one is a kite

“Do you want to come with me?”

I look from Anna’s brown eyes downward to her fingers that grasped tightly onto the hands of her two boys on either side of her. Their brown eyes were curious; awaiting an answer just like their mom was. I told Anna I wanted more time to think, and if I could get back to her. Anna gave me a half smile and a small nod. She told me to take whatever time I needed and that there was always room for me, no matter what.

With that, Anna left to take her children to school, and I watched her leave. Then I walked back home, using my hands to cover my chest with my cardigan. It’s a funny thing: the top button had popped off a few days ago and I can’t find it to sew it back on. Though I’m still wearing it to try and keep me warm from the chilly air that stung my nose and cheeks. 

As I got home, I went upstairs and entered the apartment. I exhaled as I closed the door. It was warm inside. I closed my eyes for a moment to let the heater do its work and warm my frozen fingers as I dropped my hands to my side.

I took a moment to glance into the small kitchen, then in the living room, scanning over the sofa and the lamps and the plants in the windowsill. I ran my fingers down the hallway, taking notice of the pictures on the walls. Then I made it to my room.

I sat on my bed and fixated my eyes on the boxes that sat up against my dresser, then I looked over at the boxes that spilled out of the small open closet.

We’ve been planning this for a while. Anna’s leave. She was running away from her husband with her two boys. The scars and bruises that she easily covered with a turtleneck and coat could easily tell you why she wanted to get out. And her sons' very prominent memories of their father putting hands on their mother was why she wanted them out too.

Her children were a perfect mix of their parents. Filip was more fair-skinned. His cheeks were rosy just like his mom’s, not from the cold; they were just always rosy. And his hair was blonde, despite neither of his parents being blonde. But he had his dad’s nose, a perfect nose on him. He was the eldest, just nine. He was a great older brother. Mohamed was brown, much like I am, and much like his father. He had his mother’s eyes. He had her kind eyes and smile. He was the younger of the two, only seven. And a half. He liked to remind people of that lately.

These were their boxes. I told Anna she could keep her things here while she subtly cleaned out her home without her husband noticing. Some of the boxes have pictures. Some had toys. Important stuff. But not enough to make her husband wonder where her things went. She was only taking what would fit in her car. Maybe less than that. 

She had asked some time ago for some help after she confessed to having been hurt many times by Michael. She told me she wanted to leave so I had helped her plan for leaving. She thanked me many times for the things I’m doing for her but I keep telling her that I’m her friend and that I would’ve helped her regardless of her asking me to.

Anna and I met years ago. I met her when Claire started kindergarten, as Filip was in her class. Although we knew of each other, as many of the parents did, we weren’t very good friends. After my husband and daughter passed, Anna called me. I didn’t care to ask how she was able to wrestle my number from the teacher. I didn’t even really care that she was calling me. I was so angry that anything made me upset. I told Anna that I didn’t want her to try and give me her apologies or tell me that she couldn’t imagine what I was going through. I had heard it all already. I told her to just leave me alone so that I can be sad and angry and all these things a parent shouldn’t ever have to go through. But she didn’t let my harsh words get to her like I had hoped. She told me she just didn’t want me to be lonely, and although I was since both the loves of my life were gone, she somehow helped me to bear through it, so that I wouldn’t have to go through it alone. Since then, we only grew to be friends.

She’s funny and has tons of stories to tell. She’s very protective of her kids, and she’s so kind to me. I can tell she wants to be energetic and let go. But she holds back a lot. She holds back on a lot of opportunities. Things that she tells me she regrets. Things she tells me she wishes she had done. But she never dwells on those regrets. Which makes me think that she’s a kite. A kite. Someone who desires to be free, but is being held down by another person. Just like a kite. She wants to go out and do things with her friends and start a business and take long drives and be successful. She wants to do all the things she had always dreamed of doing. But she’s being held down by her husband. That’s clear, at least.

My daughter would have been nine just like Filip if she were still here. I think about it sometimes when I look at Filip. I know that Anna thinks about it too. She didn’t tell me. But when she sees me watching over him, and talking about his toys with him, she just allows me to spend the time with him. I guess these are one of the unspoken things we have between us.

Along with the fact that we both know I have a job that makes me unhappy. I never say it makes me unhappy. It’s a job. It pays the bills. But she knows it’s a part of my life I don’t care for. She also knows I never see the light of day because I’m always in my room under my covers when I’m not at work. She knows I’ve coped and tried to adjust to my new life as a widowed mother with no children. But she knows I haven’t done it very well. Though she knows I’ve tried.

And even though I know I’ve tried, and I’m still trying, I’m wondering what’s holding me back. From saying yes or no. From answering her question. I began to wonder if I’m the kite.

Between the job that gives me no joy and the apartment that I can’t seem to find appealing, I was thinking it was these two things that were holding me back. But I was wrong. It was me who was holding me back.

And so I quietly packed away my things. One pile of boxes was the important stuff, much like Anna’s, and the other was nothing important. I watched throughout the week as the apartment became more empty. Sofa pillows gone, bathroom hair products gone. The only place I ever knew, I was putting away.

On the night of Anna’s leave, I waited down the street from her neighborhood. The car was on, but it was silent. I kept glancing into the rearview mirror to see if she was coming up the street with her boys. The backseat car door opened without warning. I kept my head forward as she quickly threw her boys into the backseat and demanded them to get their seat belts on. Then she hopped in the passenger, breathing heavily, and slouching in the seat. I began to drive, glancing once again at the mirror to make sure no one was following us.

We were supposed to go back to my place to grab Anna’s boxes. But I kept driving and driving. When Anna finally spoke up, the first thing she asked was if we were still swinging by to get her things. But I told her I already packed the trunk, our boxes mixing together.

“Yes, I want to come with you,” I told her. And though somewhere in my heart, I was scared, I was sure of this. Anna put out her hand by the stick shift, and I took it, holding onto her tight.