Alaina’s family had recently moved across the street from Karin’s childhood home. On the morning when Karin first saw Alaina, they were small girls, not even in school yet. Alaina, a tiny girl for her age, had long, straight black hair with bangs that dissected her face directly above her eyebrows in a perfect solid line. Her mother had taken as much care cutting Alaina’s hair as she had with bathing and dressing her every morning, ensuring that her daughter was never seen without coordinated or complementary tops and bottoms.
That morning, Alaina received her mother’s reluctant permission to play outside but she was forbidden to leave the boundary of the front driveway. Alaina pushed that allowance to its limits and sat at the edge of the driveway, scouring through the pebbles and mud at the base of the curb, through whatever remained in the street gutter from the previous days’ incessant rainfall.
That same sunny, spring morning, after Karin dressed herself in the jeans and sweater she had worn the day before, she let herself out for her usual after-breakfast routine: stroll around the house, examine the newly blossoming flowers, take note of the garden’s growth, spy on the neighbours and their yards, upright any overturned beetles, and put half-desiccated worms squirming on the concrete back in the garden. When Karin’s routine found her at the front of the house to conclude her morning with drawing pictures on the sidewalk using nothing but a stick and the puddles, there she espied Alaina, similarly engaged by things on the ground.
Alaina looked up and watched as Karin fearlessly walked off the curb of her front yard and right up to her.
Alaina looked around—had her mother seen? Would her mother see that it was this other girl—this strange looking girl with the white hair, the absence of eyebrows, and blue blue eyes—and not she, who had crossed the line?
“I’m five, almost six. How old are you?” Karin asked.
Alaina held three fingers up on one hand and one on the other. Alaina had just celebrated her fourth birthday the week prior, and almost forgot to add that extra one to the usual three.
“My name is Karin.”
“I’m Alaina.”
Karin was so amazed at Alaina’s dark eyes, her long and thick eyelashes, that she barely registered how much darker Alaina’s skin was compared to her own. Karin perceived this difference as proof that Alaina was special, unique, and, above all, intriguing.
“What’cha doin’?”
Alaina was pushing at a wriggling worm with a pebble, afraid to touch the worm directly but curious at how it recoiled when she grazed it and then how far it stretched itself when Alaina withdrew the stone.
“You’re not supposed to do that.” Karin picked the worm up and threw it in the grass. Alaina’s eyes widened. “It’ll die if it’s not in the soil.”
“Die?”
“Die.” Karin wondered if Alaina, who seemed much tinier than a four-year-old should be, might be slow. “Stop breathing.”
“Hold its breath?”
“No, no.” Karin looked around. She picked up an ant, put it on the ground in front of Alaina, and stomped on it.
“See. Now it’s dead. It’s not moving.”
Alaina looked back to where Karin threw the worm.
“Worms are good. They help the soil.” Her mother had told her this. She didn’t know how or why they were beneficial to her mother’s garden. “Ants are a nuisance.” Karin wasn’t sure what her mother meant by this last word either when her mother said it the day she spotted an ant on the kitchen counter. She only knew it was something negative, something irritating—and when her mother called her that, she knew it was time to steer clear.
A woman’s voice sounded behind Alaina from inside the house. “Alaina! Come inside this instant!”
Alaina ran inside, beaming.
“What did I tell you? You were supposed to stay in the yard.”
Alaina thought she had. “I made a friend,” she happily said.
“Yes, I saw. She looked filthy.” Even at 20 feet, Mrs. Holmes could see how dirty Karin’s fingernails were against her white skin, the grass stains on her knees, what looked to be a spaghetti sauce stain on the front of her sweater. Karin had also neglected to wash her face that morning after breakfast and still had a ring of purple at the corners of her mouth from the drink of grape Kool-Aid she had snuck out of the fridge when her mother wasn’t looking.
“She’s from across the street. Can I see her tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.” Mrs. Holmes tsk-tsked as she led Alaina back to the washroom for a thorough hand scrubbing.
~ ~ ~
Karin skipped back inside, passed her mother doing laundry, went to the front room, turned on “Mr. Dress-Up” on the CBC, and kept her eyes on the window, hoping to see Alaina, the tiny dark girl, again.
~ ~ ~
Their friendship formed quickly. Both were the youngest in their families. Karin’s siblings were already in high school while Alaina’s were entirely out of the house. Alaina explained that she was adopted.
“What does that mean?” Karin asked.
“It means my mom and dad picked me when I was a baby. They’re not really my mom and dad. That’s why I don’t look like them.”
This was patently true—Alaina was shorter than any four-year-old Karin had ever seen, whereas Alaina’s parents were tall, far taller than Karin’s parent. Alaina also had dark eyes and hair so black that it was almost blue, in strong contrast to the lighter brown colour of her parents. Her skin was also darker than any tan Karin ever had by the end of August—but apparently not dark enough for Karin’s parents to positively identify her ethnicity and to question Karin about it. In fact, any time Karin mentioned Alaina, they would debate her nationality (“Hindu?” “Indian?” “I think she looks Mexican.” “No. Maybe Arabian…”).
Karin had heard of orphans, like Cinderella, and that was, in fact, her greatest fear. “Are your real parents dead?”
Alaina’s mother walked by her bedroom just as Karin uttered this question.
“What are you two doing?”
They startled, bowed their heads, and struggled with the outfits on their Barbie dolls. “We’re playing,” Alaina whispered.
Alaina’s mother crossed her arms, and then shot a look at Karin. “So, Karin. Alaina tells me you’re Catholic.”
To Karin, Alaina’s mother looked like a type of fairy tale raptor with her big bony nose and elongated face. Her arms and fingers could easily have been covered in feathers or scales at one time and all that was left was thin, translucent skin. She was old, older even than her own mother who, compared to other parents, already seemed ancient.
“Yes, we go to St. Mary’s Church on Sundays. We’re Roman Catholic,” although Karin didn’t know what that distinction meant, why some people simply said “Catholic”, while her mother always said “Roman Catholic”.
“I would kindly ask that you not talk about Jesus to Alaina.”
Karin recalled their earlier conversation, her comparative religion discourse with Alaina. She had tried to figure out the differences between their respective churches after she saw Alaina leave for church on a Sunday morning at the same time as she and her family. She had looked for Alaina amongst the parishioners and only later learned that they went to a different church. A Christian one.
“We believe in Jesus, too,” Karin had said. “We believe Jesus is everywhere.”
“Everywhere?” Alaina asked. “Like on your head?”
Karin laughed. It had sounded silly. She guessed this was the offending conversation Alaina’s mother alluded to.
“Your mother doesn’t like me,” she whispered to Alaina when her mother walked out of the doorway and down the hall, back to the kitchen.
“She thinks you’re dirty.”
Karin looked at her hands. Yes, they were a bit dirty, she conceded to herself. Oh well, she thought, and kept on playing. Still, at dinner, she couldn’t help but tell her parents how Mrs. Holmes thought she was a dirty Catholic. From her parents’ reaction, she knew that her and Alaina’s parents would never be friends.
That morning, Alaina received her mother’s reluctant permission to play outside but she was forbidden to leave the boundary of the front driveway. Alaina pushed that allowance to its limits and sat at the edge of the driveway, scouring through the pebbles and mud at the base of the curb, through whatever remained in the street gutter from the previous days’ incessant rainfall.
That same sunny, spring morning, after Karin dressed herself in the jeans and sweater she had worn the day before, she let herself out for her usual after-breakfast routine: stroll around the house, examine the newly blossoming flowers, take note of the garden’s growth, spy on the neighbours and their yards, upright any overturned beetles, and put half-desiccated worms squirming on the concrete back in the garden. When Karin’s routine found her at the front of the house to conclude her morning with drawing pictures on the sidewalk using nothing but a stick and the puddles, there she espied Alaina, similarly engaged by things on the ground.
Alaina looked up and watched as Karin fearlessly walked off the curb of her front yard and right up to her.
Alaina looked around—had her mother seen? Would her mother see that it was this other girl—this strange looking girl with the white hair, the absence of eyebrows, and blue blue eyes—and not she, who had crossed the line?
“I’m five, almost six. How old are you?” Karin asked.
Alaina held three fingers up on one hand and one on the other. Alaina had just celebrated her fourth birthday the week prior, and almost forgot to add that extra one to the usual three.
“My name is Karin.”
“I’m Alaina.”
Karin was so amazed at Alaina’s dark eyes, her long and thick eyelashes, that she barely registered how much darker Alaina’s skin was compared to her own. Karin perceived this difference as proof that Alaina was special, unique, and, above all, intriguing.
“What’cha doin’?”
Alaina was pushing at a wriggling worm with a pebble, afraid to touch the worm directly but curious at how it recoiled when she grazed it and then how far it stretched itself when Alaina withdrew the stone.
“You’re not supposed to do that.” Karin picked the worm up and threw it in the grass. Alaina’s eyes widened. “It’ll die if it’s not in the soil.”
“Die?”
“Die.” Karin wondered if Alaina, who seemed much tinier than a four-year-old should be, might be slow. “Stop breathing.”
“Hold its breath?”
“No, no.” Karin looked around. She picked up an ant, put it on the ground in front of Alaina, and stomped on it.
“See. Now it’s dead. It’s not moving.”
Alaina looked back to where Karin threw the worm.
“Worms are good. They help the soil.” Her mother had told her this. She didn’t know how or why they were beneficial to her mother’s garden. “Ants are a nuisance.” Karin wasn’t sure what her mother meant by this last word either when her mother said it the day she spotted an ant on the kitchen counter. She only knew it was something negative, something irritating—and when her mother called her that, she knew it was time to steer clear.
A woman’s voice sounded behind Alaina from inside the house. “Alaina! Come inside this instant!”
Alaina ran inside, beaming.
“What did I tell you? You were supposed to stay in the yard.”
Alaina thought she had. “I made a friend,” she happily said.
“Yes, I saw. She looked filthy.” Even at 20 feet, Mrs. Holmes could see how dirty Karin’s fingernails were against her white skin, the grass stains on her knees, what looked to be a spaghetti sauce stain on the front of her sweater. Karin had also neglected to wash her face that morning after breakfast and still had a ring of purple at the corners of her mouth from the drink of grape Kool-Aid she had snuck out of the fridge when her mother wasn’t looking.
“She’s from across the street. Can I see her tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.” Mrs. Holmes tsk-tsked as she led Alaina back to the washroom for a thorough hand scrubbing.
~ ~ ~
Karin skipped back inside, passed her mother doing laundry, went to the front room, turned on “Mr. Dress-Up” on the CBC, and kept her eyes on the window, hoping to see Alaina, the tiny dark girl, again.
~ ~ ~
Their friendship formed quickly. Both were the youngest in their families. Karin’s siblings were already in high school while Alaina’s were entirely out of the house. Alaina explained that she was adopted.
“What does that mean?” Karin asked.
“It means my mom and dad picked me when I was a baby. They’re not really my mom and dad. That’s why I don’t look like them.”
This was patently true—Alaina was shorter than any four-year-old Karin had ever seen, whereas Alaina’s parents were tall, far taller than Karin’s parent. Alaina also had dark eyes and hair so black that it was almost blue, in strong contrast to the lighter brown colour of her parents. Her skin was also darker than any tan Karin ever had by the end of August—but apparently not dark enough for Karin’s parents to positively identify her ethnicity and to question Karin about it. In fact, any time Karin mentioned Alaina, they would debate her nationality (“Hindu?” “Indian?” “I think she looks Mexican.” “No. Maybe Arabian…”).
Karin had heard of orphans, like Cinderella, and that was, in fact, her greatest fear. “Are your real parents dead?”
Alaina’s mother walked by her bedroom just as Karin uttered this question.
“What are you two doing?”
They startled, bowed their heads, and struggled with the outfits on their Barbie dolls. “We’re playing,” Alaina whispered.
Alaina’s mother crossed her arms, and then shot a look at Karin. “So, Karin. Alaina tells me you’re Catholic.”
To Karin, Alaina’s mother looked like a type of fairy tale raptor with her big bony nose and elongated face. Her arms and fingers could easily have been covered in feathers or scales at one time and all that was left was thin, translucent skin. She was old, older even than her own mother who, compared to other parents, already seemed ancient.
“Yes, we go to St. Mary’s Church on Sundays. We’re Roman Catholic,” although Karin didn’t know what that distinction meant, why some people simply said “Catholic”, while her mother always said “Roman Catholic”.
“I would kindly ask that you not talk about Jesus to Alaina.”
Karin recalled their earlier conversation, her comparative religion discourse with Alaina. She had tried to figure out the differences between their respective churches after she saw Alaina leave for church on a Sunday morning at the same time as she and her family. She had looked for Alaina amongst the parishioners and only later learned that they went to a different church. A Christian one.
“We believe in Jesus, too,” Karin had said. “We believe Jesus is everywhere.”
“Everywhere?” Alaina asked. “Like on your head?”
Karin laughed. It had sounded silly. She guessed this was the offending conversation Alaina’s mother alluded to.
“Your mother doesn’t like me,” she whispered to Alaina when her mother walked out of the doorway and down the hall, back to the kitchen.
“She thinks you’re dirty.”
Karin looked at her hands. Yes, they were a bit dirty, she conceded to herself. Oh well, she thought, and kept on playing. Still, at dinner, she couldn’t help but tell her parents how Mrs. Holmes thought she was a dirty Catholic. From her parents’ reaction, she knew that her and Alaina’s parents would never be friends.
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