Little Sariah

“Sit up straight, Paul-o!” I tapped my quill in front of Paul playfully. He giggled but sat up as straight as his little back could go as his mother, the queen, walked by. My smile, painted on for little Paul’s sake, hid a bitterness in my mind. How could turn her nose up at her own son? She never cared much for any of her children, just for their father, or, more accurately, the power he held. I saw Paul shrink just a little bit under his mother’s gaze, his smile faltering. But he fixed it quickly. He was able to because he knew I was smiling. I knew that was why, and that’s why I smiled. How I smiled. 

------ 1 year later ------

“What do you want to learn today, Paul-o?” I asked him, trying to get a smile back on his face. He used to smile so easily, but now he frowned just as much. I hoped it was just a sign of maturity, but I saw all the little kids his age walking to school or work in the morning, and they were all still smiling

He looked at me for a second, then asked, “How come my daddy doesn’t love me?”

I swallowed, then said, as if I was a recording, “We refer to the king in more respectful names, re-remember? Can you tell them to me?”

“Why doesn’t my daddy love me?” He asked more urgently now.

“I- where did you get the idea that he didn’t love you, Paul-o?” I put my hand on his.

“Ermen told- told me,” He said, and I saw tears starting to brim in his eyes. “She said- she said that the reason daddy-his highness” he choked a bit, tears running down his face now ”his highness doesn’t ta-alk to-to me and makes me call- call- call him your-your highness is because-cause…” he was sobbing now and I couldn’t tell what he was saying, but I knew anyways. Why did Ermen always have to share her opinions? And darn it, she was right, even if she was just trying to be mean. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I said, kneeling in front of him. “I’ll talk to Ermen about it, okay? Now, let’s think about people who do love us! Can you think of any?” I tried to be happier, but he just shook his head. My shoulders slumped. What about… what about me? Did he not know that I loved him? But then he reconsidered.

“Well, you love me…. Don’t you, teacher?” He rubbed the tears out of his eyes and looked at me expectantly.

“I- well of course I love you, Paul-o! How could I not? You are the sweetest, gentlest, kindest, happiest little kid I know!”

“I haven’t been very happy in a while…. And remember the other day when I tugged Sariah’s braids? That wasn’t very nice of me…” He looked sad again, thinking about all the little terrible things he had done.

“Well, Paul-o, none of us are perfect. It’s okay! You can try better! Now, what do you want to learn today?”

------ 10 years later-----

“Well, Paul-o?” I said, halfheartedly.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, irritated. He sat, not paying attention, as I tried working with him on what he was going to say in his next public “viewing”. Paul had changed so much from when he was little. I had once heard that kind children become kind adults, but I wasn’t sure about him. I loved Paul like my own son, but it was clear now that he did not love me back. A year ago he had loved me and now he did not. What had changed? He had started to act cold toward me, and I saw the glint in his eyes that reminded me of only one other person- his mother. I prayed and hoped and cried that he would not turn out like her, but he seemed to be praying differently. He no longer tried, or cared when he was unkind, he trampled others under his feet without a second thought, and he disregarded me and the other people who loved him, like his little sisters, and sought only for- what did he seek for? These thoughts had run through my head for a year then, and I think I was finally figuring it out. He tried so hard, he pushed us away, he didn’t care, because he did. Just not about us. He cared about his father, the father that cared nothing for him.  Sometimes I wondered if the king even realized he had a son. Paul seemed to be trying to gain his father’s approval, but so far I had not seen him succeed. So I waited, waited for him to come back and apologize and become my Paul-o again. 

The next few months, Paul became worse. He didn’t come to my lessons, just stayed in his room and- well, I have no idea what he did. This is the end of my part of the story- it’s his turn now.

I sat, wallowing in self pity, my thoughts a jumble. Maybe some of them had loved me, I could believe that, but they certainly didn’t anymore. My little sister, Sariah, sweet little Sariah… I had told her that I cared nothing about her and that she could go die for all I cared. She ran off crying. There was no way she- or any of them- still loved me. 

I had made it that way.

I thought of my earliest memories, of my father bouncing me in his arms, of my mother singing to me at night. They loved me, too. They did. But not now. Now, I had thrown away everything and everyone I cared about to be with him, my father, and he didn’t want me. I did everything he asked of me, and he didn’t want me. I wished- I ached- for someone to love me again, like he once had, like my teacher once had, like Ermen, like Sariah, like my nursemaid, like they had. But I couldn’t go back now. It was too late. They hated me, I could see it in their eyes, so I avoided them, stayed in my cave, where I was safe but still not safe,where I was content but still not content, where I was loved- but still not loved. 

So it came as a shock one morning that my sister came in. Little Sariah. She held her hands behind her back and looked down as she walked in, and I waited for her to say something. How mean I had been, how I should apologize, but what she said instead was, “Will you play chess with me?” 

“What?” I said, bewildered.

“Will you play chess with me? Everyone else- everyone else is too busy, and so I thought maybe I could ask you.” She still didn’t look up, and kind of twisted back and forth as she talked.

I was about to say no, that sounds boring, and brush her off and go back to feeling sad and miserable when she asked, “Paul, why don't you love me?”

My breath caught. Words echoed in my mind. “How come my daddy doesn’t love me?” I stared at Sariah. “Paul, why don’t you love me?” 

Before I could reconsider, I said, “I’d love to play chess with you, Sariah!” She beamed and ran to go to the chess room. 

“Come on, Paul, come on!” she shouted down the hallways! I walked slowly, smiling a bit. My bitterness was still there, but at least I could make my sister happy. At least I could love her. At least I could do better than my father. Better than I had.