The Day the Hummels Came Out of the Cabinet
Microfiction | 2 minute read
Two weeks ago I shared my first round entry for the 2021 Microfiction Contest with NYC Midnight called Planes, Cranes, and Paper Folded Wishes. Last week I found out that story earned me a place in round two of the competition which took place this last weekend. The second round of the contest challenged me to write a story in the genre of Historical Fiction using the action “walking under a ladder” and including the word “melt.”
I would just like to say that receiving the Historical Fiction genre has been a thing I have been fearing ever since I started participating in these contests. I learned this weekend that to be consisdered a part of this genre, the historical context must take place at least 25 years ago. That ruled out 9/11, which was my knee-jerk reaction to the genre. I thought of other historical events I lived through and googled “the Berlin Wall” only to find that the journalist who may have inadvertantly caused the wall to come down on November 9, 1989, had died on the day I received the prompt. I took that as my sign that I should write a story as homage to him. I hope he (and you) like it.
This story is a 1 minute read.
At 19 years old, I was certain my father was clueless. We lived in East Berlin and the man cowered under an oppression I spent my teen years fighting against. Already arrested three times for protests and activism against a literal and figurative wall, I interpreted my father’s exhaustion as shame.
“Frank, come,” he called from a ladder in the kitchen as I was watching a press conference.
“This is live, Papa. You don’t care, but I do.” I walked under the ladder to support his wobbly weight.
“Oh, do they tell you the Cold War melts, Frankie? Do you believe? Don’t get excited and get in more trouble, yes?” He handed me three tiny statues of playful children.
“Papa, why are these in a cabinet?” I asked, placing them gently on the counter.
“Cabinet keeps safe. I will fix cabinet.”
Mama walked into the room as Papa came down the ladder muttering, “Wrong screwdriver.”
“Ah! The Hummels,” Mama said as she took each one in hand and polished them clean of neglect. Her smile was bright, her eyes sad, “These are difficult memories for your father, Frankie. These show joy he thinks lost. He once fought like you, but he had a friend shot at the death strip. It broke him.”
A thunk echoed from the next room. Mama and I ran. Papa was kneeling before the television showing the Berlin Wall scaled by hundreds of people cheering, jeering and taunting the guards.
Papa wept, “The guards aren’t shooting.”
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Thank you for reading my story. What a wonderful feeling knowing you’ve seen this little bit of me!
Want to go a step further? Comments and story conversation are always welcome and appreciated! Do you remember the Berlin Wall coming down? Did you know about the question asked at the press conference that inspired citizens to climb the wall without fear? Are there any Hummel collectors in your family?