A Piece of Life

It seemed that my mother could not find a better “place and time” to bring me to this world. The thought of former Soviet Union makes me startle until today as it was a horrifying nightmare. It was my third or fourth winter. I was dressed in a little blue artificial fur coat with a hood, which I inherited from my older cousin. A red scarf bundled up around my neck and a rhat from the same category made me look like a little smurf. My knitted mittens were sewed on a rubber string and looked a lot like two grey hung rats, sticking out of my sleeves; and they jumped up and down as I walked. My grandmother always thought few steps ahead, and she made sure my little rats accompanied me everywhere; also she hung them like that so I would never misplace them, or even try to make excuses if they went lost. My grandmother knew me well. She knitted those mittens for me, but the unprocessed wool was pinching and rubbing into my skin, and it smelled like a sheep skin. I did not know then, what a privilege it was to have such mittens. I did not know yet, that few years later my grandmother would unknit my mittens, and would knit a new pair few sizes bigger. That winter day, back in USSR, my mother and I stayed in a never-ending line at the grocery store and waited our turn to come to get “toys.” My mother took me with her so I could hold one place in line while she would stay in another line for something else. There were no other children waiting to get toys and that meant that I was the luckiest child. I could not be happier than that. I was certain that stores did not sell toys to adults who did not bring children with them. The people in that long and tormenting line were grey; they were unfriendly and harsh as my little mittens. The sky was painted in the same shade of grey. It seemed that my washed out blue coat was the most colorful thing around. That day, I kept my mittens on, and my grandmother stuck two hot potatoes into my pockets and I was holding them tight in my little hands. I was determined to withstand any kind of weather so I could get my new “Red Riding Hood” doll, and I proudly told everyone that I was getting a new doll when they told me that I would turn into a Popsicle if I didn’t go home. My mother returned with matches, salt and soap from her line. She told me that there were no dolls left so she was not able to buy one. There were no dolls at the end of my line either. I saw my mother winked to the cashier. And then I heard from behind the counter “all dolls are sold out”, that remained like a footprint in my memory. When our turn came, my mother bought two loafs of bread. I heard her ask for a third loaf. She told the cashier that it was for two separate households. The overweight angry woman at the counter yelled that two was the limit. My mother did not insist. I looked at every netted bag that came out of the store. I did not see anyone coming out with dolls. Who bought them all? My mother tore the fresh bread up and gave me a generous piece. I held it with two hands. I greedily ate soaking it with my huge salted tears that rolled down my cheeks. It was the best bread I ever had. My mother told me if I would eat bread, I would grow up faster; she said the same thing about the afternoon naps. There was a whole set of things I had to do in order to grow. I continued going with my mother to the store, hoping that someday it would be my lucky day. We always returned home with anything one can think of but no toys or dolls. On my fifth birthday I got a doll along with a stuffed brown bear, which every child in my neighborhood had a long time before me. I never played with that doll; neither did I play with the bear. Today, twenty-five years passed by, and I miss those times. Days when my parents received their salary were rare but it was always a celebration in our house. I learned to enjoy little things in life. We secretly spoke Russian when nobody could hear us, and secretly attended church in neighboring villages. I learned to keep a secret. The cutest dresses I ever had were those designed and sewed by my grandmother. I learned what meant love and care. Our goods were common goods and that taught me that sharing with others was a good thing. I learned to be compassionate. To have patience. I learned to dream. I had dreams and those dreams come true. I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could still fit into that little blue coat. I miss my little grey mittens and those endless lines at the grocery store.