Her Favorite Color Orange

I wrap my shawl tightly as I put my first step out on the road. The shrill sound of the metro train comes like one of those opera singers I had heard on the radio which used to be kept at my father's miscellaneous store when I was very young, while putting on its brakes to stop at the nearest station.

The lights from the restaurant illuminated the evening darkness. As I am walking towards it, with growing excitement and eagerness,I behold the visitors who are basking in their extraordinary attires, each surpassing the other by leaps and bounds . Once it used to be one of my favorite rare pastimes- watching them all day long... but now I don't get the time.

            This isn't going to be my first visit to the restaurant. I have been there many times before around this time of the day when the food is fresh and warm, just cooked. Yet I could never help feeling the thrill every time I pay a visit. The doors are... I'm not sure what it's called, I never was an inquisitive student . However, there are beautiful designs carved out on them of fascinating creatures, and the light radiated by those is an alluring shade of orange.....my daughter's favorite color. And mine.

              The cool breeze marking the end days of winter has begun,but I am used to this.Its only compelling me to make more haste. My girl is waiting for me back at home . She thinks I have gone out to work. I plan to surprise her by bringing her some nice, fresh restaurant food for her 10th birthday. She fancies this restaurant in particular. If she had known, she would already be setting three plates on the floor. One each for us, and the other was to be kept untouched for her beloved father. He wasn't coming back anytime soon, yet she would insist and implore until I give up. How can I not? After all, she lost her father when she was one. It was then that I had decided to do all that I could to educate her..by helping her win her dreams, fill up my own void of illiteracy. As I have mentioned...I never have been an inquisitive student.

           In a minute I will reach my destination. It has grown even colder now.. but I am used to this. Hugging myself , I now begin to brisk walk. The streets are unusually quiet today, backing my supposition that going out for my work tonight is not an option. I am indeed glad to have a concrete reason for staying with my daughter,yet I am worried about having to overwork tomorrow for neglecting work today.

The faint sounds of laughter become audible to me as the door opens and closes immediately, releasing the heavenly scent of freshly baked loaves and rich perfumes I get to smell everyday on the road during work. The name 'loaves' was introduced to me by my then six year old Marie who had learnt it in class and had come home very excited. She had promised me that day with bright eyes and red cheeks that the day she would grow up and start earning ,she would buy me 50 fresh loaves and 3 soups all for me. I had patted her little head and told her with equal excitement that I could not wait to gobble them up all at once-all fifty loaves! I have reached my destination.

         The dustbin looks delightfully full. After a look around, I have begun to smuggle as much as my ragged, thin sack can contain.. thinking of the mouth-watering dinner and those eyes full of awe and joy .. it smells fresh...and warm ..as I had anticipated. I quietly pull the sack over my shoulder and quietly slip past the orange door.. glancing just once to admire it and fantasize what it would be like to enter those gates to heaven.. but Marie was waiting for me all alone.. expecting something from her momma. The cold wind and I traced our way back home..the luring smell , enough to overwhelm the growling stomach of someone without food for 10 days.

The tip tap of bast slippers made a crunchy sound on the frosty gravel on the road . I almost skidded on the dew once or twice ,but that could hardly keep me from running. My skin is numb,overworked and cold, yet Marie is all I can think about, and a hazy,constantly changing vision is all I can see .

      I have reached home, escaping the sharp eyes of the restaurant guard who usually gets the better of me, and in the past I have had to return home,late,empty handed after raising little Marie's hopes.. I couldn't bear it .Today she will not be disappointed, and so won't I be! I had promised to myself, not her in fear of breaking it because we make the mistake of putting too much hope on optimism even though we do not admit it , that I would not let her down, and on the day of the onset of spring with the hopefulness it had imbibed in me, I have kept my promise!She will be proud of her momma.

‌                No one is here. The sound of the metro train passing overhead is my company, save the painful reminder of my only daughter's railway accident when she had gone out for begging two years ago. I set three plates on the grass. I put the burnt loaves on the plates,a big portion on Marie's. Its her first time having it.

And mine too.

"Happy Birthday, big girl!"

My husband and I kiss her on the cheeks. She hugs us tight with her tiny arms,eyes shining in awe.

"I love you Momma,I love you Dadda!" she squealed in delight.

We eat to our heart's content.. might be days before our next meal.