The Sun's Rays

Rays of sun unapologetically stole through the curtains, and when Mr. Jones pulled the curtains apart, they flooded the room with light. Outside, the birds chirped to royally announce the presence of a new day. Asantewaa stirred, then squinted. She spread her chubby fingers wide apart and plastered them against her face, a feeble attempt to shield her eyes from the seemingly overpowering brightness. Her bed creaked as it suffered extra weight. Asantewaa felt a hand move up her shoulder and a sudden heat against her ear.

“Rise and shine darling, it’s time to get ready for school!” Mr. Jones said with his usual morning enthusiasm, the corners of his lips threatening to reach his ears.

Asantewaa threw her head back and growled, turning to face her Moana themed-wall.

“You’re gonna be late dear, come on, let’s get you ready. Alright?” he cooed, while she clutched her blanket tightly in her fists.

When she did not seem to give in, he gently pulled the blanket off and poked her side with his index finger.

“Ow dad!” She flinched, droopy, irritated eyes turning to glare at him.

Brows creasing, his hand shot up to his nose. “Well it looks like somebody has to brush their teeth! Akua was already on her way to the bath‒”

It was as if an electric current surged through Asantewaa’s body. She leapt out of bed and with sudden momentum, bolted towards the door, swinging it so hard, it almost flew off its hinges. She rushed to the bathroom, almost tripping over when she reached the door. Hearing the continuous drops of water hit the tiles at uneven tempos, her shoulders dropped, hands collapsing at her sides. The pitter-patter signalled defeat.

“Well, well, well, we have a winner here!” Mr. Jones burst out as he came out of Asantewaa’s room, laughter intermittently punctuating his words.

Akua squealed happily in the bathroom. Asantewaa looked at her father, a faint frown playing around the corners of her lips. It was unfortunate that this afternoon after school, her taste buds would be deprived of the caramel ice-cream from Gelatos that Mr. Jones promised to the one who got ready for school first.

“Don’t worry munchkin,” he said, bending down to take her hand in his, “I’ll get you something nicer on the way to ballet class after school, okay?”

Her frown metamorphosed into a smile as she nodded excitedly.

 “Yes! Yes!”

“Awesome but keep it down…mummy's still sleeping.”

“What are you so excited about?" Akua asked, emerging from bathroom, water trickling down her face. 

"Nothing!" They both exclaimed, standing there wide-eyed, suspicious grins plastered on their faces.

                                              ***

The closing bell reverberated throughout the walls of Francine-Joelle Montessori School. Chairs screeched against the tiles and pupils leapt from their seats towards the door, flooding the hallway.

From the classroom, Asantewaa manoeuvred her way through the hoard of children to the entrance, walking with determined steps to the car park to wait. She sat on a bench with cracked paint and played with the bracelet on her hand. From a distance, she saw Mr. Jones’ blue Honda from the gate and bubbled with excitement like the lid of a pot filled with water on high heat. He finally parked and emerged with a huge grin, holding out his arms, his feet planted wide apart.

Wind whipping her face and backpack lagging behind, she surged forwards, feeling like the final runner in a baton race, the finish line seconds away. Her father reached forward to encapsulate her into a bear hug and lifted her. His beard gently scratched her cheek as her tiny arms wrapped themselves around his neck. She would not trade anything for this moment. Not even her Barbie three storey dream house set.

After making sure she was buckled in tight, Mr. Jones peeled out of the school and they set off. Music pulsated through the radio speakers, drowning out their discordant singing. Mrs. Jones would pick Akua after her volleyball practice, so the afternoon was theirs alone.

Mr. Jones turned the volume down.

“Now, how did your day go?”

Asantewaa shot him a bright smile before she dove into it, mentioning the smallest of details—like the colour of the new kids shoelaces and the size of the slice of ham in her lunch till they came to a stop.

The mall stood proud and tall before them. Her after-school promise, he remembered. Asantewaa chatted excitedly as they made their way inside, gripping her father’s hand tightly. They entered a shoe shop. Eyes wide with wonder, Asantewaa run down the aisles. Different coloured shoes lined the shelves—blue, purple, and her favourite, baby pink.

After much deliberation, she turned to her father, a frown on her lips.

He squatted to her level, a hand reaching for her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I like this one, daddy,” she said, pointing to a pair on the rack, “but I also like this other one.”

“I think the pink with white stripes is nicer,” Mr. Jones commented, lips drawn into a thin line in faux seriousness.

“Yes,” Asantewaa drawled, “but I like the pink with polka dots…it’s hard to choose.”

“Okay then, why don’t we take both?”

Asantewaa squealed in a mixture of delight and gratitude. “You’re the best!”

                                                   ***

“My princess in pink!” Mr Jones smiled widely as he pulled up at the entrance of the ballet school.

Asantewaa roughly descended the stairs, bag in hand. Tugging the door open, she tossed her bag into the car, slumping into the seat.

“You’re looking like Tiana from the,” he began, pausing when he saw tears threatening to fall from her eyes, “what’s wrong?”

“Madame said I should imitate the grace of the swan,” she choked on a sob, “and not the clumsiness of a new-born foal and all the girls laughed.”

He reached for her face with his hand and wiped the tear trickling down. “Don’t worry about that, we just need to practice more, okay? And ignore those girls, they are not princesses like you are.”

She gave him a small smile.

                                              ***

“Happy Birthday!” Mr. and Mrs. Jones exclaimed.

Asantewaa woke up, this time in good cheer.

“Our Princess is seven! Come on, come to the kitchen,” they said, taking her hand.

The heavenly smell of baked goods wafted round the kitchen. Several brightly coloured cupcakes lined the table, surrounding a large blue cake which had a Princess Moana figurine.

“I love this!” she exclaimed, her small arms clumsily attempting to engulf them in a hug.

“We’re glad you do! We made them early this morning before the guests started arriving for the surpri—” Mrs. Jones stopped, smiling sheepishly as her husband squeezed her hand.

“What Mummy meant is,” he said, rolling his eyes in her direction, “we have a surprise for you!”

He pulled out a huge parcel from the kitchen cabinet. Asantewaa grabbed it, chubby fingers ripping apart wrapping paper to reveal a miniature Moana dollhouse. She squealed, eyes lighting up.

“ Like it?”

“ I lov-”

                                                 ***

Rays of sun apologetically stole through the curtains. Outside, pigeons cooed as they flew by. Asantewaa stretched, her hand brushed the arch of her mother’s back. Akua lay close behind. She cherished the moment. Soon, their last bed would be pawned.

In the kitchen, the fridge discouraged Asantewaa from asking what she would take to school for lunch. Inside were several bottles of water, left-over fries and a bit of rice. At times, luck bestowed on her a small cheese sandwich and an apple. At times, she carried an empty lunchbox.

                                                    ***

At school, her face fell while squeals and excited chit-chats rang through the class as Mrs. Arthur announced the upcoming class excursion to the waterfalls.

“You’re coming, right?” Joanne asked.

“ I actually have a wedding to attend on that day,” Asantewaa mumbled, rubbing her arm.

“Aww, sorry you have to miss it.”

Asantewaa shot her a tight smile. It would have been better if that was the actual reason.

                                                                               ***

The walk back home tired her. The soles of her shoes were wearing out and her feet ached but there was no use complaining. To her right, Asantewaa saw a rectangular building with the icon of a ballerina plastered on the wall.

She trudged closer to it, a forlorn expression on her face. With fingers pressed against the cold pane she watched the girls through the window—their pretty tutus, flamingo movements, cocked heads and tight ponytails. She saw a father drop his child. With a sigh, she peeled herself off the window, leaving her prints behind and made her way home.

Sometimes, all she craved was a little ‘how are you?’ or ‘how was your day?’. She longed to tell her mother about the way the boys liked to tease her worn out and out-of-season shoes. She wanted to tell her about how Jolene’s faced dropped when Asantewaa asked, for the third time that week, if she could share her lunch. Yet, when she saw the bills sprawled on the table and her mother with her fingers burrowed in her hair, she held back.

                                                 ***

For years , her birthdays saw dry bundt cakes on the same lonely table which had now been pawned. Her stuffed animals grew weary, and often time, bled cotton and bore many stiches.

She once asked, “Mum, why don’t you ask Dad to help us?”

“Do I even know where he is?” Her mother muttered.

Silence ensued.

“And, do you even know who he is?” she continued, “Have you seen him before? No? In our minds, he does not exist. So don’t be asking unnecessary questions.”

Asantewaa went to her room and shut the door. She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh.

Only, and only if one could live in their dreams.