A 10-year-old girl would spend fifteen minutes each day dozing off on a seat in the park. I finally had enough and made the decision to find out why she did this.
The café across the street from the office is a simple business that serves tasty and quick lunches, and I often dine there. If I have any free time after eating, I go to the park across the street. It’s quiet there, and my favorite bench is almost never occupied. I just sit there and watch the people.
One day I spotted a girl. Young, no more than ten years old. She showed in every day at roughly the same time, right after school meals, according to her uniform. She took out her backpack, placed it beside her, and took a seat on a nearby bench. and after a few minutes, she fell asleep while sitting up. She wasn’t lying down or hiding, but she did have a straight back and closed her eyes.
She slept for ten to fifteen minutes, then got up, grabbed her backpack, and disappeared. They kept doing this day after day. slim, with carefully braided pigtails, and constantly dressed in clean clothes. She didn’t have any toys or phones; she just came and fell asleep. Even though I stayed out of it, my anxiousness grew every day. There was something strange about it.
One day, when I gave in and talked to the girl, I discovered something quite disheartening about her
I approached her carefully after she had just begun to awaken and asked in a low voice:
I’m sorry, but I have a question for you. Why do you sleep here every day? Do you have trouble sleeping at home?
She looked at me calmly, like an adult, and then, after a moment of stillness, she said:
My sister was younger than me. Mom is worn out. Dad isn’t here. She doesn’t get much sleep. I try to help. When my younger sister cries at night, I get up, hold her, and rock her so my mother can sleep.
I still have academics to do in the morning and household chores to assist with after school. I don’t want my mother to know that I’m tired. But I can sleep here. Nobody takes notice.
I had run out of things to say. I had a knot in my throat and goosebumps. Few adults were able to bear the burden this young child was carrying. She has no complaints or self-pity, though; she only cares for her mother.
I’ve been bringing her hot cocoa and a bun ever since. We don’t talk about it. We just sat together on the bench. Then we go on.
As it happens, the strongest people are frequently the smallest.
