The Hole in the Fence.
It's summer, and while I may not know the exact year, I do know it's a break from school and the early 6 a.m. alarms. I often wonder what it's like to truly rest, recharge, and gather enough energy to imagine. But for that, I need sleep, much like Aladdin needs his magic carpet. I'm a nine-year-old orphan, and I often use my imagination to pass the time, pretending my mama will come for me soon. The other kids in our large shared room make all sorts of loud and unsettling noises at night, keeping me awake. I don't like it; it's frightening. When I grow up, will I be able to sleep long enough for my imagination to last forever?
“Hey, wanna, play hide-and-seek?” She must be my age, wearing our regular mandatory ugly outfit, worn T-shirt, oversized sandals, brown boy shorts and short haircut, running down the main cement stairs located at the main entrance of the orphanage - happily announcing the game is just about to start.
“Nah, I’m good”, I reply lazily, sitting on the stairs, pretending, being “very” busy, playing with my stones. I found them behind the orphanage the other day. They are small, colorful, and soft. They are more than my fingers. I wonder what they would say if they could talk. I hide them in my pockets. They are safe with me. I smile. Once the kid vanishes, as if by a magical wish, swallowed by the vast embrace of the forest, I look around.
Quite often, I find myself observing, thinking, and trying to make sense of this place. For example, I've never told anyone about my secret. It feels like, inside my head, I was born like a grown-up already. I just know it. But if my mama was here, she would say, “How silly of you! You are my kid, I love you! And don’t you ever forget that!” She would exclaim and probably give me a hug as well. Since I've never met her before, I keep my secret and my imagination safe.
The grown-ups are likely in the smoking room with a balcony, where they occasionally step out to keep an eye on us. The air is still, with no breeze or sudden movements, and there are no bugs around. Summer is always nice, and in the distance, I can hear the laughter of children playing hide and seek. My stomach is rumbling, announcing that it's lunchtime.
Still sitting down, minding my business, I adjust my oversized sandal back onto my foot and glance around. I noticed the orphanage fence. It is glued around the orphanage zone. No one dares to climb over. It is tall, with sharp wires with an angry look, like a grown-up male who works for the afternoon shift. Except he loses a smile or two, whereas the fence is a solid metal face without any emotions. It never smiles. The thought of the fence brought me to the night when a group of us decided to run away.
It was summer, two o’clock in the morning. The night was warm, enveloped in the soft darkness. Fireflies flickered intermittently, like Morse code, while the forest and its creatures’ slumber all except us. The orphanage was illuminated by a single street lamp, casting its glow only on the front of the building. This created a shadow over the hole in the fence at the back of the orphanage. I couldn’t make out the faces of those who have joined tonight's escape mission. Rumors had spread around the playground about who plans to use "the hole” tonight. I was there and listened. Everyone knows this means slipping through the hole in the fence behind the orphanage and running away, except the grown-ups. They have no clue.
“Shhh, be quiet!” One of the older kids - can’t see his face – but he must be the leader of the hole mission tonight; I think to myself – hushes the whole noodle of shadows of five or six kids sneaking behind him. We all move slowly and carefully. I am excited, not knowing what is going to happen next. This is my first hole experience. Will I see my mama?
When it was my turn to crawl through the hole after the older kid, I didn't hesitate. I dropped to my knees and quickly squeezed through, just like everyone else in the group. We all kept quiet. Soon, we were going to spread to the night looking for our mamas.
While I kept walking, before I knew it, all the kids disappeared as if turning into smoke. Darkness envelops everything, I thought to myself. Only the sounds of the night remained. Suddenly, I realized, all alone, I was standing among the silhouettes of dark houses with no lights on. I could hear a dog barking, although it seemed he must be having a nightmare. Now what?
"Where's your candle?" a voice whispered nearby, seemingly out of nowhere. I froze. Suddenly, the faces of all the other kids in our group appeared around me, each holding a glowing candle. They looked kinda scary, like frightening lifeless masks.
“What candle you talking about?” I murmured, scared to the core of my being, wanting to go back and hide in my bed forever.
Even the summer night had been pleasantly warm, with my shorts and T-shirt feeling just fine, a sudden chill invaded my body moments later.
"If you don't have a candle, you gotta return, like right now!” the older kid - blond curly hair, tall - like a cupboard in the big kitchen I can’t reach – with one hand tucked into the pocket of his brown pants - the same ugly outfits for all the kids in the orphanage - insisted impatiently, addressing the crowd more than me. As he and the others began to leave, I noticed smirks on their faces, their heads shaking in disbelief, and their body language speaking volumes. I could almost hear them thinking, how could she forget?
To my defense, I exclaimed. “What! No one told me to bring a candle!” I didn’t know how loud whisper could be. Walking in the dark, all by myself, was something I feared the most. I can’t see my colors in the dark! My heart started beating faster, fear paralyzed my feet, and everything turned pitch black around me.
The darkness takes me back to one of the principal's plays, chillingly titled "Stezka Odvahy," "The Trail of Courage”, which we are all required to participate in. Older kids would wake us in the dead of night, handing us a candle to navigate the forest alone to a specific spot. “Make sure your candle stays lit”, they would say. There, as proof, we have to write our names on a piece of paper before returning to the starting point. Throughout the journey, grown-up and older kids would throw tree branches in our path to frighten us, hiding, laughing, causing us to trip, while donning scary masks and producing eerie, inhuman sounds, making our tasks nearly impossible to accomplish. My candle seemed frightened as well, with her wax dripping and melting over my entire hand like silent tears, holding tight onto me. We both silently wept as we worked through the night. I wondered about the other kids - were they scared, too?
“Wanna share a candle with me? I’ll help you carry it. I wanna find my mama!” I pleaded. Suddenly, I found myself alone. Everyone was gone already – just gone - except me, my thoughts, and my fear. Now what?
Normally, I would gaze upwards at the stars, the sky, or the playful birds, seeking some kind of sign of light or simply something to ponder. But this time, my focus was solely on my own footsteps. I knew that there were no tigers or bears close by – they live in a black and white TV box only – so I was able to shake the tiger-bear image off successfully. But my only fear was the sight of ugly images, I hoped the night would help me not to see them.
I looked around. I had no idea where I was. I wished I had had my candle with me - and with that, I decided to walk. I kept walking, knowing my thoughts would take care of me.
I walked into the train station, located just a few streets and corners away, near the orphanage, tucked away behind a corner, I felt overwhelmed. Now what? I looked around. I saw a big round clock on the top of the train station entrance. A small hand was pointing at number three, and a big hand was just coming along. The massive black locomotive appeared intimidating, exhaling thick plumes of smoke like a furious bull venting its rage. It was still too early in the morning. Silent outside, but loud in my heart. I saw no one around, just the towering two street lamps lining the tracks, a small train station, and a few doors leading inside where one could purchase a train ticket.
I wanted to run a way, but I didn’t know how. Remaining concealed in the corner's shadow, I stayed still and kept watching. I could see people coming in and out. Trains were like a helping hand, allowing people to board and leave for good, carrying strangers to the places they had paid to reach. I loved watching the scene, an orchestra of sounds and movements. I lingered there until the moon vanished from the sky.
The next morning showed me the way. I headed down the hill and, instead of turning right to cross the bridge to my school, I turned left to ascend the hill, I reached the train station. From there, I just needed to turn left again, went through the tunnel, took a shortcut, then turned right to spot the orphanage fence, and figured out a way to get back to my bed. All the kids were still sleeping. I quietly returned to the orphanage, unseen by anyone.
I didn't have my candle or find my mama either, but I got to see a glimpse of hope in the real lives of people arriving and departing - a life filled with change and hope. Though I've never asked the other kids about whether they got to see their mamas - only because that was never meant to be mine - so it's alright not to know.
“You missed so much fun!” The same girl who had previously invited me to play hide-and-seek skipping joyfully past me, brushing my shoulder as she enters the orphanage.
"Come on, it's lunchtime, girl!" Her cheerful grin prompted me to get up and join her. After confirming the stones were still in my pocket, I am heading off to wash my face and hands in preparation for lunch.
What? Tomato soup? Not again... I sighed, rolled my eyes, and took a seat, beginning to eat to silence my growling stomach.
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