Waiting

At one point in time when I was a child I ran away from home.  I believe I was about 7 or 8 years old at the time and the tiny and crowded cellar apartment did not give me the space or the time to be left alone.  There were always noises of different sorts blasting throughout the small apartment and I would find myself waiting for hours to finally escape into the small garden where I might have some quiet.  At night, the noise would change only to be replaced by the overcrowded space. This apartment was too small for such a large family a mere two bedrooms had to be used to sleep all eight people who lived here.  So beds had to be shared and even as the talking, fighting, laughing, running, music, television or whatever the sources. The day noises were replaced by the nightly noise of people sleeping. The constant breathing right next to me deprived me from the quiet and peace I desired and hoped for when it was announced that sleep time was at hand and I will have to wait somewhat longer till I fell asleep..

The constancy of the noise accompanied by the repeated demands that I do one thing or another drove me insane.  I could not sleep at night and I was awakened too early in the morning. School must be attended and was even more crowded than home.  The other kids cared nothing about how I may have felt and the noise of the house was magnified a thousand times with all the children stuffed into the converted church that was made into a school.  The suffocating presence of people all around me was intolerable. Something had to change, something drastic had to happen to force the change. But no one wanted to listen to me and no one paid attention or seemed to care the least about what I might be going through.  No one cared about me and it felt like my presence in this household, in this neighborhood and in this city was not needed, my absence will go unnoticed. So I left

I roamed the streets for some time but soon enough I grew hungry, cold and tired.  I wished I had worn my thick coat and made myself a sandwich before I left. I made the decision to leave too hastily and now I must pay the price. If I had waited and analyzed the situation more carefully I would have realized the perils of being a penniless child in the streets of the big city. As a child I had no access to money and I could not work. I cannot go back to that apartment.  I had to find a solution to the dilemma in which I had forced myself. Going home was not an option, at least not right now.  I must wait as long as possible to force the issue. I must be noticed. People must get to the point of at least wondering where I am.  Getting some rest was easy, just find a shaded area and sit down on the side of the street or slip into one of the many parks and seek refuge in the shade of a tree.  I might be able to sleep some if I really wanted to as well. The hunger was the bigger of the problems and waiting to eat is not an option with which I was comfortable.  The thought of remaining hungry aggravated me, knowing that the longer I waited the harder the hunger would bite into me. I needed to get some food. I considered begging for a few coins that I can then use to buy some food but I could not.  I could not reduce my pride to ask complete strangers for anything. What if they rejected me too. There is nothing compelling about me that will make them take pity and drop me a few coins. So I could not beg.

As I wandered the streets, I found myself at the bus station and near the bus that went to the town were my grandparents lived.  My grandparents lived in a big house and it was mostly empty for the winter months. The village, high in the mountains, is too cold to be inhabited and most resident sought warmer parts of the country during that time. I would be going into the cold of the mountain with my thick coat hanging in the closet in the house. The thought of visiting my grandparents nagged me for a few moments. It will be warm in the bus and my grandparents will certainly be happy to see me and will give me the food I needed and a nice quiet place to sleep for the night.  I had no money to pay for the bus ride. As I stood there waiting for a miracle and wondering about what to do, struggling to find the means by which I can go seek reprieve from the hunger at my grandparents, the door to the bus opened and the paid passengers started to mount.  I was a fairly small child and, in the sea of legs around me, I was driven onto the bus. The door closed and the bus started moving. No one asked me if I had paid and I was not about to disturb anyone with the truth.

I sat between a fat lady and a small man on the bus.  They both looked at me on occasion and I could feel the suspicion in their eyes.  They seemed to scream at me. Thief. Thief. First him then her. And a little later, they looked again and their looks put me to shame.  I have stolen this bus ride but what was I supposed to do. I was practically pushed onto the bus. As I am sulking in my shame I heard a voice “Where are your parents?”  The fat lady was asking me as she had reached into her bag and took out something wrapped in brown paper. I had to respond. What do I say? Should I confess that I ran away from home and was a stowaway on this bus or do I tell a lie.  As perspiration ran down my forehead and burnt into my eyes I could feel my lips moving and heard my voice saying “They bought me a ticket and my grandpa will pick me up at the station in the other town” The answer seemed to satisfy the woman’s curiosity as she shifted in her seat and pushed me closer to the man.  She unwrapped her brown back and took out a sandwich stuffed with something delicate that smelled heavenly. The smell made my stomach growl. She smiled at me and cut a piece of her sandwich and offered it to me. I ate it without offering any words of gratitude. The speed by which I ate that tiny morsel of food seemed to satisfy her enough.  I waited for her to offer me another piece which did not come.

As I disembarked from the bus, I made a solemn oath to myself that I shall never lie again.  The shame that came with the lying was unbearable and it is still with me to this day. That generous fat lady is probably dead now and it bothers me that she went to her death bed thinking that the little boy next to her on that summer day was on his way to see his grandparents with the full knowledge and permission of his parents.  That the sweet boy was so small that she made the trip in comfort that would not have existed if a normal size person sat next to her that day. I stole, I lied, and I ungraciously ate her food. I got away with both crimes and that morsel of food she had given me seemed stuck in my throat. the memory of that day brings me nothing other that shame and contempt.

I entered my grandparents house through the enormous gate that was unlocked and slightly ajar.  The right door in the vestibule led to the guest room where company was received on special occasions.  To the left was the door to the family living space, a vast room of unreal proportions, or so it seemed at the time.  The seating area wrapped around two thirds of the room with a red carpet laid on top of the cement floor decorated the otherwise barren center.  A number of small tables scattered in front of the seats and three large windows, two overlooking the snow covered garden and the third overlooking the deserted street, kept the room well lit during the day. A door on the far side led to the kitchen that was dark and musty.  

I turned and entered the living room and there it was, my grandfather seated to my left in his usual spot and grandma on the far end of the room and they were doing absolutely nothing.  They had been with each other all their lives and it seemed to me that they had already said all there was to say to one another. They had between them a level of familiarity that frightened me.  Is this what old people do when they are left alone? They just sit there and stare at the walls consciously avoiding each other’s gaze. Is there nothing this man and this woman can talk about? Why are they sitting so far away from each other?  Is there no reason left for this man and this woman to look at one another? The room was cold, the people were cold. It felt like death was coming and they were just waiting for it to arrive. There is nothing to do and nothing to say. They have no interest in each other and it seemed like they had no interest in anything at all.  They were just waiting,

Is this what was awaited me? Is this why I go to school everyday preparing to grow into a man with a family and children who will grow and start families of their own and when their children come to visit me they will find me waiting.