“You’re a champion.” After a few minutes of wall-leaning, I made it to the next room, which Anne had shared with the dentist Fritz Pfeffer.
It was tiny, empty of all furniture. You’d never know anyone had ever lived there
except that the pictures Anne had pasted onto the wall from magazines and newspapers were still there.
Another staircase led up to the room where the van Pels family had lived,
this one steeper than the last and eighteen steps, essentially a glorified ladder.
I got to the threshold and looked up and figured I could not do it, but also knew the only way through was up.
“Let’s go back,” Gus said behind me. “I’m okay,” I answered quietly.
It’s stupid, but I kept thinking I owed it to her—to Anne Frank, I mean—because she was dead and I wasn’t,
because she had stayed quiet and kept the blinds drawn and done everything right and still died,
and so I should go up the steps and see the rest of the world she’d lived in those years before the Gestapo came.
I began to climb the stairs, crawling up them like a little kid would, slow at first so I could breathe,
but then faster because I knew I couldn’t breathe and wanted to get to the top before everything gave out.
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