Side Story - Nia

1979

She thought that her mother was bringing her to the park far too frequently. She remembered how a long time ago — she isn’t good at giving a good estimate on time. It was probably a week ago — she begged to be taken to the park by the library.

Her mother had been so busy lately and she didn’t know why. Her mother didn’t have a job unlike her father.

Nia didn’t even know what a ‘job’ was but she knew that her father would leave when the sun was low but, coming up and come back when the moon was out.

She asked her mom if she had a ‘job’ and she had said her job was taking care of her.

Nia thought she was too big for anyone to take care of her. She could tie her shoelaces all by herself and knew how to make a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich.

“Mom, look!” Nia yells as she raises her arms above her head, sitting at the top of the slide.

Nia’s mother was rubbing her chin, her eyes downcast. Nia yells again, louder. Her mother looks up, her eyes searching throughout the park games. They find her daughter and she smiles quickly.

Something in Nia’s stomach twists, her mom’s smiles don’t last long anymore. She used to smile so much that Nia would forget what she looked like when she wasn’t. Now she can’t remember what it looked like when she was.

Nia pushes herself down the slide, the hard plastic hurting her legs. She lands on her feet, moving aside as the next kid comes down after her. She watches as her mother looks down at the ground again, she doesn’t look like she’s thinking about anything.

Nia looks at the kid who lands on their feet a few paces away. The kid is dressed drably. In muted colours that make the deep indents under their eyes look even more pronounced. They rub their hands and look at her.

They both blink at each other before the kid runs off to the monkey bars. An older boy on the swings warns them loudly to not run or they’ll fall. The kid doesn’t look like they heard him.

Nia has seen that kid around. They are always with the older boy. They look the same, they must be siblings. Nia wishes she had a sibling, sometimes. but then that wish goes away when she thinks about sharing.

The kid looks like they’re as old as her. Are they going to be in school together? She doesn’t know if she’d like that. They don’t seem to be like her. They don’t even dress like her. Nia rubs the mesh fabric of her dress.

Even if she did want to be friends with them, Father would never allow it. He says he knows who his little princess should be friends with. Father knows best.

Nia looks back at her mother. People say they look alike. The same hair, eyes and skin colour. Nia likes that. She thinks her mom is the prettiest mom in the whole world. A queen from her fairytale book.

Despite her age, Nia knows mother’s skin looks less alive than usual. Her hair doesn’t look like she used a comb in days and Nia is sure she has been wearing that yellow dress for more than a day.

But Nia doesn’t know what to say. ‘Are you ok?’ isn’t yet in her vocabulary. She takes a step towards her mom when she’s thrown to the ground.

Her cheek slides against the hard ground, her hip blossoms in pain. She lifts a hand up and sees tiny little rocks embedded in her palm.

She lifts her head up and sees the familiar figure of the kid laying on the ground next to them, their feet pointed towards Nia. Nia looks from them to the slide and stifles a little cry.

The older boy runs to their sibling’s side. She doesn’t pay attention to what he’s saying, his voice does sound mad but worried. Nia sits up and looks to where her mother was sitting.

Is sitting.

Her mom hasn’t moved. She’s still looking down. Nia feels like she wants to cry now. She sniffs and dusts her hands. She flicks little rocks stuck to her dress. She moves her feet to stand up.

“Are you ok?”

A hand is thrust in front of Nia’s face. She looks from that small hand, up the dull skin of their arm, to their shoulder, to their neck and finally to their face looking down at them.

The kid who pushed her down has a neutral look on their face. They don’t look sorry. They don’t even look worried. Nia wants to smile. Instead she picks herself up and stands at eye-level with them.

The kid drops their hand and says nothing. Nia tucks her hair behind her ears and places one hand on her hip.

“You didn’t say sorry.”

The kid doesn’t react to this, their eyes briefly flicking over to their older brother who’s standing a few feet away, watching them.

The kid looks down Nia’s dress, zeroing in on a certain part. “Your dress is ripped,” they say.

Nia looks down and sure enough there’s a small tear. She presses her lips together. She looks up at the other kid’s face.

“You ripped it. You need to pay for a new one” she says. The other kid blinks once. Nia can’t tell if they are bored or plain dumb. She’s never seen a kid with eyes that look like the eyes of her goldfish when he died.

“I don’t have money,” they reply.

Nia looks over at her mother who stands up and slowly — eyes still somewhere else — walks down the path away from the park.

“I’m going home but you have to do everything I say for one month” Nia says, not asking.

The kid follows Nia’s eyes and sees the lady in the yellow dress becoming smaller.

“Ok.”

Nia doesn’t respond and tries not to run as she tries to reach her absentminded mother. The next day Nia comes to the park and she and her new assistant begin a month-long business agreement.