As Leaves Stay Still
As leaves stay still in the trees on this beautiful summer afternoon, my heart is filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety, I don’t quite understand. I see people wearing dresses and shorts passing by, holding close to their bottles of water, sunscreen melting on their skins, and wearing sunglasses with a seriousness against the health risks of unprotected sun exposure, as grown-up would say seriously. Why do grown-ups use complicated words to describe fear? To me, the sun is just smiling, and the outside world sounds just like a cheese factory. A nonstop rush of smell, happy movements, and noise of life I saw on the black and white TV the other day.
It is Sunday, a day where kids like me at the orphanage would normally be playing in the forest behind the facility, enjoying the freedom that nature provides, where I like to play and hide. The forest cherishes a little pond full of nature amazement; I’d like to sit and watch for hours. When the sun makes it through the forest down to the pond’s surface, from a distance, sitting on the pond’s edge, I see beautifully colored dragonflies playing and buzzing around in the light of the Sun. They look like racing cars. What fun! What a race! Go blue! Go!
But this time, things are different. I find myself taken away from the only known environment, guided by a grown-up woman named Petra, working mostly morning shifts in the orphanage, who has asked the principal to take me for a walk today. I wonder why. I have never ever gone for a walk with anyone before, especially with a grown-up. The thing is, no one even asked me if I wanted to. We all follow orders here as we are supposed to. No hesitation. We do as we are told.
You see, once in a month, the orphanage would open its doors to strangers, giving them the opportunity to meet us children and potentially adopt us.
Suddenly, a thought came to me, bringing back the memory of me kneeling on the dirty bathroom floor, peeking through the crack in the door.
“I got adopted! I have a home now. I gotta pee. They're waiting for me outside.” A little six-year-old-girl, blond hair, white skin, cute looking, Marcela, exclaimed while minding her business in the bathroom. As a punishment, I was supposed to clean the bathroom floor, but I still couldn’t help it but ask.
The words slipped out of my mouth, almost whispered. "Are you going to call her your mama?" The longing in my voice masked by a thin veil of curiosity.
The only thing I recall is that Marcela never gave me an answer. I wonder what happened to her.
I have never been a part of this adoption of ridiculousness before. I prefer to hide and stay silent until the strangers leave. Even I’m just 8 years old, the thought of standing in line for them to observe me makes me feel violated and weird, as if they are demanding my love and pushed on me their approval of their decisions. Deep down, I already know that no one would want me anyway. Besides, I trust that my mama will pick me up some day. Can mama’s love be ever replaced?
However, there is a certain quality to Petra that sets her apart from others. Her long brown hair, which still retains its shine after 30 years, frames her kind smile. She likes me. I can tell because she offered me a can sardines the other day, peeking behind her metal locker storage. “You want some?” She asked kinda shyly, opening the sardine cane with an easiness and long practice. “I’m good, thank you”, I bubbled, surprised. The smell of the dead fish didn’t make any sense to me.
She doesn’t even mind my weary clothes and oversized slippers. Her white coat drapes over her body, exuding grace and elegance. Her gentle eyes reflect the same kindness, mirroring their soft hue. Even the way she tucks her pen into her pocket adds to her overall air of sophistication. She moves with a graceful swan-like gait, always ensuring that those under her care are taken care of no matter what. Kindness makes even grown-ups beautiful, smiling to myself.
I observed her from afar, noticing her little weirdness. One day, while walking through the big kids' bedroom, I stumbled upon her napping on the sofa, her back facing the window, her silhouette revealing the contours of a grown woman. She looked like a real grown-up. I quietly entered the room, not wanting to disturb her peaceful slumber.
But when she stirred awake due to my presence, I instinctively held a finger to my lips. “Shhhh”…That was all I was able to make. In a panic, I used both of my hands to gesture for her not to see me, hoping covering my face would also cover my whole body. Don’t nights are for sleeping only? Confused, talking to myself, not understanding she was able to sleep during a day, being eight years old, I still did not know what to think of it. I’ve never seen any grown-ups sleep during the day before. She didn’t say anything but smiled warmly, and I allowed herself to drift back into the world of dreams. I closed the door softly, making sure no sound would disturb her.
Perhaps it was that small act of compassion on my part that made Petra take notice of me.
As we make our way through the busy streets, we approach a small bridge that serves as a free passage across the city river. People passing us by in their summer outfits, Petra’s presence calming my racing thoughts. The world around us seems alive, busy with the rhythm of life. In that moment, it feels like Petra and I are in our own little bubble of serenity. And I am just fine with her not saying anything.
All of sudden, she reaches for my hand and says, "Call me mama." As soon as she said it, her hand is already in mine, fingers intertwined as if we were a mother and daughter should be.
I look at her. I see her brown hair shine with flawless elegance like a happy sheer curtain dancing in the summer morning breeze in the open window. I can imagine her sipping coffee from her favorite porcelain mug, breathing in all beauty she deserves. She is smiling.
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