Yellow Ribbons & Silver Lockets

Maybe it was the way her breath blew those pretty clouds onto the cold glass, then how those clouds slowly disappear away after that, that intrigued her so. Or maybe it was because how tiny droplets of water often form there after having her breathe a few times on the same spot, calling her tiny hand then to rise and wipe away at it.

The little girl sat by the window, forehead pressed against the windowpane, her breathing blowing misty shapes every now and then. Every few minutes, her heart would skip a beat and her small hands would flutter to the pockets of her dress. Assured that the silver locket was still there, nestled among the many folds of her yellow cotton sundress, her eyes would rivet back to the window, until the next time the locket disappears.

It puzzled Maria Elena Gonzales as to why the young girl does so night and day, no matter what the month or year. She may be well past sixty years old, but she did not miss the look in the child’s eyes as she stared through the glass daily. They were not of mischievous youth as most children her age would have. Those coal-black casement held in them sadness that was almost unfathomable, so deep and intense that sometimes she herself was afraid to look into them.

Maria Elena Gonzales thought that was a shame, for the little girl was very pretty. With those dear yellow ribbons in her hair, young Lysette practically called out to be hugged and loved and made to smile again. Maria Elena Gonzales don’t remember ever seeing the child smile once ever since she came to work here four months ago. That was deeply disturbing.

Then again, she was in no place to question about matters that were not of her direct concern. Who was she but an old foreign housekeeper, paid to wash and cook for the Khoo family and nothing else? She would not have minded at all if she were required to maybe watch Lysette and to take care of her welfare as well, but Mrs. Khoo already has a special nanny for that. And one very much inexperienced as well if she might add, for she caught the woman once giving cold milk to the girl when Lysette had gone on about a stomachache. Even a fool knew that would only worsen the symptom. But that, too, was not of her concern.

And indeed she still had much to do; she had no time to be wondering about what goes on in the mind of a young child or of the mother or the inefficient nanny. The potatoes for tonight’s dinner was still waiting to be peeled and here she was, not even halfway through her cleaning. Mrs. Khoo would not be happy at all if she came back to no food on the dinner table. Oh, no. Bless that woman.

With a final glance Maria Elena Gonzales made herself look away from the petite form silhouetted against the window and carried the pail and washcloth to the upstairs landing. The bucket of water was only half full and the flight of marble staircase was considerably short, yet it left the poor woman panting. Placing the pail gently down so as to not scratch the smooth marble, she wiped her eyebrows with the back of her hand. Oh, she was getting old indeed.

The mistress of the house had left instructions to clean all rooms in the three-storey house, for Lysette’s asthma was coming up again. Maria thought the girl looked just fine sitting there by the window. What the girl really needs, if anyone is to ask her, was a bowl of rich chicken soup and lots of sunshine. Had it her way, she would make the frail girl go out and play everyday from sun-up till sundown. It was not healthy for a growing child to be cooped up inside, not going out to play like other regular children. Come to think about it, it does not seem like she has any friends to play with at all.

This befuddled the fat Mexican woman even more. Shaking her head, she opened the door to the first on her left and heaved in the wretched pail of water. It was going to be the death of her, if those French Fries weren’t.

This was undoubtedly Lysette’s room; from the yellow wallpaper to the yellow double bed at the corner, flanked by two yellow nightstands upon which each stood a yellow lamp with yellow shades. The yellow curtains were drawn close, so most of the room was in shadows. Maybe the girl was not as deprived of sunshine as she thought. She was just getting it from all the wrong places.

Slightly amused, Maria Elena Gonzales went to work. She chose to start with the yellow-painted wooden shelf at the opposite end of the bed.

Dolls clad in yellow tea dresses, beaming, and teddy bears adorned with yellow ribbons and bowties lined the shelf. They were obviously very new, all very much untouched, and more noticeably, unloved. It was sad to think that they had never been in the hands of the child. Even more so was the fact that they most probably never will.

Reminding herself again to mind her own business, Maria got to work. Choosing an empty dollhouse sitting at the corner she got down to her knees. Carefully, she eased the miniature home from its cozy spot onto her lap. A yellow envelope ripped carelessly open at its seams fell onto her lap.

This time she could not summon the will to not meddle anymore. Hands practically shaking with excitement, she persuaded a worn old parchment, yellowed with age, out of its cocoon. On them, scrawled in the messy handwriting of a child in pencil, were paragraphs of words. A letter.

“Dearest Meghan,

This would be the 13th time I’m writing to you. Yet you never seem to write back. You promised that you’d be here for me no matter what. You said we’d be best friends forever. Mummy won’t tell me where you’ve gone or when you’ll be coming back. She just said you’re now in a happier place where you have new friends and other new toys to play with. I really am happy for you but I also hope you have not forgotten about me.

I miss you, Meghan. Don’t you miss me? Don’t you want to play with me anymore? I’m sad, Meghan. I’m lonely. I’m afraid. And you’re not here. You promised, Meghan, you promised to be here for me. Now you’re not. But you’ll still always be my best friend. We’ll be best friends forever. I do hope so.

I got you an early birthday present. You will like it so much, I just know it. I can’t tell you what it is or it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore. But I can give you a clue. A clue for you to work on, just like Nancy Drew. It’s shiny and it rhymes with pocket. You will like it a lot.

I do hope you come back soon. Your Mummy’s been crying a lot too. I think she misses you as well. I hope you didn’t run away. And I really hope it’s not because I dirtied your favourite skirt the other week. It’s your favourite skirt because it’s in your favourite colour yellow, I know. I’m awfully sorry. Do come back, Meghan. We all miss you so much.

Love,
Lysette.

P.S. I nearly forgot. I hope you had a great time visiting the tall building adults call the World Trade Centre or something. You were so excited about the trip. It must be a really fascinating place. The adults have been talking about it a lot lately and it’s all over the news as well. I miss you.”

A drop of tear fell onto the parchment and smeared Lysette’s childish signature at the corner. Maria Elena Gonzales’ hand flew to her mouth as she tried hard to suppress her tears.

The letter was dated 11th September 2001.