Requiem [COMPLETED]

Somehow, Things go Alright for Awhile

Mrs. Hansen tried to make us happy though. She had Sven and I figured out pretty quickly. One day when we were finishing breakfast she said, "I need to go to the library and get some new books to read. I noticed all of you like to read too, so if you'd like, I'm happy to take you all with. We could spend the morning there."

"I would like that a lot," replied Sven instantly.

"Can we get books too?" I added. Sven looked at me as if I was expecting too much, but she just replied, "Of course, but first we'll have to go see the librarian and get each of you your own library card. Once you have a card, you can take out up to twenty books of your own."

Sven looked as if Christmas had come early. It was the first time I'd seen him smiling since we'd arrived. Birgit was looking rather bored and said off-handedly, "Well, it's better than being here with nothing to do."

Mrs. Hansen chose to overlook Birgit's sullenness. "Well, that settles it. Go get your shoes on while I load up the dishwasher."

* * *

My most beloved memories aren't generally memories of true events. They're memories of books, of the stories themselves or of reading itself. It was one activity where I could happily lose myself for hours, be fully absorbed and be genuinely happy. My mother had read all the time to us, apparently; I couldn't recall exactly, but Sven tells me it was so. All I remember is Sven reading to me, or Mrs. Hanson. I got jealous that Sven could open a book whenever he wanted but that I had to wait for someone to help me, so I struggled to learn on my own as a toddler. By kindergarten I was reading at a first grade level, by fifth grade I read at a high school level. Sven was the same; we devoured books whole in one sitting, as if they would disappear if we put them down.

When I read, I stopped seeing the words on the page; I saw what was happening, smelled the odors they described, felt the giant fern fronds of the jungle brushing as I beat a trail or the sea spray leaning off the bow of a ship, salty and cold on my face. It was better than a movie. I was someone else, someone who made things occur rather than a small powerless child to whom things happened. I was a master of other fates, rather than my fate being the whim of adults and institutions.

Sven and I would read the same books; after he finished I'd go through them and we'd rotate through our stack from the library. I didn't mind having to ask him what some words meant and he seemed to enjoy being my personal reference guide a couple decades before Wikipedia existed. Mrs. Hanson was delighted that instead of hooligans she had had reading prodigies dropped on her doorstep that would be immaculately polite and content for days when well plied with stacks from the neighborhood library. She made sure we got there at least once a week, rain or shine.

If we indulged in imaginary people and places in such a removed way—always reading at home rather than play-acting--it was probably because our lives made us feel too solemn to be silly dressing up in fake outfits or pretending to be on an imaginary stage. We already felt the pressure of performing for real, with dire unknown consequences if we weren't up to other people's standards.

Our daily routine revolved around the doing of chores, of eating our plates clean, of being quiet, orderly, and attending school; there wasn't much opportunity or encouragement given to being playful. Mrs. Hansen duly fed us very well--we both caught up to the height and weight range we were supposed to be in, and Sven exceeded his in height--and did all the physical requirements of nurturing us, including hugs goodnight. And it wasn't that we weren't grateful, or relieved. It was that sometimes the Hansens seemed wary of us if we got upset or misbehaved in some small way; they seemed afraid of what we might be, or might become. We were changelings, strange fairy children whose ways were foreign and sinister because they didn't understand what lay beneath them. Perhaps because of how Birgit acted, they searched us quietly at times--I noticed their peering looks on occasion--of signs of the oncoming slippery slope into delinquency.