I was on the other side of the road, heading home from work, when I saw this lost little girl sitting by herself on this mini-carousal. I found it a strange site, so of course, I took a photo of it. She didn’t seem to notice me though, thank goodness. I mean, could you imagine the impressions other pedestrians would get if they heard a sharp scream, followed by “STOP TAKING PICTURES OF ME, STRANGE MAN!”
After I took the photograph, I decided to cross over to the other side and speak to her to find out where her family had disappeared to…well…I assumed she had a family. I bent down low enough so that I was parallel to her dark brown eyes. “Where are your parents little girl?” I inquired, only to be ignored as she sat there, facing the ground, allowing her thin but abundant black hair to hug her face. I tried again. Same response…or, well, no response at all. Unknowingly, my hand brushed aside her stubborn hair, forcing her to look up at me. As my hand returned to me it brought back a trail of water. My head cocked in surprise – she had been crying. Bawling, even. “Where are your parents, little girl?” I asked again, hoping for a better reply this time. She finally looked up at me, her eyes easily catching mine, “I don’t have pawents,” she rubbed her eyes aggressively, then went on, “Do you?”
My emotions were running wild, I just didn’t know how to feel. Anger, sorrow…nothing would suffice. “No, I don’t… Wait, if you don’t have any parents, how did you get out here? Don’t you have friends or anything?” I continued, not knowing what kind of answer to expect. Not knowing whether I would even get an answer at all. I was right. Silence.
“Do y-” I began.
“You know, there really is no point in talking to that child,” I heard behind me. “She comes to this playground and sits on the carousal bawling every day. She has no family. No friends. No nothing! Just don’t pay attention to her!” and as quickly as I heard the voice, the voice was gone again. My fists curled into a tight ball. My eyes squeezed shut. I knew exactly what it felt to like to be alone as a little child. It’s…It’s…indescribable. The loneliness, anger and pain, eats away at you more and more as the days go by. You begin to lose yourself. I knew exactly how this little girl was feeling and I wasn’t about to leave her here unless I get significant reason to do so. I had to find out more about this child. I opened my eyes and she was no longer in front of me; but she was on a strange looking carousal-animal. It was like a mixture of Hermit the Frog, and Pinocchio. That really freaked me out. But she seemed to suddenly be a lot happier now. The tears had dissolved, and she was showing me her tooth. Tooth. It was stained with what seemed to be grass, and mud… What was the deal with this little girl?
I asked her why she was so happy all of a sudden, and she said this: “I’m happy becuz I’m playing with Mr Fwoggy!” She began, “He says to get on top of Mr Tiger and we can all play! We can be our own family! Wouldn’t that be fun, Mr?” she ended, taking my heart with her as she span around, and around, and around on the carousal awaiting my reply. But the truth is, I had nothing to say. I was perplexed at what I had witnessed, I didn’t believe what had just happened. This supposedly-homeless child that was just silently crying her eyes out, had not only stopped crying. She had began smiling. Laughing. Being happy. I was amazed, envious, even. I recall having a much harder time being happy as an orphan. I had nobody. No toys, no parents, not even any imaginary friends (which probably would’ve made my time a lot easier to handle if I could even conjure up some random people out of my mind). I was alone, from morning until night.
The sun had nearly completely vanished out of sight, leaving nothing but a blood-red trail of clouds around us. I guess they were just as upset to see this girl as I was. She stopped the carousal some how, “Get on Mr Tiger!” she demanded, in a soft but firm manner. I figured the least I could do was do as she wished. I got on, and the carousal continued. For awhile we went around in silence, I guess, I didn’t know what to say to her. What was there to say? I mean, she’d already told me she didn’t have a family. I guessed she ate grass dirt, and ate it in rather large portions. Was there anything I could do to make her life any better?
“My name’s Anne. What’s yours mister?” I heard come from the other side of the ride.
I grimaced for a moment before answering, “Hi Anne, my name is Jacob.”
We kept on going. Around and around and around. Then around some more. She never got tired of it – or dizzy; whilst I had nearly reached my limit and was about to puke. She continued to laugh, and scream, and have fun with ‘Mr Fwoggy’. It brought an ear-to-ear smile to my face. You know those smiles when somebody makes you blush or something? And you can do nothing but smile? That was me at that moment. I decided that I should just enjoy it, and enjoy ‘Mr Tiger’ and embrace the moment.
The street lamps sizzled to life, one by one, until there was a runway-like road of bright white lights. I looked up to the sky, but the even the stars couldn’t penetrate the unusually bright streetlights. At that moment; they (the streetlamps) flashed simultaneously and blinded me for a second. The next thing I heard was “Thank you, for everything, Mr Jacob! I love you, and I could sense that you love me too! And that’s all I wanted. I just wanted to be loved. Now that I have it, I can go to the big playground where all the other kids are! Goodbye.”
The lights dimmed, and I was alone on the carousal, on Mr Tiger…
What just happened?