The Chronicle of Asya Part 1

   Asya’s small face fit into the window, joy spread out on her pale cheeks at the sight of the snow falling softly from the darkened sky, illuminated by the street light down on the corner. The roads were empty below, and slush caked the black asphalt. Mama and Papa were in the other room, arguing. The thin walls of the apartment did little against the heated words. Asya closed her mind from her ears, she didn’t want to hear them on such a beautiful night. Couldn’t they put away the usual argument for five minutes? Just to see the snow? She peered over her shoulder at the open door, seeing her parents argue together in the kitchen. She sighed and stared out the frosted and fogged window, finding the moon. “This is no place for her!” it was Papa’s voice, shaky in frustration and anger. “What if something happens to her?” The same old argument. There was never any further explanation, a secret hidden from her, about her. Always vague. Sometimes she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, seriously wondering whether something would happen to her. The way they argued, she was certain only bad things would come her way. Asya was by no means an unlucky girl. They had just celebrated her tenth birthday. Their apartment in the suburbs of Moscow was small but it held the warmth right in the winter. Her teachers were friendly and understanding. She had a best friend. Things were looking alright for them. But Papa was worried for some inexplicable reason. Mama was frustrated with him for the same inexplicable reason. It all scared Asya, but not quite in the terrified way: more as the undeniable feeling in her gut that something drastic was going to change in their lives. It was merely a children’s fantasy that was spurred on by her father’s worries. The strange place that harbors fears of the dark and being home alone.
   So, Asya, not wanting to hear another word, stood from her place at the window and tiptoed to the door. She would have slammed it, were she any older. Instead, she closed it swiftly and softly, allowing the click to resonate through the tiny apartment. In some ways, this was even more successful than a slamming door: a silent chastisement from a rightfully frustrated child to her bitter parents. The apartment fell into a deep silence, the kind you can almost feel on the skin of your fingertips as you move, like an electric current through the air. Asya, satisfied, returned to her window and sat on her cushion, watching the snow fall. It wasn’t by any means a peaceful silence, but at her age, Asya was a pleasant child. She did not want to feel the current, and so she closed her mind off from it and focused all of the enthusiasm and attention that her little body had on the white flurries drifting through the air.
   Her mother found the tiny girl asleep on the cushions a few hours later. A deep ache filled her body as she tucked the sweet little thing into bed, pulling the coverlet over her. She stared for awhile at the porcelain angel, her cold fingers stroking the girl’s pale, golden hair. Asya’s short hair was braided behind her ears. A sweet image of serenity. A footstep tickled the woman’s ears and she looked up to find her husband in the doorway. His face was sorrowful, a reflection of her own. “Okay,” she murmured, chin trembling, “okay, okay.” She turned her face almost shamefully to her daughter’s, allowing tears to slip through her eyes away from his gaze. He sat beside her on the little girl’s bed and wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulder. She leaned into his chest, feeling for the first time in a long time the warmth he let off. He kissed her hair and held her closely, tears falling from his eyes to her shoulder. “This is best, right?” she asked him, fighting sobs. He nodded against her. She felt his apology from the sobs in his chest. She had never seen him cry before. It wasn’t as liberating as she had formerly believed it would be. The ache between them grew and grew. When she could not take any more, she stood and left them, turning the corner into their own bedroom. She was asleep before her husband joined her.

   Asya’s boots touched her knees, but the snow approached even the tops of them. The snow was grey against the brown, and Asya liked the way it looked. Her rucksack was tied firmly to her shoulders, short hair braided behind her ears. Her fur jacket was zipped up to her chin and her jeans were tucked into her boots. She knew she would get scolded for wearing jeans to school, but she hadn’t any other winter pants. Papa had chosen her clothes this morning before Mama had sent her out of the apartment with a kiss and a roll. She had stuffed the roll into her jacket pocket. Alexei walked beside her, arms stretched over his pale scalp, kicking his feet through the snow. “Teacher is going to be very angry at you,” the little boy teased.
   Asya huffed, “Papa told me I needed to wear them,” she responded, eyes straight ahead. She brought her scarf up to her nose and let out a hot breath into the fabric, hoping to warm her face a little.
   Alexei smiled, “You will be able to play with us tonight?”
   Asya gave him a sidelong glance, “With all this snow?”
   Alexei shrugged, “Perhaps it will melt while we are at school.” Asya rolled her eyes skeptically at her best friend. He hurried on, “Say yes now, and if the snow does not melt,” he shrugged dramatically, “ ‘No problem!’ ” Asya couldn’t help but giggle at Alexei’s english, which brought a wide grin to the boy’s face. “Say yes,” he urged.
   She punched him in the shoulder, grin still pulling her cheeks, “Okay. Yes.”