Friday Night (ENGLISH)

My Name Is Hannah

Claire's daughter, Annie, was the first to notice the old woman sitting on the park bench.

Claire held the girl's hand as they walked back toward the parking lot after visiting the museum, which offered an art exhibit Annie had wanted to see, but the girl's hand pulled desperately at her own as she pointed toward the park.

"Mama, do you see it?"

Claire stopped and studied the small municipal park, which was no more than a square block, before seeing the old woman on the bench. The woman was dressed in a colorful layer of clothing, wool socks disappearing beneath the hem of a long a plaid skirt, a red scarf tied around her head. She was unremarkable to Claire, except that she was very old, and held a doll on her lap.

"Do you see her doll?" Annie said excitedly. "She's beautiful!"

Her daughter, only seven years old but fascinated by beautiful things, pulled at her hand strangely.

"Let's go see!"

Clair hesitated, not because she was wary of the woman, but because she thought the poor old thing might be homeless, or have mental problems, and exposing her daughter to these sad things might not be wise. But she felt ashamed of her bias, too, so she relented. What harm could such an old woman do?

They walked up to the old woman, who gazed up and smiled weakly, and Claire wondered what she should say.

Her daughter spoke first.

"Your doll is very beautiful," Annie said, studying it carefully.

The old woman nodded, readjusting the doll on her lap, before saying, "Thank you."

Claire looked at the doll more closely now; it was exquisitely made, and must be an antique. The head and arms were certainly porcelain, or perhaps even china. Thin and proportioned like a ballerina, it was dressed in scarlet gossamer, a billowing dress gleaming with sequins and rhinestones, its blue eyes gorgeously painted as if by an artist.

"What's your doll's name?" her daughter asked, still mesmerized by the figure.

"Her name is Hannah," the old woman said in a raspy voice. "Would you like to hold her?"

Her daughter turned to Claire with pleading eyes. Though Claire felt uncomfortable letting her daughter touch something potentially unsanitary, she once again dismissed her bias and agreed.

Annie sat on the bench next to the old woman and accepted the doll onto her own lap.

"What's your name?" the old woman asked the girl.

"My name is Annie," Claire's daughter said, touching the doll's shiny brown hair.

Claire watched her, curious as to why the girl seemed so taken by the toy. It was, after all, just a doll, certainly beautiful, but Annie had several dolls at home that were just as pretty.

Claire turned to the old woman and said, "Do you come to this park often?"

The old woman shook her head. "No. We travel a lot. We're always meeting new people."

Claire understood this to mean that she was homeless, and probably lived in one shelter after another.

After a few moments she turned to her daughter again and said, "I think we've bothered this nice lady enough. Let's go now."

Her daughter returned the doll to the old woman, her eyes fixed on its pale white face. She sat with her hands in her lap, staring silently.

The old woman rose from the bench, the doll in her arms, and said, "It's time for us to go, too. We have so many things to see together, now. So many new things to learn."

She watched the strange old woman limp away from the bench, waiting for her and the doll to disappear down the street before turning to her daughter.

Annie sat staring into space, and Claire wondered if something was wrong with her.

"Annie?" she said, touching the girl's shoulder. "Annie, are you all right?"

Her daughter sat very still, her eyes steady, her lips slightly parted.

"Annie!"

Claire sat next to her daughter and patted her arm, trying to rouse her, but the girl seemed catatonic.

"Annie, what's wrong with you?"

The girl looked into Claire's eyes and blinked.

"My name is Hannah," she said softly.

-THE END OF MY NAME IS HANNAH-

I know this part is out of the topic. But i'd like to post this part.