Read Online Until the Stars Fall From the Sky by Mary Crawford - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Crawford
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shyly. “My Barbie has red hair, just like me. Can you believe that? Would you like to see it?” I offer, watching her response carefully for signs of distress.
Mindy’s eyes grow wide with delight, and she takes her fingers out of her mouth as she nods, “Uh huh.” I reach behind my back to grab the doll from my backpack. “Whacha doin”? Mindy asks , suddenly unnerved.
“If you’d like, I’m going to let you play with my special doll. But, I have to get her. She is in the pack on my wheelchair. Is that okay with you? I have other cool stuff in here too,” I reply with a casual shrug.
She carefully scrutinizes me from head to toe and back again, “How’s come you can’t walk?” Mindy asks, sucking on her hair.
“Well, Mindy it’s kind of a hard story to share, but I’ll share it with you because you’re my friend. Let’s get comfy first, shall we?” I say pointing to the two oversized beanbag chairs.
Mindy shrugs apathetically as she mumbles, ”‘Kay.”
I hop down on to the beanbag and pat the one next to me, “You’ll be able to hear my story better over here. At first, she hesitates, and then she perches on the very edge of the beanbag, ready to flee in a blink of an eye. I pretend not to notice as I start to share my story, “Sometimes, grownups do really bad things that hurt people. When I was a small girl, my mom pushed me down the stairs and hurt my back. Now, my brain can’t talk to my legs, so I use a wheelchair to get around.”
Mindy’s eyes well with tears and her nose turns red as she regards me with new interest. “Did it hurt lots?” she asks in a small voice as she trembles.
“Sweetie, I was so young, I don’t remember,” I answer, “My daddy told me I had to spend weeks in the hospital and months doing exercises to get strong. So, yes, it did hurt bunches. But, my daddy held my hand tight and helped me feel better.”
Mindy slides very close to me and cups her hand to my ear. “Miss Kiera,” she says in a stage whisper, “somebody hurted me too.”
I fight my inner compulsion to hug her as it’s forbidden by protocol and professional ethics. Some rules just make no sense. I nod slightly and ask her, “Would you like to tell me about it?”
Mindy draws a deep shuddering breath and look s down at her hand as she reports in a soft voice, “I jus’ wanted to watch my cartoons. I didn’ know Nana was watchin’ nothin’. All of a sudden she drug me by my hair into the kitchen. She was screamin’ at me so much her teeths was comin’ out. I was so ascared.” She pauses to take a breath, and I remind myself to take one with her because I know the toughest stuff is still to come. Mindy seems to compose herself for just a second as she continues, “Nana said I was ebil an’ ebil girls get punished. Then she tried to cook me like p’sgetti. I woked up in the hop-spital.”
I make eye contact with her and ho ld it. “Mindy, I’m so sorry that happened to you. Your grandma Nana didn’t have the right to hurt you, no matter how you behave. No one ever has the right to put you in danger.”
“Even grownups?” Mindy asks gravely.
“Especially grownups!” I state emphatically. Even though she isn’t quite six, sadly she is already quite disillusioned with humanity. I can’t imagine anyone with more reason to distrust people. “Hey, we have a Barbie tea party to attend don’t we?” I announce placing some graham crackers, cheese sticks and juice boxes on a small table. With a flourish, I produce a slightly garish pink Barbie carrier which my dad may have thought was an appropriate birthday gift for a 14-year-old girl many years ago.
Mindy looks at the case with longing, “I migh’ break it ‘cause I’m a bad girl,” she reveals, chin trembling.
I study her as I respond seriously, “I don’t think so, Mindy. I think you’ll treat my dolls very nicely because you like dolls as much as I do. I trust you. I’m not worried a bit.” I give her an
Mindy’s eyes grow wide with delight, and she takes her fingers out of her mouth as she nods, “Uh huh.” I reach behind my back to grab the doll from my backpack. “Whacha doin”? Mindy asks , suddenly unnerved.
“If you’d like, I’m going to let you play with my special doll. But, I have to get her. She is in the pack on my wheelchair. Is that okay with you? I have other cool stuff in here too,” I reply with a casual shrug.
She carefully scrutinizes me from head to toe and back again, “How’s come you can’t walk?” Mindy asks, sucking on her hair.
“Well, Mindy it’s kind of a hard story to share, but I’ll share it with you because you’re my friend. Let’s get comfy first, shall we?” I say pointing to the two oversized beanbag chairs.
Mindy shrugs apathetically as she mumbles, ”‘Kay.”
I hop down on to the beanbag and pat the one next to me, “You’ll be able to hear my story better over here. At first, she hesitates, and then she perches on the very edge of the beanbag, ready to flee in a blink of an eye. I pretend not to notice as I start to share my story, “Sometimes, grownups do really bad things that hurt people. When I was a small girl, my mom pushed me down the stairs and hurt my back. Now, my brain can’t talk to my legs, so I use a wheelchair to get around.”
Mindy’s eyes well with tears and her nose turns red as she regards me with new interest. “Did it hurt lots?” she asks in a small voice as she trembles.
“Sweetie, I was so young, I don’t remember,” I answer, “My daddy told me I had to spend weeks in the hospital and months doing exercises to get strong. So, yes, it did hurt bunches. But, my daddy held my hand tight and helped me feel better.”
Mindy slides very close to me and cups her hand to my ear. “Miss Kiera,” she says in a stage whisper, “somebody hurted me too.”
I fight my inner compulsion to hug her as it’s forbidden by protocol and professional ethics. Some rules just make no sense. I nod slightly and ask her, “Would you like to tell me about it?”
Mindy draws a deep shuddering breath and look s down at her hand as she reports in a soft voice, “I jus’ wanted to watch my cartoons. I didn’ know Nana was watchin’ nothin’. All of a sudden she drug me by my hair into the kitchen. She was screamin’ at me so much her teeths was comin’ out. I was so ascared.” She pauses to take a breath, and I remind myself to take one with her because I know the toughest stuff is still to come. Mindy seems to compose herself for just a second as she continues, “Nana said I was ebil an’ ebil girls get punished. Then she tried to cook me like p’sgetti. I woked up in the hop-spital.”
I make eye contact with her and ho ld it. “Mindy, I’m so sorry that happened to you. Your grandma Nana didn’t have the right to hurt you, no matter how you behave. No one ever has the right to put you in danger.”
“Even grownups?” Mindy asks gravely.
“Especially grownups!” I state emphatically. Even though she isn’t quite six, sadly she is already quite disillusioned with humanity. I can’t imagine anyone with more reason to distrust people. “Hey, we have a Barbie tea party to attend don’t we?” I announce placing some graham crackers, cheese sticks and juice boxes on a small table. With a flourish, I produce a slightly garish pink Barbie carrier which my dad may have thought was an appropriate birthday gift for a 14-year-old girl many years ago.
Mindy looks at the case with longing, “I migh’ break it ‘cause I’m a bad girl,” she reveals, chin trembling.
I study her as I respond seriously, “I don’t think so, Mindy. I think you’ll treat my dolls very nicely because you like dolls as much as I do. I trust you. I’m not worried a bit.” I give her an
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