Affu’s Little World

Mila was drawing little circles in the dirt with her shoe.

It was after lunch.
The sun felt warm on the playground.
Children ran past the slide, laughing loudly and fast.

Mila held her tiny yellow bucket close to her chest.

She wanted to build in the sand with the other children.

She walked over slowly.
One child was making roads.
Another child was patting wet sand into a castle.

Mila bent her knees a little.

“Can I help?” she asked softly.

But the children kept working.

One child grabbed the last shovel.
Another said, “We already made it.”

Then they turned back to the sand.

Mila stood very still.

Her hands squeezed the yellow bucket hard.
Her chest felt tight and hot.
Her cheeks burned.

The sounds around her grew fuzzy.

She looked down at her shoes.

One little stone sat beside her foot.
She pushed it hard with her toe.

Then she kicked the bucket over.

Sand spilled out everywhere.

“I don’t care!” she shouted.

Her voice sounded big and sharp.

A few children looked at her.

Mila’s eyes felt wet now.
Her throat hurt when she swallowed.

She ran to the little wooden bench near the slide and climbed onto it.

The slide squeaked softly above her.

Children’s feet crunched in the sand nearby.

But everything around Mila felt far away now.

She curled her fingers into the sleeves of her sweater.

For a long moment, she said nothing at all.

Then, very quietly, she whispered into her sleeves,

“I wanted to play too.”

The wind moved a tiny piece of hair across her face.

Mila pulled her knees close.

She remembered something her dad did sometimes at bedtime.

When feelings got too big, he would hold her hand tight for one slow breath.

Just one.

Mila wrapped both hands around her own small fingers.

She squeezed gently.

Then she took one slow breath in.

The air felt cool in her nose.

Then out.

Slowly.

Her chest still hurt a little.

The sad feeling was still there, too.

But now it moved more slowly inside her.

Like rain sliding down a window.

Mila watched the sandbox quietly.

One child laughed.
Another child accidentally dropped a wall.

The castle leaned sideways.

Mila let out a tiny breath through her nose.

Not a laugh.

Just a soft little puff.

The sun felt warm on her knees again.

After a while, Mila picked up her yellow bucket from the ground.

A little sand still clung to the bottom.

She brushed it with her thumb.

Then she sat on the bench a little longer, holding the bucket in her lap.

The sky was turning peachy now.

Soon it would be time to go home.

And later, much later, Mila would be in bed under her soft blanket.

The room would be dim and quiet.

Someone warm would tuck the blanket under her feet.

And even with a small, sad feeling still resting inside her chest, Mila would not hold it all alone.