Bring Her Home

Katia

A few leaves trembled before they fell from the trees, covering some of the ground like a colourful blanket, where she shuffled through them on her way to school. Katia made furtive glances before reaching out to grasp one of the dried leaves. Although she was much older now, it was still a habit, in which her grandmother had once told her if she could catch a falling leaf before it hit the ground, the tree fairy would grant her one wish.

She cradled it in the palm of her tiny hands and squeezed her eyes shut. It was a simple wish, yet she hesitated. She struggled not to falter. This wish, if answered, would change so many things...would change everything. There was a crackling sound when the pressure in her grip tightened, causing her to giggle. A chilly wind blew, and she was glad that her Grandma urged her to wear her coat, keeping her warm until she entered her school through the side door.

The bell rang, announcing the start of the day. It was Tuesday. A smile slowly spread across her face. The best luxury Katia had was going to school—the only place able to fulfil the compulsion she had since childhood to be normal. Her steps were light as she whipped through the crowded hallway and rowdy students, towards Mr Andriy who ticked off their names in the morning register, collected their lunch money, and warned them to behave themselves.

The students then crisscrossed campus from class to class, weighed down by books—still not used to the sudden workload increase from eighth to ninth grade— as the day wore on, and each teacher warned of the challenges that lay ahead. Instead of heading to the cafeteria during lunch, she walked into the library's corner, and sank into the chair, drawing her knees up to her chest and rocked slightly.

On the bulletin board in the back of the classroom, there were assignments rubrics, colourful examples of student work from the recent 9th graders. Earlier that morning, she caught sight of Mrs Zhidkikh taping one on the board, pressing the paper so hard it must have turned her fingers purple. The edges were so straight and sharp, and the letters were printed in green ink. The photograph of a few senior students she had recognised was framed just badly enough to be annoying. Katia scanned its details and struggled not to groan out loud. Careers day was in a week.

Of course, her mother would not make it. The absence of her mother was not saddening; it discouraged Katia that her teachers already seemed used to it. Whilst they spoke to each student's parent about their future plans, they seemed to shrug Katia off when she'd go alone, as if deep down, they had speculated that Katia would follow the footsteps of her mother, and drop out just like her.

It was true that all Katia's mother had was her good looks. To Katia, that had been her mother's best asset and biggest flaw. Since she was dirt poor and had nothing else to fall back on, she had no qualms about using that beauty to get everything she desired. While Katia's future had no soundtrack yet—it was only an image in front of her, projected on a silver mist—her life during the years was a hollow one. The advantages of beauty, dignity, self-confidence and an appealing personality had only eluded her. What she lacked in looks and charisma, she made up for in maturity and in the ability to withdraw into her own mind. She vowed never to become like her mother.

Only when the librarian had gone to shelve the books, Katia remembered her next class was to begin fifteen minutes earlier. Katia charged into the ladies room and washed her hands and face, then began running across the campus to her next class, arriving just in time to hear the bell ring.

"You're late." Despite the eyebrows raised in warning, Mr Mykhailo's voice was gentle and hardly threatening. It reminded her more of her grandmother's unwilling lecturing.

"Sorry," she mouthed, closing the door behind her.

He could tell just by the way she walked that she was insecure; her shoulders hunched over as if hiding the treasure inside of her. Her footsteps were light and timid as she slowly approached her assigned chair, cheeks growing hotter beneath the glares of others. As she sat down, Mykhailo smiled at her, hoping to lighten the burden she carried on herself. Then something amazing happened, like a light turning on in a dark room, her eyes lightened and she smiled back. Mykhailo clapped in an attempt to avert the gazes of the students, and himself, from her. "Okay, let's get started."

Such stories as he could tell. He would stand on the platform, tugging away at his long, grey, tobacco-stained beard, and begin the classwork blamelessly. In a few minutes, some literary allusion would suggest a story.

Mykhailo talked about the importance of speaking out through language. How, through language, it provided people with opportunities for self-expression and education. Katia observed him as he read a poem in about five seconds flat. It was about a Russian woman who did not fear imprisonment and wrote poignant lines about escaping her solitary exile and breaking free from the suffocating cage, in which she had referred to Stalin.

"Creativity will set you free," was one of his favourite sayings. He would tell them, "Being creative means doing things as experiments all the time. Creativity is a muscle," he said. "The more you use it the better it works, and when you stop using it, it will atrophy."

Some of the kids had laughed; they thought he was weird. But Katia admired his earnest and passion. "Creativity will set you free," he'd repeat in ringing tones as if it were a matter of life-and-death. He'd say it with his hands out, hands smudged from the chalkboard, and he really seemed to believe it. So Katia tried to believe it too because she yearned to be free.

For the remainder of the hour, while the students read, Mykhailo graded papers at his desk, occasionally leaving to make photocopies or grab a water bottle. The bell soon rang, and the class emptied out. Katia finished piling her books and started for the door when Mykhailo asked if she'll make it for Careers Week.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I don't really want my mother to come."

"Why's that?"

"I don't know. I guess the future is something neither of us talk about." As soon as the words left her mouth, Katia realized just how foolish it sounded. But it was true. The stability of her surroundings would soon become a part of the past, and she'll have to move on. She struggles to imagine this position and avoids his gaze, afraid he would see right through her if their eyes met.

He nodded thoughtfully. "I understand what you mean. I like to take things step by step, and not worry about the future, too."

Her first impulse was to say no, that this was not by choice. But she remained silent; smothering in bursts of a spiralling revelation. Her eyes dropped from the scrutiny of the skyline. "I always wanted to be a teacher," she suddenly said, startling herself. "Maybe, I could impart some knowledge that would help someone cure cancer or obtain world peace."

At that, he laughed, and her stomach turned rigid. Feeling her sunken spirit, he added, "You're too innocent, Kat."