1942

"Don't cry, mutter." my brother said to my mother as we both stood at the front door on the porch, bags in hand as we were about to leave her and my father for the war. It was a sunny morning in San Francisco, the warm sun beating down on our necks as out father was waiting for us in the car on the street, though a part of me had a dramatic question.

What in the hell was I doing?

My name is Jemima Liebgott, though my nickname is Jemmie with my family or sometimes they call me Jenny. I was named after a woman in the bible in the book of Job, well that's what my own mother told me. Although we were raised Catholic, my parents were Jews from Austria. They fled to America right after they were married, nearly missing World War One and making a home for themselves in Michigan as soon as Joe and I were born. But after that, my parents were being lightly threatened by their neighbors and fellow factory workers, only because they were from Europe in the time of war. That made them move here to San Francisco, where Joe and I grew up along with four younger siblings. Our house was filled with the German Language since my parents were born into it, along with laughter and joy for our house of 6.

You see, Joe and I are twins.

Fraternal twins really. We were always together through thick and thin, playing together with our vivid imaginations and thirst for adventure with our younger siblings. Even as we were growing up we had the knack for seeking out things that were new around us. Joe was the second half of me, I was the second half of him. We were the fastest children on our street, being able to outrun anyone of the other kids when it came to a foot race. That was another thing about me, I loved to run. Even in high school I was the fastest on the team that we had, something else that was unique about me really. I ran fast.

Very fast.

But as we grew older, we were developing our own personalities and how we viewed the world. Although we had the same nose and hair color, the same eyes and cheeks, we were very much different but also very much similar.

Joe was more prideful in his Jewish blood. I too was proud to be a Jew, there was no doubt, but Joe was willing to fight for his bloodline. It resulted in him getting into fights one too many times at school and even on the streets, but he was never to back down from one. At first I would try to break up the fights, and at first he listened to me. But it wore off soon enough, and I had enough of trying to protection him over something as stupid and idiotic as someone's blood. For me, it wasn't worth fighting for since it took too much energy.

I would hear my mother and father scold him when he would come home freshly battered and broken from a recent fight he was in, and I would sit on the top of the steps for him, seeing him stand at the foot of the steps and look up at me. Every time I would just smile at him, knowing that he did not need to hear from me about the decency of fighting others. One instance was when we were 17, one early night with me on the top step with my arms on my knees and I saw him look up at me with one black eye and a busted lower lip from the fight that day.

"Wie schlimm?" (How bad ) I asked him softly as he walked up the steps one by one, his feet heavy and his head was too heavy with the new battle scars.

"Ich werde leben." (I'll live) He grumbled to me as he met me on the steps. He was always this way when it came to his pride: never once showing an ounce of weakness or pain.

I, on the other hand, was too kind and too brash to be a fighter. When we were teenagers I was drawn to the career of medicine, and since I was good enough to numbers and how science worked at school, medicine was the next best thing for me to work with. I had no need for boys, since they were all afraid of my brother and his brash fighting methods, and there was nothing to do in town other than read the occasional book and listen to music. Medicine was more of a challenge for me to learn, something that grabbed my attention hours on end. But I too wanted to learn more about medicine for a personal reason.

Very personal, since I have seizures.

It's acute Epilepsy, something I was born with because of a birthing scare. When I was born, being the youngest, I had a lack of oxygen going through me for a few minutes before I was condemned fine. Because of that, I was diagnosed with Epilepsy, having my first seizure when I was only 3 months old. Since then, I was a walking fragile vase in my mother and father's eyes. I had to be calm at all time, since any kind of stress or traumatic event would result in a seizure that could last anywhere between a few seconds to mere minutes. The doctors called it a miracle that I survived the lack of oxygen when I was born, and now I had to live with the after effect of it.

My family was protective of me because of it. Especially Joe, who would look after me more than I would want from him. He was the older brother I wish I never had, looking over at me every other second when we were young after I was having a stressful day, waiting to me to have my nosebleed and then past out cold on the ground into a seizure. He's seen my seizures, even the ones when we were in grade school when I could fall to the floor on the playground, blood pouring from my nose and my mind was swiped blank. If there was one person I would trust with my condition with my life, it was my brother.

So it was funny when we both joined the army at the age of 27.

By this time, I was one of the best nurses at St. Anthony's hospital that was right down the street from our house. At first I was looked at differently because of the condition, the Head Nurses and doctors weren't convinced that I was up to par with them and the routines that would happen. But within a few weeks, I blew them out of the water with how fast I would go from patient to patient, learning new diseases and how to cure them. I never once missed work, nor did I have a huge seizure where they would have to fire me. I was in control, I was never going to back down from what they were throwing at me. This was what I wanted in my life: to look at medicine long enough to find my own cure.

Since Joe and I graduated high school, we both became working class citizens: Joe working for the cab company and myself going into the nursing program at the hospital. We first were doing his to get more money in, since we had 4 younger siblings to help feed as my mother was a homemaker and my father worked as a barber. Joe and I didn't mind our jobs, hell I loved my own job since I was getting more and more experience in the field of medicine. By the time I was 22 years old, I became a full-time nurse and one of the best ones, according to my boss.

Life was simple for the both of us, though Joe was more prone to being around girls and having a good night life when I was prone to reading my books and going to small pubs with my very close girlfriends. I wasn't a loner, but I wasn't as flamboyant with my adult like as Joe was. It was nice, and my seizures were very very minimal compared to the ones in the childhood. I would take pills for them, helping me calm down and keep my brain in check.

The last seizure I had before I had gone off to war was 6 months beforehand, when I forgot to take my medicine the night before. I had no idea who I ended up on the floor next to my bed, since my vision was shot and I had no idea where I was for a solid second or two. But I woke up with my brother's hands on my face, my head on his lap and blood going down my chin from my nose and soaking my nightgown that I was wearing. I could feel my hands shaking from the seizure that I was recovering from, though my mind was coming back to reality from being blank for so long.

But now that we both signed up for the army, and I was cleared medically since I had medication to take with me on the job, I was only thinking that I would be in the hospitals nearby the Army. not even getting close to the field. When I was approved, they only had me down as a nurse, which was fine in my book.

Joe tried to talk me out of it since he didn't think I could handle it really. Leave it to Joe to be the older productive brother and wanting me to be safe, but I too was his sister, which meant I was just as stubborn as him. The army was the next best thing for me, since every time I would look back at my house. All I saw, seeing the house and all of that I went through in there, were old memories of my past demons with my disability and my meekness.

But I had something to prove.

When it came to pride, I had too much of it. It was a different pride that Joe had, not the pride of my blood. But it was pride of what I had that was going on in my brain that made me want to prove that I could go beyond the call of duty when it came to service. I was already good enough being a nurse in a regular hospital, but this was completely different. This was the army, and to show everyone or anyone that someone with epilepsy can be just as strong as those who are healthy.

Healthy. Someone I never thought I was.

So, with proper reassurance to my parents, I was sent off to Camp Toccoa with my brother and we were about to start something new with our lives. Joe did it because it was his civil duty, but I did to show that I could be a nurse in any kind of situation. I only smiled as my mother kissed both of Joe's cheeks. She kissed me too, making sure that I would remember her kisses and how they felt against my cheeks.

My father drove us to the train station, which made it more real to me as my father hugged me close, having me hug him back and try to engrave the feeling of my father's hug on me. For who knew if I was going to come back home again.

"Sicher, Augensten." (Be safe, apple of my eye) My father murmured into my hair as I pulled away to see his face. Hr was 21 when he had Joe and I, and now he was close to 50 yet he still looked so handsome.

"Ich werde, Vater ." (I will, father) I replied back with a smile still there on my face. Joe and I got on the train together, watching out father and the station pull away from us as the train went onto out next destination. Our lives in San Francisco were about to come to an end, forever ending, and we were about to start a new life in the army. We sat in a carriage together, looking out into the distance as San Francisco was now a piece of memory for the both of us.

"You still convinced you made the right choice?" Joe asked me, sitting across from me as I was looking back at him with my brown eyes.

"You think I didn't?" I asked him back, seeing him titled his head at me as if he was trying to read my mind.

"I think you could have done something else with your life other than this." Joe explained calmly, but with a hint of arrogance in his voice since he clearly did not want me to join the army. I didn't know whether it was because he didn't want me with him or to have me protected. But in my mind, I had one goal.

"I know what I'm doing, Joe." I said back to him, but he did not like what he was hearing.

"Come on, Jemmie. What if you have another seizure and I can't be there to help you?" He asked me, leaning a bit in his seat in the carriage.

"I can handle anything that does come, Joe. The last one I had was 6 months ago, and I haven't had on episode since," I informed him, "Don't you think I can handle one more seizure without you holding my hand?" Joe rolled his eyes then, leaning back on his seat and looking out the window to avoid my glare at him.

"You know that's not what I meant." he argued with me, having me nod my head slowly.

"I know that. I just don't want to be seen as weak anymore." I explained, seeing him now look at me with shock on his face, though his lips and eyes remained cool I knew that he was shocked from what I said to him.

"Who called ya weak?" He asked me in a low tone, having me look away from him and see the rolling scenery past us in a fast pace and the sun hitting my face.

"No one did, but I can see it in their eyes when they look at me." I said back in return. But Joe shook his head as I ran my fingers in my golden brown hair and leaned back with my head against the rest behind me.

"I don't think you're weak. You know that, Jemmie. I just want to make sure you really know what you're doing, going into the war." Joe explained to me calmly, having me loo back at him and seeing a solemn look on his face. He was scared for me, thinking I made the wrong choice of going into the army as a nurse. Though it was less dangerous than him being a soldier, there was still a risk that I was willing to take. I was not going to let a disease that I had held me back from what I wanted to do: save lives and be a better person in his world.

"I know what I'm doing."