A Vignette

Anya

When I’m not sleeping, I’m crying. And when I’m not crying, I’m staring out into space, like a partially dead body. I feel lost, as if part of my life has been forced away. I just came here, to Cleveland from India. Actually, I didn’t come here. I was knowingly kidnapped, by my parents. They tell me I’ll adjust, or, that it was necessary to move, but I tune them out as much as possible. They have no idea how much the move has changed me. I don’t feel like myself anymore, as if I’m no longer Anya. Everyday now, I pray in the Indian fashion, begging the gods to spark a miracle, sending me home.
Here in Cleveland, everything is cold, even the people. But back in India, it was impossible that you hadn’t laughed, at least once with all the people in your community. Here in the Cleveland apartments, I don’t even know who lives next door to me. My parents suggest, that I walk around the community, and try to get familiar with it. Some days I listen, other days, I bite my lower lip, and blink rapidly, forcing back my tears. When I do step outside though, I begin to notice the differences right away. The roads aren’t dusty and crowded. There aren’t dogs and cows roaming free in the street, or friendly marketers, yelling the rates of their fruits, vegetables, or bangles. I miss the sight of the bright clothes, which had hung from stretched rope, or porch banisters. I missed the sound of the people yelling across the street from their house windows, asking their neighbor, if they’d like to drop by for a cup of tea. Mostly, I notice the silence. The silence, which feels colder than the snow, makes my days in Cleveland unbearable. At night, the silence of the streets, the thought of the nights in India, where people would still be outside, singing, talking, the distant honking, the moans of cows, keep me wide awake.
One afternoon in June, I was wandering in a new street, when I noticed what used to be a vacant lot. Now, there were many people crouching beside plants, slowly running their coarse hands against the newly blooming plants, or the green leaves of their healthy flowers. These folks had made a garden of the lot. For one enticing moment, a small smile stole over my face, at the same time a small thought bloomed into my sore mind. I would grow lotus flowers, the national flower of India. The beautiful pink flower would be like a small connection to home, and would serve as an excuse to get to know the community. That night, I asked my mother if she could bring me lotus seeds. My mother, realizing that I was finally getting myself involved in a community act, agreed. The next day, my mother presented me with shallow tub, a water can, clay soil, and two packets of Lotus seeds. I looked at the blue tub puzzled.
“Lotus grows only in water.” My mom informed. As I began to leave towards the garden, my mother hurriedly told me that she would be coming too. I smiled again. I had always known that my mother enjoyed planting flowers. Together, my mother and I approached the Gibb Street Garden, and began, at once, to stab at the packed soil, as to place the tub in the small area. It was hard work, but when I began to insert the small seeds into the terra cotta, I couldn’t help thinking of the blooming flowers. Once we had planted the seeds, I began to look around the garden to see if anyone needed help. I saw an old Korean lady, Sae Young, struggling to dig the packed soil. I went over to help her, and during that time, she began to tell me her story, how, years ago, she had moved from Korea, and felt so alone, to how, recently, her husband died, all the way to the time when a gunman broke into her small shop and knocked her will to be with people right out of her heart. Now, she was herself again, she wanted to be surrounded with many people. She had overcome her obstacles. I met many people that day like Sae Young, many people who had overcome hindrances, and it reminded me of the history of India. How we had fought against the British, and succeeded. And right then, in that moment, found a piece of my home in that garden, and in the gardeners. So all along, I had been at home, and never realized it.


Please post a comment telling me what you think of my story

-To leave a comment click on the title, and scroll down until you see a comments box-