A Dress Of Elegance

“I like the way you handled that confrontation between those children. None of them are yours, right? You’re the daycare provider?”

“Yes, I am.” I notice her exotic beauty, the long dark hair, sparkling brown eyes, scarlet lipstick with matching manicured nails, and the poised manner in which she speaks. Children shriek in the background as they roll and tumble in the colorful balls. The smell of grease and french fries permeate the air.

“I’d like to place my daughter in your care. Do you have an opening?”

“I’m sorry I’m not taking any more children at this time.”

“Will you give me your name and number so I can call you later and talk with you about it?” I do the oddest thing; I give her my information. I never hand over information like that to complete strangers. Why do I trust her? Is it her gentle manner? Or is it the innocence I detect behind those deep dark eyes?  Maybe it is the simple fact that she is a mom looking for quality care for her child.

She calls that night. Again, I tell her I am not accepting more children at this time.

She calls again the next night. I repeat the same line.

“Is it because I’m Middle Eastern that you won’t watch my child?”

“I’m sorry I don’t understand.”

“I can assure you we aren’t like the ones you hear about on the news. We are peaceful. We are from Jordan.”

Still, I am completely unaware of what she means. At this time in my life, I am ignorant of such happenings in the world. I ask my husband what she means and he explains relations between the countries and tells me about terrorism.

She calls again the next night. Again, she assures me she has no motivation except in the interest of her child. Finally, I break and agree that when the children go to school in the fall, I’ll take her child into my care.

I instantly adore this little girl. Her smile and bright eyes tug at my heart. I delight in her laughter. Dana snuggles in my lap while I read to her or we watch television. She is both smart and obedient. The mother is a pleasure as well. Saheera. The name is as lovely as the woman.

I meet Saheera’s parents when they come in for a visit from Jordan. They are lovely people and offer their home to me if I am ever to visit Jordan. They mail a gift to their daughter for me. It is the most gorgeous gown (I think it’s called a dishca, I’m sure my spelling is incorrect) I have ever seen. I know I will never wear it in public. But I try it on and feel like an exotic princess while I wear it around the house. I remember my days of dress up as a little girl.

I finger the shiny fabric. My fingers slide across the slick silken threads, occasionally bumping over the metalic embroidery and tiny beads.

About a year later the family is relocated due to employment. At first we email back and forth, but eventually we lose contact.

The dress still hangs in the back of my closet. Every time I see it, I think of this beautiful woman with the big browned eyed girl who loved to eat “rose” (her reference to rice).

Living in the Gap

February 26, 2012 – An act of kindness

The rain wasn’t heavy but the wind slapped it across the windshield. He grabbed his raincoat as he got out of the truck. He walked to my side and helped me out, placing his jacket over my head to shield me from both the wind and the rain while he went without cover. The wind tugged the hood over my eyes as he guided me across the street. We laughed as he shook the water from his head and I waved the coat through the air to scatter the drops before heading into the store.