That was a regular winter morning. Chilly air caressed her cheeks and left Goosebumps. Five more minutes she thought before she left the bed. Her mother kept on yelling but it was the cozy blanket that didn’t let her go. Unwillingly, she woke up. Still struggling to open her eyes, she got ready in her school uniform. Well ironed gray skirt, clean white shirt and patterned lime yellow tie made her look so smart. Delicious breakfast awaited on the table. After eating, mommy kissed her fore head and walked her till the school bus which was waiting for her outside the brown gate .
It wasn’t an ordinary day. After around 20 minutes, she reached school where everyone was waiting for her. It was the annual awards day, a big day for everyone. Pammy was about to be awarded for her excellent performance both in academics and sports. Everybody liked her. Pammy, a nine year old was among the best students in St. Lawrence Girls School. She was always surrounded either by friends or by books. Teachers adored her too.
Everyone loved being with her. That afternoon while she was playing, she hit a stone and fell on the ground.
Asleep in her worn out clothes that allowed the winter air to torture her skin. Pammy again fell off the bed and broke awake her recurring dream: the dream of being literate. Her mistress waited outside with her daughters for Pammy to come and polish the pile of shoes.
She was the daughter of a maid and school had always been just her dream; she was limited to it. Literacy was a far sight. She used to hear what schools looked like from her mistress’ daughters. She loved carrying her daughters’ heavy bags to feel the weight of BOOKS. She touched and felt the school shirts and pleated skirts after ironing them. Whenever free, she stood in front of the mirror and imagined how she would look in a school uniform. The ragged and old clothes of her mistress’s daughter couldn’t cover Pammy’s will to walk ahead.
Her mistress wasn’t cruel but she denied her school for Pammy. Maybe she saw the potential in her which could reach out to different corners colouring the canvas of hopes and blowing lives in the dead petals. Maybe she knew that her daughters would fade if a maid’s daughter grabbed degrees in her hands. Or maybe she was afraid that Pammy would understand what freedom meant and would take a flight towards her summit.
Pammy on the other hand collected all the old books that were kept for burning, hid it under her bed as no one entered that dark room. She left no stones unturned to understand the pictures and prayed with the dream fairy to send her someone who could introduce her with letters. Infact, that little girl was still well mannered and disciplined than those who went to learn civility in sober uniforms.
That poor child understood the phenomena of kitchen and knew the screenplay of laundries yet she couldn’t untangle mysteries behind the old, cranky door that closed her world. Every night she lived a literate life. Weekly, she was promoted to different classes. A month later she graduated from school. Though not literate, life definitely made her educated.
You know what she hated the most? She hated opening her eyes every morning and realizing what she is rather than what she could have been. Hence, those were the dreams that kept her asleep for long hours.