The Freedom Writers Diary - Erin Gruwell [73]
“Please get off me!” I screamed at the boys who were at least two feet taller than me and had extremely deep voices.
“Shut up you fucking nigger, your kind don’t belong here,” they screamed as they kicked me harder and harder.
I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I was being beaten to the ground for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and not to mention for being the wrong color. Each blow was more powerful and furious than the one before. I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t. I wanted to see their faces. Who could do this to me? Then in that brief moment, my body went numb. I blacked out. I don’t know how much longer they beat me, but when I came to, I was in the middle of the street. I got up to go home and as I walked, no one tried to help.
When I got home, my cousins were asking me what happened. I chose not to say anything. It hurt too much to do anything, so I just went to my room, and cried myself to sleep. I slept for about four to five hours. I would have slept longer, but I was awakened by an unfamiliar smell.
“Johnny, what the hell are you burning in there?” I asked.
“I don’t know where that’s coming from, it’s not me or anything in here,” he said.
I got up to see what was going on. What was burning? Was the neighbor’s house on fire? I could hear the crackling sound of the wood being burned. As I walked into the living room it was lit up as if a small lamp was on.
“Johnny, call the police, I think the neighbor’s house is on fire,” I said.
I moved toward the door and the light from outside began to hurt my eyes, and the closer I got to the door, the warmer it got. I opened the door and I saw five people dressed in white robes. One of them was little and petite. In each of their evil eyes, I saw the reflection of the fire from the cross that was burning on my aunt’s lawn.
I stood, staring at them, as if it were an illusion that I was seeing. I closed my eyes, thinking that the vision would go away, but when I opened my eyes, the cross was still there. I came to realize that these were the same people who had beaten me earlier that day, and they continued to beat me, not physically, but emotionally. I stepped back, but careful not to take my eyes off of them, and I closed the door, and waited for help to arrive. My heart was beating so fast as I sat on the couch, nervous, and scared for my life.
“Hey, come on,” a classmate said.
When I looked up, the movie was over. My palms were sweaty and I felt as though I had just gone through the same experience again.
It seems as though everything tied together; the Jews and a little girl, both victims of a hate crime, and now the graffiti we saw in the nation’s capital. I guess some things never change…
Diary 85
Dear Diary,
Yesterday I was up all night having fun with my roommates. I was planning to go to bed earlier, because we were supposed to be ready to leave for the museum at 8:00 A.M. but my roommates wouldn’t shut up. I put a pillow over my head and tried to tune them out. I tried to go to sleep, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about the Holocaust Museum. I wondered what it’s going to be like? I was so curious, but at the same time I was scared. Scared of what I might see. My roommates didn’t fall asleep until 4:00 A.M. so when the alarm went off at 6:30, I thought I was going to die.
God! I can’t believe what I saw at the Holocaust Museum. I tried to hold back the tears as I walked through the museum, but I couldn’t help it. As I walked through the entrance, I thought about Renee Firestone and Gerda Seifer, two Holocaust survivors who were visiting the museum with us. I couldn’t stop thinking of the pain and suffering they went through.
As I walked from room to room, I saw videos about thousands of people being buried in a single grave. How could this have happened? Why didn’t someone stand up for these people? How did people just allow them to die? I asked myself these questions as I headed to the next room. I looked at the wall and something caught my attention.