The Grass is Always Greener

Two children compare lives, believing the other to have a better life while ignoring reality.

    The little boy peered over the window sill into the garden below. His breath steamed against the glass but he rubbed his pudgy hand to clear a spot. Squinting through the specks of rain, he watched the garden. The fresh buds on the ends of tree branches hung over the low stone wall. A young girl was playing nearby. She jumped from puddle to puddle, clapping her hands and laughing as the water splashed up into her big yellow boots. They looked several sizes too big. Obviously belonging to a parent fathers. She pulled the bright red rain coat closer around her tiny frame. It was new and shown against the dismal background. She tilted her chin back and opened her mouth. The raindrops pattered onto her tongue.

She squinted her eyes and then turned in a graceful pirouette, arms outstretched as though imagining herself a ballerina on a great stage. She stopped with her eyes on the window at the top of the looming brick building. The little boy pulled his head back suddenly, avoiding her sight. She continued to look up, as if she had seen the sudden movement. She put a hand over the top of her eyes, shielding them from the rain, so as to see better. The little boy stepped away from the window and turned slowly around.

His dingy room was lit with a dim lantern. The three bunks were pushed against the wall. Their scratchy grey blankets were folded neatly at the foot of the beds. He sat down on his bed, and sighed dejectedly. A rapid knock on the door drew his eyes. He stood up, straightened his shirt and pushed his hair back.

Without waiting for permission to enter, a tall, vulture-like woman swooped down upon him. Her great, black shawl fluttered as though in a tremendous gale.

“Come downstairs. Studies are about to commence!” She grabbed his small, pudgy hand in her long, bony one and dragged him out of the room. He stumbled after her and hurried to keep up.

Down in the room below the chatter of many children filled the dining hall. The little boy sank onto a bench in the corner by himself as the matron called all the children to order. He watched the other children, glum faced and haggard.

Outside, the little girl continued to splash around. Her parents called her from a distance and she pouted. She did not want to go inside for it was wonderful to feel the wind on her face and dance in the rain. She peered across the low wall surrounding the monstrous, brick building. It continued to intrigue her. “What would it be like,” she wondered, “to grow up without a parent, free of all their rules and restrictions?” For she was young and naive.

But meanwhile, indoors, the little boy clung to the image of her happy laughter, playing outside in the rain. Her smile, the way she tilted her head back, laughing at the sky.

And he wondered what it would be like to be loved and clung to. To be adored by parents instead of sitting here, alone and unloved: an orphan.