Chapter 1
The Dreams We Share: Chapter One
MAYA
A heart-wrenching whimper reaches my ears. Though barely audible amid the lively sounds of the kindergarten group, I am immediately alarmed.
It's Frida.
I look up from the cardboard butterflies I'm cutting out for the summer festival, blowing a strand of my long black hair away from my face.
The bright June sunlight streams through the windows, casting a colorful glow over the whimsically decorated room.
The glass beads of the mobile above the entrance sparkle with a rainbow of colors, and the vibrant red of the play kitchen glows even more intensely.
My gaze continues to wander until I find the crying girl, who shows up at the kindergarten day after day, only wearing tights and a T-shirt. Over in the corner with the building blocks, she buries her head between her tightly drawn-up knees.
"There she goes again." My boss, Nadine, shakes her head with an exasperated snort and reaches for the hot glue gun. "Can't this child go a single day without creating drama?"
I look into her icy-blue eyes. "Why did you become a preschool teacher, anyway?"
Of course, she's the boss, and if I've learned one thing during my internship here, direct criticism is unwelcome. Nevertheless, I can't help but ask her the question.
"That's none of your business." Nadine shrugs indifferently and crumples the red tissue paper in her hand into something that was supposed to be a lovingly shaped flower for the wall decoration.
If it were just about me, I wouldn't say a word. But her cold demeanor is directed at the little innocent beings we have the privilege of caring for.
"Not mine, but it is the children's business." I reply so quietly that she probably can't hear it, pushing the tiny wooden chair behind me as I stand.
I walk past the dollhouse, the construction workshop, and the painting corner. I almost stumble over a miniature train that one of the wild rascals left in the middle of the room.
A few seconds later, I sink onto the soft carpeted floor of the building corner and pull three-year-old Frida into my arms. Her red curls reek of cold cigarette smoke.
"What happened?" I ask the little one, stroking her back reassuringly.
She doesn't answer. I only notice how she plays with my oversized earrings, sparkling in all colors. Frida sure loves that.
"Together, we can solve any problem, you know," I whisper while gently rocking her back and forth. "You remember, don't you? We're both..."
"Superheroes." Frida's voice is so faint that I can hardly hear it.
I smile. Because suddenly, I feel strong too. "Exactly. And what do superheroes do?"
She pushes herself away from me slightly and looks up at me with her green eyes. "They can do anything." A conspiratorial grin appears on her freckle-covered face.
"So if a superhero can handle anything, nothing can happen to them that they can't fix, right?
" I lovingly wipe the tears from her cheeks.
In the corner of my eye, I see Nadine throwing her arms up in the air.
Due to her sour expression, she looks completely out of place in the group room, which appears so cheerful with its yellow curtains and children's drawings on the wall.
"Do I have to do everything alone?" She rants in a volume she knows I can hear. Then she turns with a grim expression to the rainbow-colored stack of construction paper sheets on the craft table.
"Nadine is mad at you." Frida wrinkles her button nose.
Though I flinch inwardly, I mimic the little one's grimace. "So what?" I whisper back. Then I turn my face away so Nadine can't see it and contort my features until the little one giggles.
Experiencing her laughter is worth any sacrifice.
No matter how difficult it can be having Nadine as my boss, time with the children makes up for it.
With them, I am in a different world. A place where there's no pressure.
They don't pretend; they don't lie. And they see the world just the way I love it.
Like through a magical kaleidoscope that casts a rainbow hue over everything.
I nod encouragingly to Frida. "Do you want to tell me now why you were crying?"
She lowers her eyelids in shame. I can barely understand what she murmurs, but as I also let my gaze fall, I don't need to understand anymore. She tries to hide the dark stain on her beige tights with her hands, but I can still see it clearly.
"Please, don't tell on me," she whispers with a voice choked with tears.
Instantly, I empathize with her. I feel her shame and guilt as if they were my own. Still, I smile at her reassuringly.
"You can rely on me. And you know what? Coincidentally, I brought a magic cloak with me today." I pretend to pull a cloth from my bright blue flowing skirt. "Anything this covers becomes invisible."
The girl's eyes widen. "Really?"
"Yeah, of course. What do you think?" I hold the nonexistent piece of fabric in front of her face. "My goodness, Frida, where's your head?"
She leans to the side as if peering out from behind a curtain. "I'm here!"
"Thank goodness. I thought..." I pretend to be relieved, wiping away imaginary sweat from my forehead.
The numerous plastic bangles around my wrist make a dull clacking sound while I wrap Frida in the imaginary cloak.
One last time, I hug her tightly. "Now you can follow me unnoticed to the restroom. On the count of three, okay?"
"Okay," she whispers almost inaudibly. She nods against my shoulder.
Hand in hand, we make our way through the group room. Fortunately, none of the other children take notice. Melinda and her best friend David are drawing ships, and the preschoolers are having a tea party with the dolls.
Only Nadine notices that we're sneaking outside. She scrutinizes me, the color of her eyes resembling an iceberg. Without reacting to her, I turn toward the exit. Only Frida matters now.
After tending to the girl, I reluctantly take a seat next to Nadine at the craft table. I can feel her eyes on me as I reach for the scissors. Immediately, I'm filled with tension, which threatens to overwhelm me.
"Did she wet herself again?" Her thin eyebrows rise. The hot glue gun in her hand oozes, and the adhesive smell fills my nostrils.
I shouldn't lie to her; that has gone wrong several times already, leading to reprimands.
"No, she just wanted to show me something," I say anyway.
For Frida's sake. After all, I made her a promise.
Hastily, I take the pine-green cardboard and place the leaf-shaped stencil on it.
My brightly painted fingernails add a cheerful mood to the plain surface.
"Don't get too attached to the little ones, Maya. You supervise them, teach them something, and when they're old enough, you release them into their future lives." She lazily sticks a tissue paper flower onto the wire stem. "That's it. They're not your children."
Is it supposed to be that simple? Even though my intuition tells me otherwise? "I understand that, but..."
She raises her hand. "I don't want to hear it."
"Something may be wrong at Frida's home." I shouldn't speak that thought out loud, but I can't help it. "Her shoes are too small, and her clothes are frayed and rarely washed. Shouldn't we do something?"
Heat rises within me as I think about what could be happening in her life.
"Enough of that," Nadine warns me emphatically. "Maybe her parents don't have much money, but they're doing their best. And it's not uncommon for a three-year-old to forget to use the toilet while playing. I can recognize children with problems, and Frida isn't one of them."
Surprised, I let the paper and scissors drop. So she has been observing the little girl too. Has she been to her home or talked to her parents? Perhaps Frida's family isn't as bad as I imagined?
It's possible, yet I search Nadine's face for signs that she might be lying to me.
"You're just an intern." She suddenly sounds as if she pities me. She puts her hand on my forearm. "Why do you think that after a few weeks, you can assess a situation better than a seasoned educator?"
Ashamed, I lower my gaze. Because the facts can't be denied. She's the professional, and I'm the intern.
For now.
This internship is the foundation for my special education studies.
Only if I accumulate the required practical hours, submit a written assignment, and pass the four partial exams for study eligibility will I be allowed to attend university.
If I had completed school until graduation, it wouldn't be necessary.
But that's just not how it turned out. At twenty-six years old, I haven't accomplished much in general.
That's about to change.
I want to help children with problems. Children like Frida. This dream has accompanied me my whole life, and a few months ago, I finally found the courage to pursue it.
I'd love to tell Nadine about it. But I don't dare. She wouldn't believe that I could follow through anyway.
Her strained cough doesn't bode well. "And one more thing: I would strongly advise you to dress like an adult. Just a tip." With a disdainful sniff, she scans my rainbow-colored T-shirt.
The children love my cheerful style. And so do I. "A little color brightens up anyone's life," I reply defiantly, but I can't even look her in the eye while saying it.
With a loud creak, Nadine pushes her chair back. "Did I ask you a question?"
No.
"Exactly." She stands up and tugs at her mouse-gray T-shirt as if trying to conceal her rounded hips beneath the fabric. Then she tilts her chin up and calls the children to the gymnasium at a deafening volume.
After all the children have been picked up in the late afternoon, I enter the group room.
Completely alone, Nadine sits at the craft table, struggling to handle the decorations for the summer festival.
She cuts the leaves so carelessly that I almost want to take the scissors out of her hand.
I straighten my back and cross the room, which feels eerily quiet without the children.