Pink Elephants and Grains in the Wood

I wake up, gazing at the intricate grains in the wood. The lines flow infinitely, creating all kinds of patterns. As I trace them, I weave stories from the shapes. I see houses and princesses, little creations without corpses. I can stare at the wall for hours, losing all sense of time.

I wander into the kitchen. My mom is making pancakes to the sound of a familiar TV show, which seems to be on an endless loop. I’ve seen this episode already, but I watch, hypnotized. The smell of pancakes fills the cold, dark kitchen. I look at my mom, and all I see is love. She is my goddess, the most beautiful person in the world.

I love to lay on her as she chats on the phone. I rest my head on her chest, feeling the warmth of her soft skin and the tremble of her voice as she speaks. It makes her entire chest vibrate in a soothing rhythm. She smells like mom, a blend of soft perfume and smoky cigarettes. It’s the best smell in the world.

It’s a warm summer day, and I go to the garden, my paradise. The air is fragrant with freshly cut grass and hay. Everywhere I turn, there are infinite ways to play. I could be a princess, a builder, a mom, a witch, or a spy. My bike is my magical vehicle. Sometimes I ride it pretending it’s a broom, sometimes a car.

I fall from the bike. Suddenly, my world ends, and I fall into complete despair. I’m dying. My knee is bleeding, my entire body hurts. I scream. Dad picks me up from the ground. I don’t want to look at the wound; it’s ugly and burns. I wasn’t careful, I didn’t listen. I cling to him, knowing he will pour medicine on it. The wound burns infinitely more. I want to run away, but he holds me still. The scratch foams up, and the pain is almost gone. Dad sticks a plaster on the wound. I like plasters. This one has elephants on it.

I watch a marathon of cartoons, fidgeting on the couch in a cold room, sipping apple juice from a box with Winnie the Pooh on it. I bite the straw, changing its shape from round to flat. Then I fold it into the shape of a snake. I look at my elephant plaster, thinking of peeling it back to see the wound. As I lift the edges, my skin burns again, so I leave it alone, the dirty glue still clinging.

My favorite days are spent at the beach. The anticipation of wandering through humming woods, the ground slowly turning from soil to sand, knowing you are close. The whisper of leaves, needles, and pines gives way to the sound of waves crashing as we cross the tree line. The wind hits us with the smell of the sea, and I run to the water, sinking into the sand.

The water is freezing cold. Mom applies thick, creamy sunscreen to my body, which I hate. I am covered in a white layer, waiting for it to absorb. I really want to run into the water with my new swimming ring that looks like a gigantic flower. I am drifting, the waves crashing against my new swimming attire. As my skin slips on the surface of the plastic, I smell the rubber. I bite the ring to taste it, the salty water touching my mouth. I stare at the water, trying to see the bottom of the ocean.

I wake up in the darkness. It’s everywhere, and all I know is I have to find my mom. Nights are scary, and I can’t be alone. I can’t see anything, but I grab my Mickey Mouse quilt, following my instincts. Mom picks me up, and I’m safe again.

Mom is getting ready in the bathroom. She is brushing her long blonde hair. She is very pretty. More beautiful than the princesses and Barbie dolls I own. Mom has many treasures hidden in the house. Golden necklaces, rings with pink gems that are too big for me. These possessions could be stolen by pirates. Mom also has makeup, but my favorite is her dark rosy lipstick. It smells divine and has a creamy texture. You can smear it on your face, bite it, paint the walls and Barbies. She also has orange lipstick, which I don’t like as much. I put it on my lips and kiss the walls. I love the shapes they leave, so I kiss them more. Parts of the walls in the house are just mine, covered with kisses, dirt, stickers, and little drawings.

I sense that mom is going to leave, and I can’t let her. I latch onto her leg, but it doesn’t work. I follow her to the door; I don’t want her to go. The moment she leaves, I burst into tears, thinking she will be gone forever. Nanny picks me up, gives me bubblegum, and suddenly my attention is elsewhere.

I don’t like my nanny very much. She is small, with golden, saggy skin and silky straight hair. She smells like old people, but her skin is soft, and she is very nice. She likes to sit in the rocking chair and watch "The Bold and the Beautiful." My old nanny has a daughter who sometimes stays with me. She plays a big violin, and I want to play violin too. Her name is Ania, and Ania is my favorite friend. She is almost as pretty as my Barbies, with long, dark, straight hair. I wish Ania could stay with me more often, but she is busy, and I stay with her mom instead. We talk a lot about Ania, which makes me miss her less.

The best times are when mom is back home. She looks beautiful, wearing heavy makeup, covered in glitter. She always wears beautiful clothing. Sometimes it’s ruffled shirts, wide-legged pants, sheer tops. Sometimes she is wearing dresses like my princesses, and when she doesn’t see, I try them on.

One dress is big and purple. I am drowning in layers of fabric. Another is a wedding gown. The sleeves are so long I can’t see my arms. I feel like a princess regardless, playing with my imaginary friends.

I have a little sister. I always wished for a little sister. Dad and I are going to the hospital to see mom and the new baby, my sister. All I remember is that the leaves are golden. The baby is lying on a tray with wheels. She has closed eyes, her body tightly wrapped in white muslin. She is not like one of my dolls but smells very nice. She is much heavier, her body changing shape like Play-Doh. You have to be very careful when you hold her.

As she grows bigger and becomes more interactive, I love her very much. She is so much better than my dolls. I feed her in the morning, put her in her crib, and give her some toys. Her body is chubby, smelling delicious. I love to give her kisses on her bald head with a few golden hairs. I love to hold her and squeeze her as much as I can.

She has a cute belly, tiny teeth, big blue eyes. We do everything together. She doesn’t know how to play yet, but it’s okay. She likes to bite on stuff, leaving wet saliva traces. She likes to eat corn chips, so we eat them together, creating shapes and animals from them. She sleeps a lot and cries a lot for momma. But the other person she loves is me.

She wears a top with a pink elephant on it. It’s a bit short and doesn’t cover her cute belly. The material, just like her face, is covered with yogurt. Sometimes she pretends she is a dog, so she feeds him too and falls asleep on his bed, right next to him.

I remember the first time I went to school. I didn’t understand what school was, but I hated it from the beginning. I had a uniform with a tie and uncomfortable tights. I hate wearing tights. We went to the church, and there were other children wearing the same uniform as I did. I was paired with a girl I didn’t speak a word to. All the parents were taking pictures of us, and the world for the first time felt surreal.

Getting up for school was just like getting up for kindergarten – an absolute nightmare. The only thing that made me happy was a bag filled with books and crayons with an image of Winnie the Pooh. I am in class, sitting on the carpet with my future classmates. I don’t like our main teacher – she tells me to do things I don’t want to do. There is one girl who cries for her mommy, and I understand her with every cell of my body because I felt the same way too when I was smaller. Now I am a grown-up, and I’m going to school. I can read, and I can write. I can count, and I can go by myself to the store around the corner to buy flour for a few cents for mom to cook dinner. I have a small sister, and I’m the grown-up one. Annie doesn’t have a baby sister, so she cries for her mama now.

I really don’t like school. The children are not nice; they bully one another and brag. I hate swimming classes because I’m terrified of the pool, and I’m the weakest swimmer. The water smells sharply of chlorine, which irritates my skin. After classes, I have a red rash on my eyes and arms. My long blonde hair is tangled and wet. I hate drying it. Sometimes a teacher or my friend’s mom helps me dry it. She always burns my scalp with the heat, and I really don’t want her help.

Parents become friendly with one another, so I spend time with my school friends after school. We all live in the same neighborhood. It was a colleague’s birthday. He has an apartment in a similar old building to mine, but his is very empty and white. In the living room, there are two big desks with large lamps on top. His parents are architects. Boys play computer games, and girls are left bored, entertaining themselves. There are pizza boxes spread all over the room. Parents are staying in the kitchen, surrounded by fumes of smoke. My mom is there with my sister sleeping on her lap, hanging from her arms like spilled milk. I come up to mama and whisper in her ear, “When can we go home?” because I’m bored.

I wake up and feel the cold sand beneath my feet hanging from underneath the blanket. I am surrounded by a windshield, creating a small hideaway. The world’s colors turn from white-yellow to gray-blue, and it’s time to go back home. The air smells of pines and salt. The quieter the sea, the closer we are to the city.

2555 days of pink elephants and tree grains.