Autumn

 

Autumn

            The sunlight looked like frost on the new, lime green leaves of the oak tree on Gordon Boulevard. It reflected off of the windows of the shops lining the street onto the sidewalk. The bits of rock in the cement, polished by the rubber soles of many shoes treading on them over the years, shone when illuminated. A gentle breeze blew by, whistling through the wind chimes hanging in the door of one of the shops and setting them tinkling.

            A silver Prius slid by silently. The woman in it applied lipstick carefully, sitting in the seat beside her husband, a man with a kind face and thick, wavy, cinereous hair. When she had finished, she combed her curly auburn hair and smoothed her skin. This last gesture was unnecessary, as she couldn’t have been a day older than thirty and had no wrinkles to speak of.

            The car made its way past all the little shops and turned onto a narrow gravel driveway. It wound up a small hill and went over the crest into a quaint, out-of-place valley.

            “The car is going to need to be washed.” The man was disgruntled. He shifted his weight to face his wife. “­­­Bonnie, do you really think this is a good idea? Adoption is such a big decision.”

            “I know, and I’m sure,” Bonnie replied, straightening her jacket and fiddling with the

brass buttons, which had pretty verdigris patterns on them. “This is the only thing I’ve asked

from you, really, since we got married. I prefer to adopt than have biological kids. I’ve been on

the other side of adoption.” Her husband sighed.

            “I know, honey. I remember.” He looked ahead at the dusty driveway. A building emerged out of the dust. It was colossal and blocky, with rows of square windows on each of the four floors. It had burnished wooden double doors, with a wide staircase leading to them. It looked to Bonnie like a cross between a school and a hotel.

            They parked, got out of the car, and hurried up the little path and the steps. Bonnie rang the bell. Inside, she heard the sound echo around. It was a strange doorbell, and sounded a lot like “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”. The door swung open, revealing a tight, wiry little woman in a maid’s apron, her hand clenched firmly over the doorknob.

            “HellohowmayIhelpyou?” she asked, running her words together in order to get the sentence past her pale lips quickly.

            “Hello, Miss, I’m Walter Martik. I believe we have an appointment to adopt a child?”

            “Yes, yes,” the maid replied after running her finger down a list on a piece of paper pulled from her pocket. “This way,” she ordered. They followed her into the large, plain room beyond. She went through another door and emerged with another, taller, wider woman with light brown hair.

            “Good afternoon,” the woman greeted them, “I’m Miss Anchorage. Welcome.” She went to the foot of a case of stairs. “Children! Come on down, please!”

            A stream of children flooded down the stairs. Some were girls, and wore their hair either

straight or in braids, and were garbed in typical white blouses and plaid skirts. Some were boys, and wore black or tan shorts or slacks, and white button up shirts. Some had expressions full of deference on their faces, some with conspicuous distrust. Many even looked at the couple in a state of apparent adulation. They lined up in five straight lines according to their height and were clearly practiced at doing so. It seemed to be a very old fashioned place.

            Bonnie knew what happened now. She and Walter walked up and down the rows. One girl caught her eye, one whose hair was dutifully in little braids, whose stockings were pulled up tall. However, Bonnie could tell by the pale stains on her blouse and the weary way she looked at her feet that these careful precautions were not because she had a need to follow the rules or because she had obsessive compulsive disorder. It obviously wasn’t either of those, but was because she had been there so long without being adopted. She had taken extra care that day so that she might appeal to someone.

            Bonnie was about to keep walking when she realized why this meant something to her. She flashed back to a day long ago, when she had stood still in line and tried to remember to be polite as lady after well-dressed lady looked her over. One day, she had put on clean silky stockings and a neat, gray felt dress, and she had brushed her hair over and over and plaited it tightly, and the first lady that came in had become her Aunt Felicia.

            “What’s your name?” She asked, squatting down.

            “Autumn,” the girl replied, the dead look in her eyes lessening slightly. Bonnie smiled and looked up at Walter. He smiled at her, kindness in his eyes, and nodded.

            “Autumn Martik. How do you like it?”