A smile

"Mom?", asks the boy, walking down the alley, on his way back from school. It's one of the days when his schedule almost perfectly aligns with the opening hours of the bakery his mom works at. When he takes a small bite of the cinnamon bun she brought, small crumbs fall onto his grey wool pullover. It is one of the last days he'll wear it. The days are getting warmer, and then there is his little brother, waiting for it to become his.

His mother looks at him, raising an eyebrow. He knows it is her way of saying, "What is it, my darling? I'm listening." It is also her way of saying many other things, like "Are you serious?" or "I'm hungry", but somehow, he always manages to guess the correct meaning.

"Miss Peterson was ill today, so they told us to just be on our own and write an essay."

"An essay about what?"

"Something that feels small but isn't."

"And?"

"I couldn't think of anything."

"You are", his mother says after a few steps in silence and smiles.

"Mama", the boy answers with disapproval in his voice. For a moment, their roles reverse: He is the old and rational, she the young and playful. She can't hide a smile.

"Ok. What about this then: You remember this morning on the bus, the lady sitting opposite you? The one with the little girl?"

"She was smiling."

"That's her."

"What about her?"

"She isn't from here, you know? Where she is from, you wouldn't just walk home after school the way we do, wouldn't think about going to play soccer or dance with your friends afterwards. In fact, you wouldn't even go to school at all these days."

"Why not?"

"You know what a war is, don't you? They teach you that in school? Well, there is one where she is from. During the day, the air is full of noise and fear, bombs are falling, buildings collapse, people die, it's scary. And then at night, when you think it's over, the really bad people come out of their hiding places and you don't want to be around them either. So you stay inside, not that it's safe, but it's safer, and that's really all you can do."

"But she is safe here?", the boy asks, trying to sound hopeful while looking sad.

"The part of her that is here is. But she has family over there, friends. They mean everything to her. They used to talk every day, they don't do that anymore."

"Why not?"

"They can't. You know this thing that connects us all, you with dad when he is travelling, or with your aunt abroad? Where you look up questions you don't have answers to? They aren't part of that anymore. So she can't reach them."

"Like when you're in space?"

"Kind of."

"Does she have friends?"

"Here? I'm sure she does. And I'm sure they do their best to be there, to make her feel a little less lonely while she is alone. But how should they understand a feeling they've never even gotten close to?"

"They can talk about it?"

"They for sure can. But sometimes they might not find the right words, or even stumble upon a wrong one. And you know how even one wrong word can create more distance between two people than there is between us and space.

And these are her friends. Then there is everyone else around her, in the bus, at work, the other parents. Someone starts talking about the war, about how stupid everyone else is, how stupid it is to hope, and how they obviously know better. You know how people are, how they always want to have an opinion, always want to be right."

The boy nods.

"They complain about how things are getting more expensive, how the whole thing is actually affecting them, and how no one talks about the fact that it is actually their butter that is getting more expensive. Not that they would even eat butter, but if it's butter, it must mean something, no?

Just imagine how that must feel, your world is on fire, and all people care about is how that fire is making their butter more expensive?"

"I can't."

"You don't have to, I'm sorry. I got carried away."

"And yet she is smiling."

They arrive at the garden gate. The trimmed hedges, the manicured lawn, the scattered flower buds. The ice cream van at the corner of the street. It all looks so peaceful on the surface.

"That's good", the boy says and opens the gate.

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To all those living between two worlds, this endless space, where a simple smile can mean so much more.