Sasha Kozhevnikova

Ms. Tompkins

WLH p. 2

24 April 2015

I Want My Mommy

I looked down at my Blue’s Clues digital watch, reading four numbers. Those four numbers meant nothing to me-- how much longer until it was two o’clock, I didn’t know. I knew there was this confusing thing called subtraction that I could use to figure it out, but they didn’t teach us that sort of stuff in preschool. I preferred looking at an analog clock, because then I could count how many times the minute hand went around in a circle. I knew that my mom would arrive when the minute hand was two numbers past the vertical position, but I don’t know where that minute hand was right now. I only knew the numbers. But of course, they didn’t even have a clock in the room.

I hated this room. It was full of phony adults who thought that I needed to be talked to like a child. I was four years old! I didn’t need someone to talk to me in a baby voice for me to understand. Unlike the annoyingly welcoming teachers, the other kids were entirely unapproachable, cupping their hands around each others ears and whispering loudly, making sure that I could hear them saying my name but knowing that I wouldn’t be able to comprehend their sour words either way. The walls were covered in horrid drawings made by my peers. There was not an empty space on the walls… maybe that’s why they didn’t have a clock anywhere!

I truly hated this place, but my mom dragged me here every day so that I could learn to adapt to American culture and make new friends. I missed my mom.

I decided that the only way to figure out the time was to ask one of the teachers where their clock was, as I had a hard time accepting that there was no clock in the classroom.

I didn’t know how to speak this intricate, foreign language that twisted my tongue, but my heart's longing for my mom overcame my fear of speaking, so I decided to risk it. I waddled over to one of the teachers and nervously tugged on the bottom of her shirt. I looked at her for a few seconds while racking my brain, searching for words to express my helplessness in this situation. How did you say clock again?

“What… time?” I managed to articulate two words in English, my eyes wide with fear.

She looked at me in surprise-- I hardly ever uttered one, let alone two words.

She hesitated. “Mommy come soon!” Camsun? She looked at me and nodded to reassure me, even though what she had just said sounded like gibberish.

Camsun? What's a camsun? And why on earth is my mom one? I don't think she understood my question. I made a point of looking at the walls to signify that I was looking for a clock rather than my camsun mother.

"No, what time?" I repeated, a little frustrated that I wasn't able to express my thoughts.

"Mommy come soon?"

What the heck is a camsun? I made a mental note to ask my mom about that later. I will not let them call my mom a camsun!

Clearly, the teacher had no idea what I wanted from her. I needed a new plan to escape the frightening world of finger painting and play dough. I didn't like getting my hands covered in ugly spinach-green paint and sticking my hand prints on a big poster of our class that showed the camaraderie that was supposed to accompany our small and "welcome" environment. The only truly welcome environment I knew was back home with my mom, my dad, and my sister. I didn't belong here.

"Can I go outside?" I asked her sweetly, my innocent voice suggesting that I simply wanted to ride a tricycle in the warm fresh air that California was apparently famous for.

"Of course!" She replied. A sigh followed, her muscles relaxing as she recovered from my persistance.

I walked past the different stations of kids who were actually enjoying themselves. Some kids were cutting up their paper to make snowflakes, others were making pigs out of play dough, and the rest were playing musical chairs.

I made my way through the door. I had to be careful about this because I didn't want anyone to see me making my big move. There was a short wired fence surrounding our building, and the first time I had seen it I knew I could easily climb over. My capabilities as a flexible ballerina could help me bend just enough to make it over the border separating this hell from the free world around me. I lifted my leg, and made it onto the ramp. My short legs scrambled to run up there as quickly as I could. My future depending on how effectively I made this escape.

I heard them gaining on me, two of them. My heart pounded mercilessly through my tiny chest, I made a final step towards the door of the next building, grabbing the handle, I opened-

They had me. Grabbing my arms and trying not to hurt me, they pulled me back down the ramp, back through the fence, back to the place I knew as my personal hell. This was my only chance, and now I would never be able to escape. Tears flooded down my face, and I broke down choking, my lungs tightly repressing the breath of air I was unable to take.

"Sasha! No more going outside for you!"

They patronized me, but all I could think about was how close I was to the door behind which my mother sat, learning simple strings of English words, feeling the same restless sense of constraint and detachment that I was.

I want my mommy.