A dose of reality

June 1st

I saw her, limp and lifeless in pajamas still pink, with dust and a little dirt on them, a little dirt from the town that she was not from, from the town she should have left that morning with her family had they arrived at the bus station a few minutes earlier to get back to her home, her home with her toys, her food, her kitchen, her clothes, her life.  Her life left her here in this strange place and her eyes, open wide and unmoving, looked past me, past the crowd and into the mountains where her soul must have been playing.  Her hat was left outside our office.  Her blood is still there, and on some mornings now, if I’m not careful, I step right on it, and curse myself later when I think about it.   

Her hat is gone now.  She is gone now, I knew she was gone when her eyes were open, unmoving, open and crusty like little girls’ eyes are, looking at me, through the crowd and into the mountains and the air moved through me and I realized I am old now.   Looking back to a movie I watched when I was young and in it, a little girl died - she was sick, on a bed, and when she took her last breath and died, her eyes closed.  I cried and my dad comforted me, ensuring that she wasn’t really dead because when people really die their eyes open.  This was real death now, little pink pajamas, my boss and co-worker yelling, pumping her chest, her family silently beside her, shocked that two minutes ago she was playing on a street corner before the minibus came barreling through.  I stood there quietly, pushing curious children behind me so they wouldn’t see, holding a box of latex gloves, watching this scene, watching her eyes and knowing she had left.  She was three tiny years old, and her family missed their bus home that morning.  I walked back, after her body was taken to the hospital, back to the crowds waiting in front of our office, back to expectant eyes.  Back to questions – was she alive?  Was she breathing?  I wiped my eyes and told them no, saw their faces and realized I didn’t know who I was talking to, and quickly said, no sé, I don’t know.  I don’t know. I walked up to the office and sat down, letting her eyes be open and open and open in front of me.    These days, I feel life slipping away from here, from me.  As much as I feel I have blossomed here, I recognize that certain sadnesses will never stop.