Sitting at the edge of a fountain at the center of a courtyard, there sat a lonely child. She did not know that loneliness was the name of the weight that sat inside her. It had crept upon her slowly, and now that it had settled in to stay, the girl tried to make herself comfortable with her new friend.
For moments, the girl ran her fingers across the water of the fountain, watching the ripples, feeling momentarily happy. But her inner companion objected to this action, resenting the diversion. And, submitting to the wishes of her companion’s querulous voice, the girl would allow her damp hand to fall to her side, and she would sigh.
You might wonder why she did not seek company in her mother or father or maybe a sibling. You might ask, “Is there no one who can console this poor child?”
After all, even I ask, “Should she not make an effort to rise above this servitude?”
Any grown person would have sought another person to fill their unhappiness, and even if the emptiness remained, an adult can be satisfied with the facsimile of companionship. But, children do not yet understand the solace to be found in pretense.
So, the little girl continued to sit at the edge of the fountain, neither waiting nor seeking. Time had given her the gift of stillness because loneliness does not arise in one moment.
Loneliness accumulates like drops of water in a cup, weighing heavy before falling, soundless, and then dropping with a slight splash. The cup fills slowly till that penultimate drop bubbles above the brim, teetering, held only by the viscosity of the liquid mass, waiting for its partner who will break the tension and allow their first fellow to escape the safe confines of their home.
Thus, a little body can gradually absorb the seeping loneliness into its pores, allowing it to give flavor, like salt to food, until all is intermingled and the loneliness cannot be separated out.
As she sat by the fountain made of blue and white tiles, patterned in geometric designs, the girl did nothing, except swing the occasional leg to bang her shoe against the wall of the sill upon which she sat.
Menial workers passed her, ignoring her out of deference, oblivious to her plight. The sun shone hot on her back, uninterested that its heat was making her thirsty. And, sounds surrounded her, the routine sounds of the hacienda, the distant shout of the horse trainers, the wagon wheels on the cobblestones, the indignant chicken who did not wish to be slaughtered, sounds so familiar that they were like a silence through which the girl’s mind could not penetrate.
But then, an unfamiliar sound came, and the girl looked up.
What do you think she saw? What would you want her to see when she looks up?
Would this be something that will take away the loneliness?
Of course, I know what she saw. She saw another child, a boy. A boy who would be her friend. A strong, loyal boy who would help her just by being who he was. Not that she knew this at the start. After all, he was just a boy. But, their friendship, brief as it was, would serve as a reminder to her of what it meant to feel happy.
The passage above, the one in italics, was the original start to the first novel I wrote The Hacendado's Daughter. I never did anything with it. The original version wasn't well constructed because I had wanted the book to have a happy ending.
But, life isn't always happy and you can’t force your characters to be happy either (if you want your book to have any connection to reality). So, I put the book aside until I could figure out how to solve the problem I had created.
It takes quite a bit of living until one begins to see the framework of the world. As I tell my students, “The world is made of an invisible space-time fabric, and all objects exist within it.” Even with that generalized statement to give substance to my reality (and to give a simple perspective for my students), there is so much I don’t understand. Fate. Destiny. Love. Dark matter.
But now, I might understand enough to tell a story that is neither forced happiness nor fabricated sadness.
My illustrator, Rachel, and I completed the first picture book in the “Alex and Theo” series titled We’re Twins. I have begun the second book Share, Boys!. But my teaching duties have sapped my energy. When I get home from work, I don’t have the strength to do more work.
Summer is on its way. Then I will spend more time on my blog, on my picture books, and, I hope, on the story of the little girl sitting by the fountain. There is so much I plan to do. It is these hopeful plans that are my thing with feathers.
Till next time, dear reader.