WAITING FOR MESSIAH
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WAITING FOR MESSIAH - Sergiu Somesan
WAITING FOR MESSIAH
SERGIU SOMESAN
Copyright Year: 2024
Copyright Notice: by Sergiu Somesan. All rights reserved.
The above information forms this copyright notice:
© 2024 by Sergiu Somesan.
All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-1-4457-4537-4
With the slyness that only animals and small children are capable of, Emily finally led me by the hand to the front of the Fashion House without my realizing for a moment that I was actually being led by the nose and that this had been her goal all along.
It was one of those happy days when I, not the nanny, was picking her up from school, so we allowed ourselves a little stroll, especially since autumn was spoiling us with one of its last sunny days.
Emily was a second grader and had school near where we lived. To get home – we lived on Upper Sand Street – we had to walk under the imposing shade of a building under construction, past the maternity ward where she had been born eight years ago, and then, after another few hundred yards, we would arrive home on Upper Sand Street. The road was not even a kilometer, and we usually walked at a brisk pace while she told me what had happened at school.
This time, just before we turned left, Emily squeezed the finger she was holding onto and said as if that was when the idea came to her:
Daddy, let's take a walk down the Main Street.
Upon my questioning look, she shrugged and replied:
I don't want anything, but I haven't been there in a long time.
I gritted my teeth and smiled at her as broadly as I could, then took off across Central Square toward Main Street. My pain was older and still unresolved, and I didn't even know how I was going to fix it.
How do you explain to a child of only eight that after the death of a parent, the family income halves and things once natural now become impossible? I mean, more to the point, how do you add to the pain of losing your mother by forbidding something as mundane as a McDonald's meal?
As I walked onto the pedestrian street of the city, I counted in my head the money still in my pocket and decided that a stop at McDonald's wasn't going to put that big a hole in my tight budget.
I looked up at the nearby mountain and pointed out the golden colors the mountain was dressed in, then casually said:
You must want something from Main Street...
As she only shook her head, I insisted:
Maybe we should go to McDonald's... it's been a while.
She shook her head again:
I really don't want anything, daddy. I just want to go for a walk.
We walked past McDonald's; we walked without stopping even past the crystal shop where she lingered to admire the purple glow of the amethysts on display in the window.
She didn't even smile when I told her the same thing I always did:
When we win the lottery, we're going to buy this whole display case for ourselves.
She walked quickly, trying to appear unconcerned, towards a target only she knew.
When we reached almost the end of the street, I started to turn around, but she gently pulled my hand:
Let's go a little farther, daddy. I want to look in the window at Fashion House.
In the old days, the Fashion House had been a landmark building for the town, where even women from the surrounding towns came to buy their clothes. After a while, like all things fashionable, the charm of the firm wore off and it turned into a jewelry shop. Even that didn't last long, and it then became a branch of a foreign bank. When the parent bank went bankrupt, the branch closed, but now I really didn't know what was there.
What shop has opened now at Fashion House?
I asked and hoped she