n my early girly days, I remember I used to live in an oddly
magical world.
My days were filled with secret games and whispering words
that belonged only to me. I used to name everything smaller than me and
introduce myself to anything bigger.
Everything that surrounded me was a part of a mysterious
game that sometimes I knew the rules (cause I made them) but sometimes it was
better to keep the mystery alive and just wander. One thing was for sure...if
you didn't know my "name game", you couldn't join in any other games of mine! As
a result I was always playing alone.
For instance, my ragdoll wall pocket, always hung on the wall
above my girly bed, with it's long bright red wool braids, the super long and
tube like red n white stripy legs and her 9 freckles (4 on one cheek, 4 on the
other and 1 mischievously painted by my brother exactly on the centre of
her nose tip), served as my Treasure Holder.
Everything that I earned, found or created was secretly and
carefully placed in her deep red dotty pockets for her to hold. Every morning
and every night, I would check if anything was missing and would praise her for
holding my treasures safe. Naively enough, I thought of course, that it was to
me and only me that my ragdoll gave access to her pockets, since I was the only
one who knew and called her by her name.
I also thought that curtains -yep curtains- served as
everyone's protectors as my curtain did to me. I remember mine was made of a
light and airy chiffon, in the light pastel colours of the spring and had countless
tiny little holes on it from the nails of my little kitten that endlessly
climbed on it (holes, which by the way I had counted again n again). No matter what
was wrong, when I swirled or hid in 'n around my protecting curtain, the colours
and the surreal texture made me forget and usually brought a smile really soon.
So my curtain, practically the most enjoyable, oversized fabric, big enough to
fully cover me twice or thrice in my childhood days, was my big Protector.
Soon, the kitten-made holes became bigger 'n my parents changed it for a new one
that I definitely didn't get along well with.
So the story
goes with many items that served me or more likely my imagination back then,
but there were 2 very special ones that I still hold so very dear to me. My
ever-smiling red shoes and my secret yellow plastic wallet.
My red
shoes were a pair of super shiny, lustre leather Mary Janes, redder than the
reddest red to my eyes that made me want to never grow up (or at least keep my
seven year old size feet). I wanted to wear them even in my bedtime –actually
sometimes I secretly did!!- They were irreplaceable and lead the way to my
magical world. It mattered not, what clothes I’d have on when I entered this
exclusive world of mine, as long as I wore my ever-smiling red shoes and
carried my yellow plastic wallet. Ever smiling of course was me when looking
down at them, but I always thought they were smiling back. I even had the
suspicion that they covertly helped me with my piano lessons –only when I wore
them of course- and I would attribute my failure the rest of the times to the
same fact. … Didn’t really work out well with my parents, got to admit.
Anyway, that day came eventually,
when I had to take the gravely serious decision of “operating” on them, if I
still wanted to keep wearing them. I took a pair of scissors n cut their heel
side open so I could wear them as slippers. I swore to them that I’d always
look at their front, still pretty side, and never at the back, so I continued
being almost as happy as before for a year more or two until they fitted no
more. It was finally parental intervention that forced them in the garbage,
since as they said, they couldn’t stand seeing my feet covered in painful sores
anymore.
Regardless of how much I grieved for this loss, I still had my
secret yellow plastic wallet. It was a kitsch, plastic or more accurately
vinyl, small coin purse, very typical in the late 80’s, with sparkly bits n
stars on it and a cute small deer in the middle. It looked to me as if it was a
creamy yellow, when in fact, years later I realised it was more like a
yellowish cream.
Even though very small in size, with practically useless capacity, to my
seven-year-old eyes, it held everything. It played the very important role of
holding my keys! I was crazy, super obsessed with keys. Old keys, small keys, skeleton keys, large, long, funny, bronze, rusty, golden, plastic, bicycle, diary, broken…ANY
keys! Although, the oldest the better…. yeah I loved vintage since then!!
However, not ANY key was entitled to go into my yellow wallet. There was a rite
of passage for each n every one of them, that would determine if they were
right or not. Every night after the lights went off, I would carefully lay one
key under my pillow next to my yellow wallet. It would pass the rite of passage
if by the morning wasn’t there anymore but inside my wallet. In other words, my
wallet would have accepted it and for some “unfathomable” reason, my wallet
would accept only the keys that physically fitted into it….but that wasn’t something
to note back then. All the rest of the keys were simply not good enough, so I
would take them and with serious face I would bury them deep inside the
fragrant soil of a lavender plant in a red pot that was in the veranda out of
my window. The lavender mysteriously thrived and I was waiting for the day that
someone would notice n realise it was all because of my secret treatment…but
disappointingly the day never came.
The days passed and a new key
would periodically take the place of the old one and win all my attention while it lasted. Many years later I would find my forgotten yellow wallet in an
old suitcase filled with children memorabilia, in the basement of my parent’s
house. That basement always had –even nowadays- a musky n intense alluring
smell of wine, from the never acknowledged, but for sure failed attempt of my
father to make his own wine.
In this deeply enchanting aroma
of old wine, I held again my dear wallet n slowly opened its clasp closure. My
eyes opened with ecstatic delight as a small silvery key was still quietly and
comfortably lying inside. For the very first time ever, I wondered what it
opened…?
