as I lay on the cold road. “Where are they?” I managed to ask shakily, using the little English I knew. 

“They’re gone. Don’t worry. We need to get you some help.” She reached out her hand. I took it and gingerly stepped up. As I did, I felt a sharp dagger of pain go through my head. I touched the top of my head and as I removed it I saw that is was covered in blood. I started to feel sick, and I blacked out again. I woke up later on in a white bed. I saw a doctor standing next to me. I saw who I assumed was the same woman I had seen earlier. The doctor told me I had suffered a concussion. I had no idea what that meant. Then the woman approached me with caution and spoke to me. “We can’t leave you out on the street.”

“I don’t want to go back to the street,” I said.

“We were thinking about having you live here with us.”

My eyes opened wide with excitement. Even though I didn’t know this woman, I knew she was a good person. And she was somehow able to afford a doctor. Without her I could’ve died. Like I said, there was no way I was going back to the street. So I accepted.

One year later

One year on, I know I have made the right decision. I live with the woman, her husband, and her son. They are all American and certainly have a lot of money. We live in a large house, and now I really feel like part of the family. I get as much food as I want, and I can even wash myself now. I have also started taking English lessons. This family saved my life, and I will never forget it.