her sheets , reading a book . Outside her window , the dark settles in . The lights inside her neighbor ’ s house dim . Behind the neighbor ’ s dusty windows , a shadow paces , stops , stands perfectly still . Where did he learn to do that ? Why would he have needed to learn to do that ? Or is he mimicking her standing perfectly still by her window , watching him watching her . It made her wonder if that man knew she was there — the night a band of thieves broke into the home of the Nigerian family that had taken her and another orphan girl in . There was so much screaming pouring out of one small mouth . Not hers . She lay perfectly still in a corner behind Momma ’ s big couch , as it was called , and almost held her breath . He stood there for a while . Again , I digress .
It ’ s summer .
The door opens , and Orlando practically crawls in , panting . Anaisa ’ s sweaty hand tosses keys into a glass bowl on her windowsill . She stares out the window , mouth agape , as blue jays nonchalantly chow down beautiful ripe peaches ! Infuriated , Anaisa marches to the side of her house and yells at the little dinosaurs devouring her succulent peaches . Well , not hers , but close enough . “ If I can ’ t have a family , I can at least have peaches !” she yells at the birds . They seem to smile at her as they peck into one juicy ripe peach after another . Their happy songs fill the air . She looks further up the tree and spies a lone , unharmed , ripe peach at the very top . She glances down at the base of the tree . It ’ s covered in rotten peaches with ants and flies playing vultures . She shakes her head and walks away as the slightly lifted curtain , from inside her neighbor ’ s dusty window , falls back in place .
Many mornings pass and Anaisa ’ s routine remains constant . The kitchen sink and small window frame her world inside her home . She watches , as the one last peach standing , slowly withers . Summer turns to winter , leaves turn from orange to brown , bare branches are blanketed in snow , and holiday music fills the air . Boxes line Anaisa ’ s kitchen walls . Who ’ s to say that a home can ’ t have boxes lining its walls ? She was almost married once . Young , naive and eager to have a home , to make a home , she fell in love with a traveling salesman from Calgary . Need I say more ? Well , maybe a little more . They met while she was in college in London . Full of life , and oh so innocent , she believed every word he said . She loves books , you know . They ’ ve always kept her company , so she had no fear dreaming the dreams she dreamt in books . They were to marry as soon as she graduated , so they bought a house , in Calgary , to call home . It was lined with boxes ; some his , but mostly hers . I ’ ve strayed . Where was I ? The Bronx . Ah , yes !
Spring has sprung !
Green trees , flowers in bloom , birds chirping , sunlight fills the room .
And the butterfly dots about her windowsill . Anaisa , at her kitchen sink , lowers her bowl from her face . She grins from ear to ear . The lush green peach tree is full again with unripe fruit — a second chance . She twirls her ponytail into a bun , and dashes off to face the world .
With each passing day , she watches . As the tree ’ s fruits grow and ripen , she grows and ripens . She unpacks her boxes one day , excited to see the next . She keeps company with the tree in the mornings while enjoying her coco puffs , and shares how her day went with it at night over rotisserie chicken breast . Do not fret ! Orlando suffered no neglect . They ’ ve become a family of three , sharing a window and a kitchen sink .
Summer arrives , and it ’ s a scorcher .
Anaisa , at her sink , fills a glass with water and downs it in rhythm with Orlando ’ s gulps . She turns to the window and freezes . Blue jays sing their happy song as they chow down sweet ripe peaches . Anaisa slams her glass down and marches over to the side of her house . She grabs the short step ladder propped against her outside wall , and yells “ not again !” as she leans it against her neighbor ’ s wire fence precariously . She hops on , reaches for a fruit , but she ’ s a few inches short . Up the second step she goes . The ladder gives a little , but she finds her balance and reaches . She ’ s still a few inches short . Up step three , she and the ladder are at an angle . She reaches up and leans over the fence . The tips of her fingers graze that ripe peach ever so slightly . There ’ s a wicked glint in her eyes . She ’ s almost there !
28 african Voices