Two Plus Two Is Four
The day before a school day, told from inside a child’s world.
A day before “I Want Two Braids Only”.
Before the morning she asked for two braids, there were many ordinary days.
Mama did not wake me today.
The sun did.
It came through my window and touched my eyes.
That was strange.
Mama always woke me before the sun.
I sat up quickly.
“Mama!”
She came to my room.
“What happened?”
“Why did you not wake me?”
Her face changed.
“What is wrong?”
“I am late for school.”
She looked at me for a moment.
Then she smiled.
“Little bird.”
“What?”
“Today is not school.”
“Oh.”
“You forgot?”
“I thought it was a school day.”
“You were excited?”
I nodded.
“I practiced reading for my teacher.”
“Do you miss her that much?”
“No.”
“No?”
“A little.”
“You can see her tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
Why do we need to wait for it?
“I want to show her my reading.”
“You can show her.”
“And she will say very good.”
“She might.”
“She will.”
Mama kissed my forehead.
She always does.
The kitchen smelled warm.
Like tea and bread and something sweet.
I followed Mama inside.
“Can I help?”
“You can sit.”
“That is not helping.”
“You can help by staying out of trouble.”
“That is also not helping.”
She gave me a small piece of dough.
I ate it.
“You were supposed to roll it.”
“I was checking it.”
“Checking what?”
“If it was good.”
“And?”
I nodded.
“Very good.”
She shook her head.
“You are exactly like your Abba.”
I smiled.
That is my favourite thing to hear.
Abba was outside fixing the bike.
I followed him.
“What happened?”
“It is making a strange sound.”
“Like what?”
He made a horrible noise with his mouth.
I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
“Not like that.”
“That is exactly how it sounds.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“Yes.”
Grown-ups also like to win arguments.
Even when they are wrong.
I brought him tools.
The wrong tools.
Many times.
“Not this one.”
“Oh.”
“Not this one either.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know the names?”
“Yes.”
“What is this called?”
I looked at it.
“A… metal thing.”
He looked away.
I knew he was laughing.
“Very useful helper.”
“I am still learning.”
“Good.”
“You will need me when you are old.”
“I am already old.”
“No. Daadi is old.”
Daadi shouted from inside.
“I can hear you!”
We both ran.
She could not catch us.
She says she can.
But she cannot.
After lunch, Sana came.
She knocked on the door three times.
She always does.
I opened it.
“You are late.”
“I am not late.”
“You are.”
“You are waiting too early.”
“That is not a thing.”
“It is now.”
We played in the yard.
First we raced.
I won.
Maybe.
Sana says she won.
She is wrong.
Then we made a house from blankets.
It had a kitchen.
A bedroom.
And a classroom.
I was the teacher.
“Sit quietly,” I told her.
“Why?”
“Because I am teaching.”
“What are you teaching?”
“Everything.”
“What is two plus two?”
I thought carefully.
“Twenty-two.”
She laughed.
“You are a bad teacher.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“What kind of teacher does not know maths?”
“A kind teacher.”
She stopped laughing.
“That is not a real answer.”
“It is the best answer.”
I took my doll and combed her hair gently.
Sana watched me.
“Why are you doing it so slowly?”
“Because she does not like when it hurts.”
“Dolls cannot feel pain.”
I looked at my doll.
“She can.”
Sana rolled her eyes.
She does that a lot.
“I think you are crazy.”
“No.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Only a little.”
When the sky became orange, she had to go.
“Come tomorrow,” I said.
“I have to visit my aunt.”
“Then the day after.”
“The day after.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
We touched our fingers together.
That makes promises stronger.
Now she cannot break it.
At night, Daadi sat by the window with her beads.
I sat beside her.
“Tell me a story.”
“I told you one yesterday.”
“Tell me another.”
“You have too many stories.”
“No.”
“You have too many ears.”
I laughed.
“That does not make sense.”
“Exactly.”
She started telling me about a girl who lived near a river and wanted to see the whole world.
I listened.
I always listen.
But I fell asleep before she finished.
When I woke up, I was already in my bed.
Mama was fixing my blanket.
“You carried me?”
“No. A bird carried you.”
I smiled.
“You are lying.”
“Maybe.”
“Tomorrow, I have school.”
“I know.”
“I will read in class.”
“I know.”
“And teacher will say very good.”
“She might.”
“She will.”
Mama kissed my forehead.
She always does.
“Sleep now,” she said.
“Or you will fall asleep in school.”
I laughed.
“I won’t.”
I closed my eyes.
I thought about my race with Abba.
My house with Sana.
I remembered.
Two plus two is four.
I will teach that correctly next time.
I will read correctly too.
I thought about the girl who lived near the river.
I would ask Daadi to tell me the rest tomorrow.
She always finishes her stories.
Such a lovely writing 🫶
Another brilliant piece Tahir