Sandpiper

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach, near the place where you live. I come to that place every time my world starts to crumble. She built a sand castle or something like that and looked at me with her own eyes, blue like the sea.

"Hello," she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to pay attention to a small child.

"I'm building," she said.

– I see. What is it? - I asked without any interest.

- Well, I don't know, I just like feeling sand.

Sounds good, I thought, and took off his shoes. Past flew Kulik.

 Is joy, ' said the girl.

– What's that?

 It's a joy. My Mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.

The bird flew further along the beach. "Goodbye, joy –" I muttered to myself, "Hello, suffering," and turned to leave. I was depressed; everything went wrong in my life.

– What's your name? – she did not give up. – Robert, – I replied. – Robert Peterson. – And I'm Wendy... I'm six. – Hi, Wendy. She giggled. – You're funny. Despite my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her fervent laughter followed me. - Come are always again, Mr. Peterson, - shouted she. - We'll have another happy day! The following days and weeks were devoted to others: a group of unmanaged boy scouts, business meetings, a sick mother. That morning, when I was finishing the dishes, the sun was shining. "I need a fist," I told myself, wearing a jacket. Ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The wind was cool, but I walked forward trying to find the peace of mind I needed so much. I forgot about the girl and shuddered when she suddenly appeared. "Hello, Mr. P.," she said. – Do you want to play? – What, for example? - asked I with a sense of discontent.  I don't know. What do you want. - What about charades? - I asked sarcastically. She laughed again.  I don't know what it is. - Then let's just take a walk. – Looking closely at her, I noticed the delicate thinness of her face. – Where do you live?  I asked. - Over there. - She pointed to a number of summer cottages. "Odd," I thought. – In the winter? - What school do you go to? – I don't go to school. My mom says we're on vacation.

She chatted all the time while we were walking on the beach like all the little girls do, but my thoughts were far away. When I left, Wendy said it was a happy day. Feeling surprisingly well, I smiled at her and agreed. Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach almost in a state of panic. I had no mood to even greet Wendy. It seemed to me that I saw her mother on the porch and felt that I wanted to demand that she keep her child at home. – Look, if you don't mind, ' I said sharply, when Wendy caught up with me. - I'd rather be alone tonight. I thought she was unusually pale and was breathing irregularly. - Why do you want to be alone?  she asked. I turned to her and cried, " Because my mother is dead!" – and I thought, "Oh, my God, why am I saying all this to a little kid?"Oh, well then it's a bad day," she said. – Yes, – said I, – and yesterday and the day before, I... – Oh, go away!  It was a pain?  she wanted to know. - What hurts? - I was annoyed about her, about myself.  When did she die? – Of course, it hurts! – I snapped, not realizing, lost in his thoughts. I wandered on. The next time I came to the beach in a month or more, she wasn't there. Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting that I missed her, I walked up to the cottage and knocked on the door. The door was opened by a young woman with hair the color of honey. She looked exhausted. "Hello," I said. – I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl. And where is she? - Oh Yes, of course, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy talked so much about you. I'm afraid she bothered you. If she was a burden to you, please accept my apologies. – Okay, no. She's a charming child, ' I said, suddenly realizing that really do. – Where is she? – Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. I guess she didn't tell you that. Distracted, I grabbed the chair. It became difficult to breathe. - She loved the beach and asked permission to go there. We couldn't say no. It seemed that she was better there and she had many, she said, happy days. But over the past few weeks, her condition has deteriorated dramatically... – Her voice trembled. - She left something for you... If only I can find it. Could you wait a minute? I stupidly nodded, trying to find words for this cozy young women. She handed me a soiled envelope, where large, childish letters was displayed "Mr. P.". Inside there was a picture painted with bright crayons – yellow beach, blue sky and brown bird. The bottom was carefully written: IT is a SANDPIPER to BRING YOU JOY. Tears stung my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten how to love opened wide. I hugged Wendy's mom.

- Sorry, sorry, sorry... - mumbled I again and again, and we cried together.

Priceless little picture is now placed in a frame and hanging in my office. Six words – one for every year of her life-that tell me about harmony, courage and selfless love. A gift from a child with eyes the color of sea and sandy hair, who taught me the gift of love.

 Author: R. Peterson  http://www.romanticcollection.ru/lovestory/story/kulik.html