| an entry about two little girls I saw for the last time last week |
[Mar. 14th, 2010|03:50 am] |
I met another little girl over the last weekend. I was told that she didn't speak, not until she trusted you, and she certainly didn't even want to look at me when I first met her. she kept her hands on her bag and quickly looked away whenever I spoke to her, making inane comments about the henna design on her hand, just rambling away out of nervousness at the response I was not getting.
so I turned instead to the other girl sitting beside her, who replied my questions with a great sunny smile. over the next couple of days, I just couldn't help realising that there was something so infinitely precious and special about the friendship between those two---the happy little girl would keep coming over to us, and it was only when she, and only she, was around that my little girl would smile (would even laugh!) and utter maybe a word or two. at other times, she refused to speak, refused to make eye contact, with her face utterly impassive.
we just sat next to each other, while everyone else chatted away with their new friends, and I just looked at the way the planes of her cheeks melted into her neck, how her pink glasses perched on a small, blunt nose, wondering what to say, whether it was even possible to make conversation with someone like her. later on, I realised it wasn't. but she managed to talk, in other ways.
I trailed her for the rest of the day, talking at her, being an altogether one-sided sort of friendly. occasionally the happy girl would come over and make a rather interesting conversation with my girl---one that didn't seem to require much actual conversing, but made both very happy nonetheless. the happy girl would prod my girl's nose, and my girl would whuff as she nudged the hand away. the happy girl happily told everyone, "so cute!" and did it again. and again. and again. when they weren't in sight of one another, one would call "mama" and the other, respond with "quack"---like their own version of the "marco polo" game. my girl didn't speak, but she said "thank you" whenever the happy girl told her to.
I can't really say what happened later, but the nth time I said her name in a funny voice, or sang a nonsense song, she finally did smile.
the second day of camp, I know she had fun. everyone was wonderful, looking out for us. when we played captain's ball, some of the volunteers tried to catch the ball for their buddies if they weren't able. towards the end of the game, I passed my girl the ball again, and everyone called for her to throw it to the captain. she didn't understand, and like before, just tossed it away. the ball came back. "throw it to the captain!!" a few yelled. she did, and missed. and the ball came back again. everyone was crowded around her at that point, and when she threw it for the last time, everyone just watched as the captain stretched out and caught it. we all cheered. after the game, I asked her if she had fun, and she gave a very definite nod.
the last day of camp, I slept in a little bit. everyone in the classroom were already rolling up their sleeping bags. I turned on my side, and saw my little girl watching me. she smiled, reached out her hand, and stroked my arm.
after breakfast, the happy girl pointed to something, and my girl suddenly looked excited. "my mother", she said. I looked, and saw her parents standing a way off, beaming at her. I shouldn't have been, but I was a little surprised by how normal they looked. I really shouldn't have been surprised. I suppose it's natural to expect a child to look somehow similar to the parents, but of course her face wouldn't reflect anything of her parents'. I found that a little sad.
her parents came over to shake my hand, and I hugged my little girl again. I felt like I was kind of cheating her of something. she'd opened up to me, given me her trust, and I feel like during those three days I'd been given something like happy-girl status in her eyes. she'd smiled for me, said thank-you for me, and reached out to me of her own initiative. and now she wouldn't see me again.
I suppose that's something she's learning from the camp. to open up to strangers, even if she's met them for a very short time... not all relationships in her life have to endure for them to be meaningful. I wonder how her parents try to teach her things like that.
you can learn so much from camps like these. of course the other volunteers are all good people. the term's so cold, but some of the young people there are so "high-functioning" that you wonder what they're doing in a special school. and you'll get a little bit of insight into the lives of children like my little girl, who might be considered young adults instead, if genetics had been kinder to them. |
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