Hope

It has been a couple of months since I started working at the ‘Zam Zam’ café. The high ceilings and big windows of the small café allowed for some air circulation and a little extra light in otherwise a small and dingy place. The people who dropped in were usually day laborers were not really bothered by the cracked walls, musty interiors and the wobbly tables. The place was relatively clean and food was inexpensive. The menu was written on a black board near the entrance and the list included different kinds of tea, coffee and snacks along with few lunch/dinner items. My job was to clear and clean the tables, wash the dishes, and to sweep and mop the kitchen and café floor twice a day. The pay wouldn’t be enough if not for the free lunch and dinner. I had no complaints.

It definitely was better than my earlier stint of helping Munna Bhai sell pirated CDs. Being out in the sun all day along with being on constant alert for police roundups for measly few bucks was just not worth it. And because Munna’s cracking voice sounded like a squeal whenever he talked, he made me do the shout-out advertising to attract the passersby. Though he was older to me by a couple of years, he would boss me around as if he owned me. That smart-ass thought he was better than the rest just because he knew how to read. I am certain that I can recognize all the letters of the alphabet and almost write my name too. In a few more years, I bet I can do better than that idiot.

Working late today didn’t bother me as the café would be closed tomorrow on account the wedding in the owner’s family. I was finishing up with the dishes and the cook barked his usual orders for cleaning up while setting aside the leftovers for my dinner. I barely heard him as my thoughts were already making plans for tomorrow’s day off. I would visit my old neighborhood where there is a used book sale on the sidewalk every weekend. I had saved enough to maybe to even buy a book. I knew the seller and he probably would help me pick one. My walk home felt shorter and my steps seemed bouncier in anticipation.

As I was nearing the bridge, I heard angry voices coming from behind the concrete pillar. I stopped and tried to think if I would be looking for trouble by approaching. My heart was thudding as I inched a little closer and the swearing and threatening from the other side grew louder. I tried to get a peak of what was going on and noticed a younger man pointing a black shiny revolver threatening to shoot an older gentleman. I was near enough to hear the muffled shot being fired. And the guy with the gun swung around to look in the direction of that involuntary yelp. As I stood rooted there in shock, the last thing I remember hearing was the sound of my own scream.

I tried to open my eyes, but they are shut tight by something sticky. My mouth feels dry. I try to wet my lips but it my throat is parched. The pain shoots through my stomach and my head starts throbbing. I try to lift my arm to touch my face but nothing moves. With much effort I half-open my eyes and everything is dark. I cry for help but a whimper escapes my lips. And it hurts all over again.

I yearn for the warmth that I never experienced. I try to picture a kind face to comfort me, but none comes to mind.
Hope kept me alive, helped me survive through the years of relentless days and hungry nights. But as the years passed by, the hope began to fade away and turned to nothingness until tonight.

As the noise of the traffic above me on the bridge slowly morph into a rhythmic hum, my favorite sound of the ringing school bell and the faint chatter of kids take over my senses. And among those tired happy young faces full of life is me! No more tattered clothes, blistered bare feet or tousled hair. And in my arms close to my chest are my dreams – my books! I look down at them and actually can read and understand the written word. I am ready as I’ve always been to begin a new journey to discover a world where I am not at mercy of others. My heart will ache no more looking at the carefree faces of the kids my age for I will be one of them.

As a gentle breeze cools my wounds, I open my eyes to see a scrap of the newspaper gliding and rested a little away from me. With difficulty, I stretch my arm and reach for it. I clench the paper in my hand and gather it close to me. I can feel the world that has escaped me all these years.
As I get ready to step into a wonderful world of my dreams, my fingers clutch onto the scrap of paper tighter. And suddenly a volcano erupts inside me shaking me all over and I can feel the hot lava in my eyes blinding me - and just like that, it is black again!

-End-