- A toddler and an old, yellow couch
Every morning I used to step out my house and into the Balkan heat. I would always arrive back home the exact same time in the afternoon. I was living in a tiny side street in the middle of the city. I had a few neighbours, all of them Albanian. I had chosen to escape the international neighbourhood and live downtown. They probably wondered who I was as I always entered and left the house, always wearing black heels and carrying a briefcase with my computer in it. They heard me speak on my cell phone in English and another strange language they probably didn’t understand at all. I was polite to the grown-ups. Good morning, good afternoon. One of my older neighbours had put a couch outside his house. He used to sit on it every day and observe the world. He didn’t say a lot to me, but he nodded at me and I nodded back.
A few young children lived in the tiny street - two boys, one younger girl and a little boy, still a toddler. It was safe for them to play on the car-free street. I could hear them when I woke up in the morning, kicking a football or playing hide and seek in the few places that they were able to hide in. I remember enjoying waking up to children’s laughter. I especially remember the little girl, probably 4 or 5 years old. Her older brothers didn’t spend so much time with her, busy playing with a football that had almost no air left in it. The little girl had a lazy eye and spent a lot of time wandering back and forth on the street, as if she was thinking hard about something but didn’t see any reason to sit down. Sometimes she would take the hand of her little brother and they would walk together. Just back and forth. Both of them would wear shoes that were too big for them.
The little girl noticed me as soon as I stepped out the door and noticed me when I came home. Always observing me. I often smiled at her. She never smiled back. One sunny day in July I stepped out of my house after living in the street for over a month and I saw a pile of high heeled shoes in front of the little girl’s house. Obviously she had taken her mother’s shoes outside to play with. I was wearing black high heeled shoes as usual. The girl looked at me and I wasn’t sure which eye was her good one. She was trying to wear a good pair of her mother’s black high heeled shoes. Then she said something that brought us closer together in some kind of secret friendship, something she would continue to say for the rest of the summer, everytime I stepped out of my house and everytime I arrived back home. Something that I would look forward to hear every day.
Good day, she said in Albanian. Mirëdita. I smiled and answered, good day.
…and then she smiled a smile that went right into my bone.
The big smile of a child. The world’s greatest smile.
Photo: Anna Wiman.
…and then she smiled.
Every morning I used to step out my house and into the Balkan heat. I would always arrive back home the exact same time in the afternoon. I was living in a tiny side street in the middle of the city. I had a few neighbours, all of them Albanian. I had chosen to escape the international neighbourhood and live downtown. They probably wondered who I was as I always entered and left the house, always wearing black heels and carrying a briefcase with my computer in it. They heard me speak on my cell phone in English and another strange language they probably didn’t understand at all. I was polite to the grown-ups. Good morning, good afternoon. One of my older neighbours had put a couch outside his house. He used to sit on it every day and observe the world. He didn’t say a lot to me, but he nodded at me and I nodded back.
A few young children lived in the tiny street - two boys, one younger girl and a little boy, still a toddler. It was safe for them to play on the car-free street. I could hear them when I woke up in the morning, kicking a football or playing hide and seek in the few places that they were able to hide in. I remember enjoying waking up to children’s laughter. I especially remember the little girl, probably 4 or 5 years old. Her older brothers didn’t spend so much time with her, busy playing with a football that had almost no air left in it. The little girl had a lazy eye and spent a lot of time wandering back and forth on the street, as if she was thinking hard about something but didn’t see any reason to sit down. Sometimes she would take the hand of her little brother and they would walk together. Just back and forth. Both of them would wear shoes that were too big for them.
The little girl noticed me as soon as I stepped out the door and noticed me when I came home. Always observing me. I often smiled at her. She never smiled back. One sunny day in July I stepped out of my house after living in the street for over a month and I saw a pile of high heeled shoes in front of the little girl’s house. Obviously she had taken her mother’s shoes outside to play with. I was wearing black high heeled shoes as usual. The girl looked at me and I wasn’t sure which eye was her good one. She was trying to wear a good pair of her mother’s black high heeled shoes. Then she said something that brought us closer together in some kind of secret friendship, something she would continue to say for the rest of the summer, everytime I stepped out of my house and everytime I arrived back home. Something that I would look forward to hear every day.
Good day, she said in Albanian. Mirëdita. I smiled and answered, good day.
…and then she smiled a smile that went right into my bone.
The big smile of a child. The world’s greatest smile.
Photo: Anna Wiman.