Part One - 6 "You're Different"

You’re Different

Fontainebleau, France

Christmas, 1994

This month, the teacher has shaped the desks in the classroom into a U so all of us can see each other during the lesson. I sit on the left side of the curved shape. It’s cold in the classroom now, and the draft from under the door bites through the thinning fabric of my pink classroom slippers. We have to take off our shoes and change into slippers before going into the classroom, and in the winter, it makes my toes freeze until I can’t feel them anymore. This year, I have pink ones with little dancers on them. Mami picked out the color; I just like the fact that they’re fuzzy inside.

My teacher is waiting for the rest of the class to file in. She sits at her desk in the front of the classroom and plays with a strand of her milk chocolate hair as she looks over our papers. Yesterday, we had une dictée, and I’m anxious to get mine back because I think that I spelled all of the words wrong. My friends aren’t even here yet.  I’m fidgeting because my left leg is asleep, and when I try to move it, it sends armies of fire ants through my nerves. I like the quiet time before school starts, because none of the wild boys are here yet and I can just sit and color.

As the class starts filing in, my friend Christophe sits down next to me at his desk and starts pulling out his pencils and notebooks. He has hair that is the same color as the pencil I use to fill in the sun in my picture and his skin is really pale. He’s quiet, like me, and he’s really smart. The teacher really likes him. I pull on my hair and feel how soft it is against my cheek. It’s almost vacation, so that means we are going to talk about the school-wide Christmas party. Last year we had to sing songs about trees and Santa Claus and Mami explained to me that we don’t celebrate Christmas, but that it’s nice to respect what others celebrate. I knew that already when she told me; I like the candles and songs and scrumptious food of Hanukah better anyway.

“Attention, Classe, let’s start off the day with our calendar!”

For every day in the month of December, we have been opening a little window in a calendar that the teacher put up on the wall. In each of these windows, there’ a chocolate and almost all of the kids in the class have already had their turn. We are getting close to the end of the alphabet, so it must be almost my name. After me, there are only three other kids, and there are only four pictures left in the month.

I glance across the room to one of my good friends, Sara, who has already had her turn. She loves chocolate almost as much as she loves horses, so she’s excited anyway. She stretches her lips in a hungry grin and her eyes are wide and happy. We both watch the teacher anxiously as she strides over to the calendar in slow, deliberate steps. She’s carrying the class grade book in her arms, and her finger is stuck between the green cardboard covers at the page where all of our names are. The calendar is hung up next to the blackboard at the front of the room, next to the part where today’s date is written; Le 21 décembre, 1994.  She steps up to the calendar and props the book open in her arms. I feel tight in my shoulders and my right foot is tapping against the floor; I know that she’s about to call my name and I’ll get to walk up to the front of the class and get my chocolate. In my mind everyone is smiling at me, and some of the kids are even clapping. The teacher opens her mouth and calls out,

“Verdier, Alexis!”

I’m already half way out of my seat, but I manage to catch myself and make it look like I was just re-adjusting. The tears are creeping up my throat and lining up behind my eyes, but I have to be strong and fair. I’m sure there’s a reason for why he went before me, maybe he won’t be here tomorrow when it’s his turn. I try to calm myself down by looking down at the desk, but a tear falls on the drawing I was working on and stains the roof of the little house under the bright yellow sun.

Alexis, a small brown-haired boy with a pinched nose and a fuzzy green sweater bounds from his seat and skips over to the calendar. He has to say today’s date and how many days are left until Christmas.

“Aujourd’hui c’est le 21 décembre, et il manque 4 jours jusqu’a Noël”

Yes, yes you’re a smart boy, it’s the 21^st and there are 4 days left. Oh yay for you, now you get a chocolate. MY chocolate!

I can feel the heat building where my eyes meet with my nose, and my eyebrows arch inwards. I don’t care if he has a good reason, it was my chocolate! Alexis walks back to his seat, happily munching on what I imagine is a milky, sugary confection melting in his mouth. The teacher keeps going forward with the lesson, but I’ve stopped paying attention. I don’t even care that I got all the answers right on the spelling test.

Why didn’t I get my turn?

I don’t pay attention to the lesson, and the teacher doesn’t even call on me so it doesn’t matter. I’m going to have to find out why he went before me.

It’s just not fair.

We’re learning how to sing “Oh Christmas Tree” in German, and I mumble some made up words while the rest of the class obediently recites,

“O Tenenbaum, O Tenenbaum…”

At ten o’clock we have a small snack and recess break, and everyone dashes towards the hallway to get their snacks from their backpacks. I’m still looking down at my desk, holding my head up with the palms of my hands and the shuffle of footsteps towards the door sounds like pebbles tumbling down a dirt hill.

“Viens, Yali, let’s go! Let’s go play!”

Sara is pulling on my sleeve, and I shake her off, I don’t want to go out and play.

“I’ll come out in a second”

She taps me on the shoulder and trots off to get her snack. When I’m sure that the classroom is empty, I glance up and I see my teacher shuffling some papers on her desk. I take a deep breath that rattles in my throat; I’m shaking a little bit as I slide off the chair and walk up to the front to talk to her.

Her deep-set dark eyes look upon my tear stained face with mild curiosity. Her lips are puckered together and painted in a shade of red that reminds me of the cherries that grow in the neighbor’s back yard.

“You should go outside now, Yali”

I grip the edge of her wooden desk. It has suffered various cracks throughout the years that it has sat in this classroom and probably other classrooms as well. I’m trying not to shake but my voice betrays me when I try to speak.

“W-hhy wasn’t it m-my turn to get the chocolate today?”

My teacher lets the papers down and pushes up the right sleeve of her navy blue sweater, the kind that looks itchy.

“Well, isn’t it obvious why?”

Maybe I did something wrong…

I sniffle a little bit; I’m looking through my memory to see if I got in trouble this week or if I did something that I should be punished for, but I’m pretty sure that I’ve been behaving, and I know that I’ve been doing all of my work.

“Am I in trouble?”

She taps the desk a couple of times with her fingers, and she scrunches up her face a bit as if she has to really make an effort to give me an answer.

“No, you’re Jewish.”

I feel like I’ve been hit in the chest with something heavy and round. I’m not crying anymore, but now I really feel that it’s not fair, and I’m angry, but I can’t yell at my teacher. I don’t really understand why that makes a difference. I’m still in the class; my name is still on the list. So why shouldn’t I get a chocolate too.

“So? Why can’t I play on the calendar too?”

She breathes out and turns her attention back to the papers on her desk,

“Because you don’t celebrate Christmas, and the other kids do.”

She looks up at me and raises her eyebrows, clearly urging me to join my class outside and play. I don’t’ move, I’m still gripping her desk and my nails are digging into her wood. I feel uncomfortable in my small body; my shirt feels too hot.

“B..ut..”

“Go outside now, Yali. You have to be back on time for the next lesson.”

I let go of the edge of her desk and I notice that my palms are sweating; I feel nervous and a little bit scared, but I force my legs to turn my body around and take me outside. When I get to the hallway where all the bags are, I find mine hanging on the wall along with my coat.  I grip the sides of the red fabric with the green zippers. I pull on the zipper on the little pockets to take out the sugar cookies that Mami put inside in the morning. When I get the zipper open, all I see is an empty plastic bag full of crumbs. Someone took my snack.

My eyes well up with hot, burning tears and I pull the bag off the hook and throw it on the floor. I crouch down next to it, and hide my head in my coat that is hanging on the hook where the bag also was.

Stupid, stupid, stupid

I don’t want anyone to see me cry. I swallow my tears before they can fall under my chin and breathe in forcefully, clogging my sinuses. I cough and my throat hurts because it’s dry and the tears are stinging it. I wipe my eyes and my nose and make myself stand up, and walk outside. When I leave the classroom, I start down the hill to the playground. I run as fast as my 9-year old legs can take me and when it starts to hurt, I run even faster until I get to the big tree where my friends are playing. The wind from running has dried the tears on my face, and when I get there, I jump right into the game.

***

This  morning, I’m awake before my family is and I go downstairs to where Mami keeps the snacks in the kitchen. I climb up on the stove so that I can open the cupboard above it. I’m looking for the chocolates that we brought back from Israel in the summer. I find a bag of the small, rectangle ones with the black wrappers and the gold elephants on them. I reach into the back of the cupboard and pull the bag out. I stuff it in my backpack. If I can’t play with the chocolates in the calendar, I’m going to keep my own bag in my desk, and no one can have any.

When I get to the classroom, I stuff the bag inside my desk, behind the spelling notebook, the art notebook, and the pencil case. I sit and color like I do every morning as I wait for the other kids to get to the class. Christophe sits down next to me and leans over to look at my drawing. I put my elbow over it to hide it, and push it to the other side of my desk. I’m sitting with my legs under me, so I’m a little taller than usual; that means I can cover the whole thing if I want to.

When my teacher gets up to call the next student to for the calendar, I have the familiar feeling like some animal is trying to scratch its way out of my chest. I reach my hand inside my desk and pull a chocolate out from the bag. I get the wrapper off with one hand inside the desk and when everyone’s attention is on the freckly girl with the long dirt colored hair in braids, I stuff the little square into my mouth. It melts over my teeth in a delicious mixture and my tongue feels happy with the blanket of chocolate I’ve wrapped it in.

I continue to sneak chocolates from the bag as the lesson continues; even as we’re still practicing O Tenenbaum. By the end of the lesson, I have a desk full of empty wrappers, and my stomach hurts a little bit. I have a hard time standing up to go outside, but I don’t want to be left in the classroom with my teacher. I swallow a couple of times and run outside after my friends. I feel like there’s a rock bouncing around where my stomach used to be, but I ignore it. I run around, supercharged from the mixture of the sugar from the chocolates and the surge of energy from the knowledge that they are my secret, and mine alone. 

Part One - 5 "Home Warmth Bound"

Home Warmth Bound

Tel Aviv, Israel

August, 1994

We are going to Israel today! I know I want to wear my favorite shirt with the flowers on it, but I always wait until the last day to pick the animals that I’m going to take with me. I set them in line by the door of the bedroom and I have to explain to them that I can’t take all of them with me because I can only take a small bag. Bobby, the happy-faced bear I’ve had since I was born, is sitting next to me. He always comes with me. He gets scared if I leave him alone. I get them all dressed in their best clothes. My dog that I had to give surgery to because his fluff was coming out is sitting next to my blue bear with the colorful patches. Next to them, there’s the rabbit that my Abuela Susana gave me, so I know that he has to come with me. Finally, there’s the big bear that is very soft, but kind of smells like dust.

“Yali, come on! We have to leave!”

I pick up the rabbit, the monkey, and the dog and I stuff them into my bag. I kind of have to fold them in a little bit because my book and my paper and crayons are already taking up some room. I like to draw pictures for my grandmothers on the plane. The always love it when I bring them the pictures.

Oohhh, our little number one!

That’s what my Safta Lea and Sabba Asher call me, and I know that it’s not only because I was born first, it’s also because I’m special. They tell me that they love me all the way to the sky.

On the way to the airport, I’m trying to get Danielle excited about going because she’s just sucking her thumb on her big white comfort pillow that she calls, la cama. Everyone thinks that it’s funny because cama means bed in Spanish.

“Danielle! We’re going to see Maya and Hila and we’re going to play with them! It’s going to be so much fun.”

She pulls her finger out of her mouth and it makes a slurping sound. She rubs my head from her high chair, and I don’t even care that it’s with the wet finger because we’re going to Israel.

“Can I sit next to la fenêtre?”

Usually I like to sit next to the window on the plane, but I’ve been flying to Israel all by myself already since I was five and half, so it’s okay if Danielle sits there this time.

“Yeah, but you have to let me see also.”

She smiles and her tiny round face fills with the light of excitement. Sometimes, when she’s not crying all the time, I really love this little ball of a cute baby.

While Mami yells at the people to give us seats together and Papi puts our suitcases on the carpet that takes them away, I wander over into one of the stores in the airport. These stores always have funny things to play with in baskets by the front, and in this one I find many Tours’ D’Eiffel with big silly grins on them. I go into the back of the store. I run my fingers along the shelves and there, I see a wooden pencil box with hearts on it, and I really want to bring it to Maya. I turn it over, and I see that the price is more than the three coins I have in my pocket, and more than I can ask Mami to give me. I still remember when we went to the supermarket and she told me that I couldn’t buy a toy because we can’t afford to pay for it. My heart felt sad. I walk around the store with it for a little bit, looking at the books and the magazines. Then, when I think that no one is looking, I stuff it into my backpack. I keep looking around at the magazines, and give the lady behind the register a cute little wave when I leave the store.

“Au Revoir!”

I walk back to where Mami and Papi are still doing what they were doing before.  I keep feeling my bag for the pencil box just t make sure that it’s still there. After what feels like we’ve waited forever, we’re sitting on the pane and I’m showing Danielle how to put her seatbelt on. When I get on the plane, I always read the information packet about what to do if the plane catches on fire, or we have to land in the water. It’s really important to know, and I show both Danielle and Bobby that they shouldn’t be scared. When the plane takes off, Mami holds my hand hard and reaches across the aisle to hold Papi’s hand. I hold Danielle’s hand, and she holds on to la cama. It takes until they turn off the seatbelt sign when we’re flying for Mami to let go of my hand, and so for me to let go of Danielle’s hand.

During the flight, we get to color and watch movies, and the flight attendants bring us toys with the El Al signal on them; these are things that only kids get on the flights. We also get to eat our food before everyone else. I always love the tiny containers of water, kind of like we’re on a special mission and on that mission we get special water. France is not very far away from Israel, only four hours and fifty five minutes, so soon I can feel that we are going down through the sky. I lean over Danielle and she moves over to let me see, I can see the beach in Tel Aviv coming closer and closer.

“There’s Susana’s house, and there’s Lea’s house, and there’s Maya’s house!”

Danielle is straining her neck to see where I’m pointing. I don’t really know where their houses are, but they must be there somewhere. When we land, I can’t wait to get out; I can just imagine everyone waiting for us at the airport and all the wet, lip-sticky kisses that my grandma is going to give me. I pull back the latch to release my seatbelt and jitter on my seat.

“Come onnn…Come onnn…let’s goooo!”

Mami is still sitting down while Papi pulls our bags from the space above the seats; but they’re not moving yet. I think they want to let the whole airplane of first.

“Yali, we have to wait for the suitcases there anyway, no hay appuro!”

I’m in a hurry! I want to see my family! The excitement is bouncing inside my body, and I’m swinging Bobby back and forth in my arms. Mami looks down towards the end of the plane and decides that it’s empty enough for us to go out. We file out, with Papi leading the way and me right behind him and climb into the bus that is going to take us from the plane to the airport.

I sit next to Mami and she pulls Danielle up on her lap. Papi is standing up, holding on to the hook above him as the bus rolls along the runway. The window feels cool as I lean my nose against it; it’s really hot outside, but the bus has a lot of air conditioning. When I can see the airport approaching, I pull my backpack onto my back and stand next to Papi. The line at the passports is not very long because we waited so long. Mami, Danielle and I go into the  Israeli Passport Line and Papi goes into the other one, because he was born in Argentina.

“Ya-he-li?”

The woman behind the glass has curly red hair with blond streaks going through it like bolts of lightning. Her face is very thin, and she has a long nose. I’m jumping up and down next to Mami so she can see me.

“Yali, my name is Yali!”

She nods at us, stamps our passports, and shoves us along to get our luggage. Standing next to the security checkpoint is my uncle Zohar, Mami’s younger brother. I forgot that he works in the airport now, and he scoops me up in a big hug when I run up to him. He came with Lea and Asher and he is going to stay with us all the way until we go outside.

“Who’s here, Zohar?”

He smiles at me and skin that looks like caramel stretches because the smile takes up his whole face, and even his eyes,

“Here? No one’s here. Why would anyone come to see you?”

My heart drops for a minute, but then I know that he’s joking so I laugh and the laughter further ignites my excitement.

When we get our luggage, Danielle and I climb atop of it as Papi pushes the cart out to the arrivals hall. When we come out, I see rounded water fountains, and lots of faces looking at us. My eyes are darting from face to face as I’m searching the crowd for someone I know. When I see Lea’s smiling face bouncing up and down in front of me. I jump off the cart, accidentally sending it a little bit backwards into Papi’s heels and jump head first into my grandmother’s outstretched arms.

“Yalili, our little number one! Oh I’m so happy!”

Lea has tears in her eyes, and so does my other grandma Susana, who is standing behind her. I peel away from Lea and go to Susana, whose leathery skin feels soothing against my cheek. Both of my grandfathers are there too, and I’m laughing when Asher’s beard tickles my face, and when Roberto taps my head and says,

“You’re so tall! From here to the ground!”

Everyone is hugging everyone, and Danielle is resting her head on Papi’s shoulder as he’s holding her up away from the ground.

We all pack into different cars, but we’re going to Lea and Asher’s house, where everyone is going to meet for dinner to welcome us to Israel.

When we get there,  no one is there yet, but I know that Maya is going to come soon. I turn on the TV to the kids channel, because I know that she likes to watch it. I run to the kitchen to help Asher.

“What can I do, Asher, what can I do?”

He hands me a couple of plates and I take them to the table in the living room. That’s where we’re all going to sit. I run back and forth, helping to set the table that rests atop of the carpet that looks like a volcano fire in my grandparents’ living room. Danielle is sitting in Lea’s rocking chair, falling asleep while staring at the TV. The chirping sound of the doorbell stops me in my tracks,

It’s Maya! I know it is!

Zohar goes over to the door, and a woman comes in, and kisses him. It’s his girlfriend, Dorit. She has lots of wild, curly brown hair, and she can do really cool gymnastics tricks. I think that they’re going to get married, and I tell Maya every year that she’s going to be our aunt. She scoops me up in a big hug and her strong perfume is comforting, and delicious. I run around the room and show her the drawings that I did for Lea and Asher on the plane. She smiles and laughs and it rolls out of her like a big, fluffy snowflakes.

The next time the doorbell rings, it’s Susana and Roberto, also coming from the airport, and even though I’m happy to see them, I want to see Maya! There’s nothing I can do now because I’ve already helped set the table, so I go and sit by the window. I peek out of the blinds to see if I can see their dark green car pull up into the lot under my grandparents’ building. Lea yells from the kitchen that she wants the shutters closed so the air conditioner doesn’t get out.

“Be careful, Yali! Don’t open them too much!”

She comes over to me and gives me a big kiss on the head after she says this, and ruffles my blond curls. Everyone is sitting around the table drinking soda or water, and I’m still waiting for Maya to come.

Finally, the doorbell ring. It’s my cousin Maya, and her two front teeth are missing in her wild, grinning face. She’s at the door alone because she went up the stairs. Her parents and her little sister, Hila, are coming in the elevator. I pull Maya into a tight, long hug, and her long black hair tickles my throat. She barely has a chance to step out of her shoes, before I drag her into the room where I’ll be sleeping to show her the presents I got her.

I pull out a wooden box with hearts on it and I hand it to her. Her eyes go wide with excitement and she pulls me into another big hug. Heat rushes through my body, because she likes the gift I got for her.

“It’s a surprise, just for you, so don’t make Hila jealous by showing it to her.”

She shoves it into her tiny purse, and sets it by the front door with her shoes. Lea and Asher are serving the food now.  I’m starving,;there’s nothing more I want than a very big helping of Lea’s kadurei bassar. Home-made meatballs.

PART ONE - 3 "Everything Comes From Something"

Everything Comes From Something

Fontainebleau, France

July, 1994

I’m standing by the lace covered glass door that serves at the front door to our house. The morning settles over our pebbled driveway as the reflection of the cloud spattered sky grows brighter on the car’s windshield. For the moment my hair is agreeing to stay in the colorful barrettes that Mami hastily put on me this morning, and my tomato colored backpack is full and ready for me to grab it and go. I am marching back and forth in front of the door, throwing surreptitious glances at the stairway curved across our dining room, waiting for Papi to come down and take me to day camp.

Today is Wednesday morning, and they are giving us chocolate cookies and the jus de menthe, the mint flavored drink that I love to get second servings of. I can hear my little sister, Danielle, running around our two-room upstairs, refusing to put on her pants. I know that once she gets to her nanny, she loves being there, so I don’t understand why she always has to put up a fight in the morning.

Mami usually takes me to day camp on her way to work at the travel agency, but today she left before my crispy rice cereal had the chance to exhaust itself in conversation. Today, Papi is taking us to where we have to be for the day, and he doesn’t seem to be able to catch my sister. I sit down by the door and hug my knees onto my chest and rest my head between them so that I can feel, on my ears, how soft my pants are. My feet are jittering, tapping on the maroon colored tiles that cover the entire floor in the downstairs rooms, and I can still hear Papi scrambling to get Danielle to stop eating her left sock.

I can’t sit still anymore, so I get up and begin to tap out a song on the glass panes of the front door. I walk to the plastic covered table where Mami keeps her papers, and where lots of pens are scattered around, easy for me to reach. I pick one up and scribble on a paper, drawing circles and swirls that intersect. After a few jerky strokes, I step back and decide that I don’t like my drawing, so I scribble over it. I look to my left and see that the light is on in the downstairs bathroom and is projecting shadows over the green colored wallpaper that make it look as if it’s moving. I go in, stick out my tongue in the mirror, and turn off the lights. When I step back out, I can still hear Papi and Danielle upstairs, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I am convinced that I am going to be late. I run over to the bottom of the stairs and call up to the noise coming from the room above,

“Papiiii! They don’t like it if you’re late!! Hurry up!!”

           

If Mami were here, we would be on the way already. Frustrated that he didn’t answer, I emphasize my complaint in a higher voice that mimic’s Mami’s

“I don’t want TO. BE. LATE!”

I bounce up and down on the bottom step to emphasize the extended vowels, and I can hear Papi’s obviously frustrated maneuvers upstairs, but he doesn’t answer, because he wants to get Danielle dressed so we can be on our way.

“We have to go, NOW!!!!”

His harried face appears at the top of the stairway; his face is scrunched in annoyance, his big square glasses threatening to slide off his long nose and shatter on the stairway.

“Your whining isn’t helping, Yali.”

Fine. I’m making things worse. I swallow hard so that whatever is stuck in my throat lands with a thunk in my stomach. I pace back and forth between the stairs and the tiny microwave cum fridge with sit in the corner of our dining room.

The time on the microwave’s display blinks from 09:12 to 09:13. I’m late!

I let out a loud breath. I know, that as usual, I have to do something alone if I want it to be my way. I walk around the dining room table, past the half-wall, which divides it from the front room, and put my backpack on. I march to the door, and tug on the doorknob. The door is locked. I pull on it repeatedly so it shakes the glass panes. I want their rattle to reach all the way upstairs.

I wait a few seconds but nothing happens. My breakfast crawls back into my throat as in three determined movements I unlocked the door, thrust it open, and slam it shut behind me. The early morning sunlight pierces my eyes after leaving the dimly lit house. I step to the rusting metal railing separating me from a steep drop down to our driveway and stare out at the car. I stick my face between the bars, and hesitate for a minute; maybe I should just wait for them to be ready. I’m late anyway.

From somewhere in my back, I feel a push that tells my body that I’m supposed to just go. I trudge down the stone steps to the driveway and stubbornly sit myself down in front of the metal gate. I throw a few pebbles from the driveway at it so that it makes a repetitive clanging noise that reverberates up towards the clouds. Nothing happens. So I throw a few more, and wait. Nothing happens again, so I decide to take a few handfuls and just chuck them at the gate, just to hear the noise. Still, nothing happens, and my eyes are stinging with the mixture of frustration and dust from the pebbles. If Papi isn’t going to notice me, I am just going to leave.

I stand up and pat my legs to remove the dust from the driveway. I pull open the gate. The noise from the road rushes towards me and I can feel the energy of the morning traffic through my toes. It climbs into my legs and torso, down my arms and into my fingertips. I rub my hands to get rid of the tingling feeling that has settled in my palms.

I know the way to the camp by heart—when Mami drives me there, she lets me pretend to give her directions, so I know which way I have to walk. Hiking my backpack up towards my shoulders, I take the first few steps out onto the sidewalk, and then stop. I turn around and look back at the house twinkling in the sunlight. The thought of the mint flavored drink and the annoyed faces of the camp counselors if I get there late nudge me forward.

I walk up the hill towards another main road and then turn to take the road in the woods towards camp. I know that I shouldn’t cross too many streets alone, so this path is the best way to go. My shoes crunching sticks and my arms are folded upwards as they hold my backpack firmly at the top of my shoulders. I keep my gaze down on the ground. When we drive, it doesn’t take very long to pass by these woods, but now, my legs are cramping and it makes me feel like I’ve been walking for hours.

It’s not supposed to be this far. I know it’s not. Panic spills out from my heart into my lungs. I feel like I’m choking. I breathe hard on purpose with fast, rattling breaths, and hug my arms tight around myself.

I am not going to cry, I am not going to cry

The tears cascade from my eyes faster than I can stop them and I sit down on the dusty ground with my legs folded in front of me. I slip my backpack off and cradle it on my lap and bury my face in it’s the rayon. I’m shaking with my sobs and I’m crying out, but no one can hear me,

“Mami!! Mami!! I want to go home! Mami!!”

When I look up, all I see around me are trees pointing at me with their long, gnarly branches. They are mocking me for being too stupid to keep walking on my own. I swallow hard a couple of times, sniffle, and angrily wipe away my tears. I’m uncomfortable sitting like this; my left leg is falling asleep. I hate it when it gets that prickly feeling; it makes me feel like it’s going to fall off. I get up and throw my backpack over my shoulders again, making sure that it stays steady.

I push myself up and start to walk faster until I am ultimately running, wincing as sunlight filters periodically through the rows and rows of trees. Holding the straps of my bag tightly within my fists I run through the woods, jumping over roots and avoiding tripping on rocks until I get to a clearing that I recognize. I drive by it with Mami when she takes me.

There are three huge fire trucks parked in the clearing. The firemen are crowded around one of them. Some of them are leaning on the truck, others are kneeling, but all of them seem to be waiting for something to happen; for a fire to erupt somewhere.  My shirt became untucked while I was running, so I stop to fix it. I have to walk by them without their noticing so that they will leave me alone. I step out into the clearing, holding my breath somewhere in the middle of my chest and stare straight forward as I get closer to them.

I can hear that they’ve seen me because one of them calls out to me,

“Hey! Petite fille! Are you okay? Little girl?”

I scrunch my eyes tightly together because it’s becoming harder to walk when I’m holding my breath. Maybe it’ll be safe to breathe out a little bit, and I try to just let a little bit out. As soon as I open the airway a crack, however, all the air rushes from my lungs as well as the sobs I didn’t know I was still stifling. Without thinking, I put my hands up to my face and start walking faster, away from the fire fighter with the big bushy moustache and the worried expression in his eyes.

“HEY! STOP! Are you lost?? Come back!”

I’m running again now, but my hands in front of my eyes are making it hard for me to see. I don’t see rock on the floor and I trip, falling onto my already tired knees. I give up. I crumple around myself and let the tears fall from my eyes.

The fireman comes close enough to me now so that when he kneels in front of me, I can feel his breath on the hands that still cover my face. I can hear that the has a woman with him because she asks,

“Sweetie, are you okay?”

I answer by sobbing even harder,

I just didn’t want to be late! I just didn’t want to be late!

The thought is clanging between my ears so loudly that I have to strain to hear them when they’re asking me where my parents are.

“…Mami…”

I whisper it so softly that it barely sneaks out from behind my hands. Both of the adults are kneeling by me now, and I can feel that others are standing behind me. I pull my hands slowly from my face and I am staring at kindly brown eyes in a leathery, wrinkled face. It’s the fireman. He’s wearing a blue uniform with suspenders, and he’s sitting in front of me, supporting himself with his right knee and left hand on the ground. Next to him is the woman, and she is also wearing blue, but not the same blue as the fireman’s uniform. She has short, gray hair, and she’s holding her hand out to me so that I can take it.

I fold my arms across my chest, and I stare up at them both; even though they are also on the ground, they are still taller than I am.

“I want to go to Ma Maman.”

I don’t want to go to the camp anymore. The woman helps me to my feet and the fireman calls over one of his truck-mates. They whisper something to each other in low tones, something that I can’t hear.

“Where does your mom work?”

The woman’s voice is sweet and makes me think of the honey we bought at the bee farm at school last year. Her face looks like it’s usually stern because the lines of kindness she has on there now look like they are on a temporary visit.

“She works at the travel agency in the University by the woods.”

Apparently, they’ve agreed that the kindly fireman will take me in one of the trucks. He kneels down to my height again. In a soothing voice, he tells me not to worry and that they will take me to my mother. He points at one of the trucks. I don’t care how I get there; I just want to get there.

The woman waves at me from the window as we drive out of the clearing and I suddenly very proud of myself, sitting in this truck, so high off the ground. I look out the window and see the drivers of the cars much lower to the ground and I think about sticking my tongue out at them, but I don’t because I’m supposed to feel ashamed for having cried.

It only takes a few minutes to get from the clearing to the University where Mami works. I had actually traveled half of the way there from my house. I hop out of the truck and start walking because I know where her office is. I think that he can leave me alone now, but when I look back, he’s walking right behind me.

We walk up the stone steps outside of the glass-encased library where Mami has her travel desk. I feel like my insides are shaking. I’m scared that Mami is going to be angry with me. Once we are in the library, I quicken my step towards the travel desk, because maybe I can get there before the fireman has a chance to say something. His steps are wider than mine, and we get there at the same time.

A mixture of shock and fear spreads in Mami’s widened green eyes as she sees me with the fireman standing in front of her desk.

“We found her in the woods.”

He doesn’t even give me a chance to explain, and the anger forces the tears from my eyes again. Mami doesn’t do anything for a minute, but then comes around the desk and takes me in her arms. Water is coming out of my eyes, and my nose and I hide my face in her shoulder, sobbing. I can’t hear what they’re saying to each other, but when I pull away from Mami’s shoulder, the fireman is looking at me through smiling eyes.

“You’re a very smart little girl, but next time, don’t be so stubborn.”

He winks at me, and then shakes hands with Mami before leaving the library and going back to his truck. Mami takes my hand and tells me to sit under the desk until she’s done with a call. I don’t know if she’s angry, because I don’t think she knew I was missing from my house. Under the desk, I pull at the wires that reach up towards the phone and other electronic things on Mami’s desk, just to see which one of them is loose. When I look over at the feet of the other woman who sits at the long desk next to Mami, I see that she is wearing sandals, but is missing two toenails.

When she finishes her call, Mami pulls me out from under the desk and searches my face with a worried look. She puts her hand through her black hair, which she wears relatively short, as the other one is holding on to my shoulder. I try to give her what I think is a smile and she pulls me in close to her. She strokes my head with her hand.

“My heart hit the floor when I saw you walk in with that fireman. Don’t ever do that again.”

I nod a few times because I don’t really know what she wants me to say. I kind of want her to let me go. I know that I get to spend the rest of the day here so maybe I can play in the bookshelves. She pulls out a few coins from her pocket and hands them to me,

“Why don’t you go and get yourself some hot chocolate from the machine.”

A burst of light rushes through me and I take the coins from her hand, and stick them in the pocket of my pants. I know where the best hot drinks machine is and I skip down the hallway towards it. The machine towers over me, but I can read all of the drinks, I skim over the coffees and get to the section that I like: Chocolat Chaud, Soupe de Tomate.

I don’t want hot chocolate, I want tomato soup. I put the coins in one by one, waiting to hear the clinking noise that means they’ve landed safely inside the machine. I push the button for the soup, and stand back, watching excitedly as the little cup plops into the compartment behind the plastic protector. The steaming red liquid splashes into the cup and the air fills with its velvety aroma. I never have the patience to wait until the cup fills up. I open up the compartment to watch the last of the soup pour into it.

I pull it out of the compartment and flashes of pain fly up from my fingers into my brain. It’s too hot! I drop the cup and jump back so it doesn’t hit me. A red puddle spreads out from the upturned cup, staining the blue carpet in the hallway. I look around me, and no one is around. I don’t want to tell anyone, so I pick up the cup and roll it around the puddle to pick up some of the stain, and then I throw it in the garbage. I go to the end of the hallway and look left and right. I step out only after I see that there is no one there.

I linger on my way back to Mami’s desk, looking into classroom windows, and pulling books of off shelves in the library to look at them closer. When I go back to the desk, Mami is on another call and I crawl under the table with my backpack. I take out my coloring pencils and a notebook and scribble with the red, the yellow, the orange. I think I’m making a sun, but then I add brown and it’s not really anything anymore. Mami pokes her head under the desk, and looks at me quizzically,

“Where’s your hot chocolate?”

I look up from my drawing and I notice that her eyes have some brown in them too.

“Oh, I drank it already.”

She smiles, and goes back to her work. I go back to adding more colors to my drawing that don’t really make any sense. They’re pretty though, and I like them.

***

A few days later, it’s Sunday and I love Sundays because it means that Papi and I get to drive to the bakery to get the baguette while Mami stays home and makes lunch. Usually Danielle doesn’t come with us, and I like this because it means that I get to spend time with Papi alone.

Today I’m going to wear my favorite sweatshirt that my grandma Lea bought me. It’s the white one with the colorful pictures of hats and shoes. I skip down the stairs with my pink sandals in my hand and rush towards the door to put them on and wait for Papi. He is sitting at the desk by the door, bent over some writing, and I go up to his shoulder to see what it says.

I can never read his handwriting, it’s so loopy and fancy that it must mean he’s very smart. All the smart kids in my class have loopy handwriting, and even though I could write before all of them, mine is messy and slanted, and I always get points off on my homework for it.

“What are you writing, Papi?”

He mumbles something at me and I wait for him to finish his sentence before asking him again. Mami’s voice filters in from the living room where she is talking to someone in Hebrew on the phone. Probably my grandma or my aunt Michal. Michal is my cousin Maya’s mom. Maya is three years younger than me and after the day camp ends this summer, I’m going to get to go to Israel to play with Maya again.

Papi folds the paper he was writing on into an envelope, and pats me on the head. He looks around on the floor around him for a few seconds He finds his shoes under the desk and pulls them on like envelopes for his feet. He strides over to the door and pulls it open for us to go outside. Whenever I go out with Papi, we check on the spider that lives in the rain gutter on the side of the house. We saw her there once together, and we named her “La Groghte”.  I don’t really know what it means, but it sounds funny. If we see her there, it is my job to crawl on the ground and find ants for us to feed her. Mami really hates it when we do this because I always get dirty.  I skip over to look for her. Her web is there but she is not. I stick my head closer and call out to her,

“Groghte! Groghte!”

Papi stands behind me, still holding the paper that he was writing. When I look back at him, he has a smile on his face but his eyes look sad. He pushes his glasses up just as the wind rustles through his hair that is the same color as Mami’s. Danielle looks like them; she has dark hair and bright green eyes. Sometimes I think that I came out by mistake, because I have blue eyes and blond hair.

“Ok, Yalush, let’s go.”

He wraps my hand in his and we hop down the stairs to our car. It’s the same green as the mint drink from day camp and it has this really cool button that makes it rise off the ground before we can start it. When I’m inside it, I pretend that I’m on an airplane and I’m going to Israel.  We pull out of the driveway, and I close my eyes so I can keep pretending that we’re flying through the clouds.

“What’s in the letter that you have in your hand?”

I’m leaning as far forward as the seatbelt will allow me to. I always have to wear a seatbelt in the car because Mami always tells me that once, when I was three, I took it off and almost flew out of the windshield.

“It’s a letter to the nice fireman who brought you to Mami on Wednesday.”

The excitement in my heart shatters with a fireball and sinks. It sends debris flying inside my body. I feel hot in my face, and I rub my cheeks.

“Why did you write him a letter?”

Papi carefully maneuvers the steering wheel, taking us to the bakery. Usually, I get to pick a treat. Every week he makes it seem like it will be a surprise, but I always know exactly what I’m going to get.

“He was very nice to take you to Mami. Today, instead of buying you a treat, we’re going to buy him something and take it to the fire station.”

Oh.

The heat in my face spreads down my neck now, and I want to say that it’s not fair, but I know that I can’t because I guess this is my punishment for running away. I slump back into my seat and tuck my chin into my chest as tears burn their way down my cheeks. I stay quiet for the rest of the ride, and when we get to the bakery, I don’t want to come out.

Papi goes into the bakery alone. I stare anxiously from the car window, waiting for him to come back. I can see him through the windows of the bakery; he’s buying a baguette and something small. For a moment, I’m excited again; maybe he’ll feel bad and buy me the treat too.

When he comes back, he just has the baguette and a little packet. He settles into the driver’s seat, and puts both on the passenger’s side. Usually, I get to hold everything, but today I don’t even get to do that. I feel angry, but I sit silently and stare at my feet, and I hate them. Papi tries to make me laugh by singing to the radio in a horrible high-squeaked voice, but I don’t feel like laughing.

“STOP IT! It’s not funny!”

When he stops at a light, he turns around and squeezes my leg with his strong hand, trying to reassure me. I don’t want to be reassured. It’s not fair; it was his fault that I had to leave alone anyway. I sit in silence for the rest of the ride. When we get to the fire station, I see the man that found me in the woods. He still has that big brown mustache, and he’s still wearing the blue uniform. Only this time, he’s also wearing a hat. Papi makes me get out of the car and puts the sweet smelling package and the letter in my hand. I have to go and give it to him.

I take a few steps and try to force myself to smile, and my cheeks hurt from it. When I get to him, I feel like my voice has evaporated.

“Monsieur, it’s for you.”

It comes out in the softest whisper, but he saw me and he kneels down to accept the gift. His eyes are still smiling at me. I force my smile to be even bigger and stick my hands in my pockets after he takes what I was holding.

“Thank you, Mademoiselle,”

He stands up again and Papi shakes his hand, while I stand awkwardly between them. Papi is wearing a cream colored sweater that looks too big on him. It’s weird that we’re wearing sweaters. In Israel, the summer is always hot, and here, it’s even a little cold. I tap my feet impatiently. I can tell that Papi wants to leave by the way he is smiling and by how many times he is saying,

“Merci”

After what feels like hours of thanking him, we leave the fireman to his truck and his treat - the one that was supposed to be mine, - and we get back in the car.  On the way home, Papi doesn’t say very much. I just stare out the window, connecting, in my mind, the stains where a couple of birds have pooped on the car.

When we get to our house, Papi has to get out of the car to open the gate first. I watch him as he carefully unlocks the metal doors. We pull the car into the driveway and before he gets out, he turns around to face me,

“Yalush, I’m sorry you thought you were going to be late.”

I don’t answer him. Instead, I sit with my arms folded across my chest and my face scrunched into a grimace of disappointment. His apology doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have a treat in my hand.