Sad eyes. The saddest eyes that God had
ever made. Those were they eyes which belonged to the dainty young girl that
had just recently moved next door to me. From the first time I saw
them, they haunted me, and I continually questioned how someone so young
could own such sadness in the mirrors to her soul. So sad.
Heartbreaking.
She was an only child. Always alone.
The farthest she was allowed to venture outdoors was onto her front porch.
There she sat, day in and day out, all alone. Sad, and waiting for
life to begin. She seemed to sit motionless for hours, no fidgeting,
no talking, nor singing, as if all the air had gone out of her, her light
extinguished.
I heard the angry screams from inside the house,
whenever she wasn't on the porch. A female voice - a male voice - her
mom, her dad. Angry. Always angry. Criticizing.
Demeaning. Calling her names like lazy, fat, stupid. Loser.
Teaching her about pain, unhappiness, and failure.
One day as she sat on her front porch, I caught
her attention, and she looked at me shyly - through her sad, lonely eyes.
Eyes filled with tears, her face streaked by their damage. She quickly
turned away, but she couldn't muffle the sobs. Heartwrenching sobs.
I turned away too, as I felt a tear slide down my cheek. I shared her
pain, her loneliness, her sorrow.
What could I do to turn those sad eyes into glad
eyes? I knew that somehow I just had to come up with a plan to
help her, get closer to her, become her friend. Her only friend.
A friend she so desperately needed.
Slowly, day by day, I grew closer to the child.
Each day I purposely walked outside my house, I'd find the
little girl, smile her way, and say a few words of greeting, letting my
voice assure her of my compassion, my eyes show her my love and acceptance
of her.. Soon she said a few words in reply, and then one magical day,
she spoke the first words - and she smiled. Oh, what a smile.
A smile that could melt icebergs in December, bless the summer sun on a dark
winter day. A beautiful smile, but one she seldom had cause to share
with the world - not her world. Her world promised tears - not
smiles, nor the laughter of a happy child.
We grew closer over the summer days. We
played games, shared whispered secrets, made each other simple, homemade
gifts, from paper and clay. And we baked. Cookies, candy, cakes,
and a myriad of other mouth watering treats. I taught her all my
favorite songs from my childhood, and we sang together - off key, but happy.
;-) We shared hugs of all different types. Hugs meant to
comfort, hugs meant to say hello, hugs that said, "I love you" -
and we did - we had grown to love each other very much.
Soon our hours were filled with gleeful laughter
and childish giggles - squeals of joy and wonderment. At times
we talked about her parents. She said they never struck her - never
beat her. "No," I shouted silently to myself,
"they had only maimed her with their mouths, broken her spirit with
their endless anger and hatred. They broke her heart, and dreams,
because they denied her the love every child needs and deserves."
"Her parents had denied her a happy childhood and endless magical
possibilities. They stole her hope, and replaced it with despair, and
misery," I silently condemned. I never mentioned their
crime out loud. Child abuse. The type of abuse that leaves no
marks on the outside, but scars the inside of a child for life.
I carefully observed my beloved little friend,
over the course of the summer. More and more, each day, I could see
she was learning. I could tell by her eyes that she was beginning to
understand that eyes were for shining, and sparkling, and dancing - - not
just for tears, or a way to show sadness. Each day when it was time
for her to return home, her eyes grew mournful, and moist again, but every
morning she would magically appear at my door with eyes full of joy and
excitement, anticipating the day ahead.
I didn't notice just when it happened, but one
day her sad eyes disappeared. Forever. The precious
child had bloomed into a lovely rose. The face once dark with clouds
of sadness glowed as if the light of a million candles illuminated the way
to a brighter world. A new world which was waiting just for her.
The precious child would survive. She'd
live. She'd fly someday - that I knew - for she had only broken her
wings, and they were mending, healing, and beginning to flap and flutter.
I knew she would leave the nest one day. Soon she would grace
the sky, and fly away from the cold, cruel world she owned before.
Yes. I smiled as I realized the truth -- one day my precious little
friend would soar.......
THE END
*************************
Hope and Healing for every broken wing.....
Love, Hugs, and Hope to sustain you....
Donna
Wallace
a.k.a. Gentle-Daydreamer
© 2001