Weekend Freewrite

I loved the way she said "ballon". She said it as if she were blowing bubbles. It was meant to be "balloon", but such is the pronunciation of a 2 year old. Both are actual words, by the way. Maya has a way of making me laugh, she's funny and incredibly adorable, her dimples are little potholes of happiness. She laughs heartily, and she has a way of being able to sympathize even at such a young age. I remember an incident that happened at the playground once, a little girl slightly older than her accidentally tripped herself while chasing after a friend. The little girl sat on the floor and cried while everybody else ignored her, but little Maya decided to offer comfort by stroking her head and say, "are you alright? It's okay, pain pain go away!" It was heartwarming, to say the least. You should see the look on my face, it was a proud mama moment for me.

I went over to check on the girls as soon as I saw what happened and I recognized the girl. She lived just a few houses away from ours. The house on the corner had always been the subject of gossip. I was the only one who knew the truth. It's not hard to be the neighborhood's favorite tea time subject, especially when that subject involved a mysterious death. The truth is, this little girl lost her mother due to drug overdose. She used to walk around the streets middle of the night, high from whatever she was taking and she'd end up wandering near our front yard. We've spoken with each other in the past, days when she was sober. She knew I'd listen so she would openly share what had been happening at home. The husband was an abusive man, tho' a very established public figure. He'd slam her against the wall and would hit her so hard she'd be bed ridden for days. She couldn't cope with the stress and fear so the only way to numb the pain was drugs. She tried to kill herself once, but the thought of leaving her only daughter proved to be a stronger force that kept her going.

I held the little girl up and cleaned her scraped knees while Maya happily entertained her new found friend. "Mama, it's going to rain!" We quickly walked her little friend home and bid goodbye as she entered her house. There was a crooked umbrella by the door, one that the little girl's mother used to take with her while walking her to school in the morning. I was suddenly reminded of our last conversation one late evening. We were talking about the weather and she told me how she loved the smell of rain, and how it felt so refreshing to have the rain wash over the dirt and dust of the earth. That was what inspired her daughter's name; Rayne. Rayne was her refreshing rain that gave her strength. She was always proud of her little girl. Like any loving mother you'd see light shining in her eyes whenever she talked about her. Now that she's gone, the least I could do is to look out for Rayne however much I can.

It's been a year since her death. And tonight, I'm hugging my baby a little tighter.