her sheets, reading a book. Outside her window, the dark settles in. The lights inside her neighbor’ s house dim. Behind the neighbor’ s dusty windows, a shadow paces, stops, stands perfectly still. Where did he learn to do that? Why would he have needed to learn to do that? Or is he mimicking her standing perfectly still by her window, watching him watching her. It made her wonder if that man knew she was there— the night a band of thieves broke into the home of the Nigerian family that had taken her and another orphan girl in. There was so much screaming pouring out of one small mouth. Not hers. She lay perfectly still in a corner behind Momma’ s big couch, as it was called, and almost held her breath. He stood there for a while. Again, I digress.
It’ s summer.
The door opens, and Orlando practically crawls in, panting. Anaisa’ s sweaty hand tosses keys into a glass bowl on her windowsill. She stares out the window, mouth agape, as blue jays nonchalantly chow down beautiful ripe peaches! Infuriated, Anaisa marches to the side of her house and yells at the little dinosaurs devouring her succulent peaches. Well, not hers, but close enough.“ If I can’ t have a family, I can at least have peaches!” she yells at the birds. They seem to smile at her as they peck into one juicy ripe peach after another. Their happy songs fill the air. She looks further up the tree and spies a lone, unharmed, ripe peach at the very top. She glances down at the base of the tree. It’ s covered in rotten peaches with ants and flies playing vultures. She shakes her head and walks away as the slightly lifted curtain, from inside her neighbor’ s dusty window, falls back in place.
Many mornings pass and Anaisa’ s routine remains constant. The kitchen sink and small window frame her world inside her home. She watches, as the one last peach standing, slowly withers. Summer turns to winter, leaves turn from orange to brown, bare branches are blanketed in snow, and holiday music fills the air. Boxes line Anaisa’ s kitchen walls. Who’ s to say that a home can’ t have boxes lining its walls? She was almost married once. Young, naive and eager to have a home, to make a home, she fell in love with a traveling salesman from Calgary. Need I say more? Well, maybe a little more. They met while she was in college in London. Full of life, and oh so innocent, she believed every word he said. She loves books, you know. They’ ve always kept her company, so she had no fear dreaming the dreams she dreamt in books. They were to marry as soon as she graduated, so they bought a house, in Calgary, to call home. It was lined with boxes; some his, but mostly hers. I’ ve strayed. Where was I? The Bronx. Ah, yes!
Spring has sprung!
Green trees, flowers in bloom, birds chirping, sunlight fills the room.
And the butterfly dots about her windowsill. Anaisa, at her kitchen sink, lowers her bowl from her face. She grins from ear to ear. The lush green peach tree is full again with unripe fruit— a second chance. She twirls her ponytail into a bun, and dashes off to face the world.
With each passing day, she watches. As the tree’ s fruits grow and ripen, she grows and ripens. She unpacks her boxes one day, excited to see the next. She keeps company with the tree in the mornings while enjoying her coco puffs, and shares how her day went with it at night over rotisserie chicken breast. Do not fret! Orlando suffered no neglect. They’ ve become a family of three, sharing a window and a kitchen sink.
Summer arrives, and it’ s a scorcher.
Anaisa, at her sink, fills a glass with water and downs it in rhythm with Orlando’ s gulps. She turns to the window and freezes. Blue jays sing their happy song as they chow down sweet ripe peaches. Anaisa slams her glass down and marches over to the side of her house. She grabs the short step ladder propped against her outside wall, and yells“ not again!” as she leans it against her neighbor’ s wire fence precariously. She hops on, reaches for a fruit, but she’ s a few inches short. Up the second step she goes. The ladder gives a little, but she finds her balance and reaches. She’ s still a few inches short. Up step three, she and the ladder are at an angle. She reaches up and leans over the fence. The tips of her fingers graze that ripe peach ever so slightly. There’ s a wicked glint in her eyes. She’ s almost there!
28 african Voices