Aborrecidíssima...

Papoila

Mary Apple and the Big Forefingers

One day she woke up and the sun was already stretching his legs across the window of her bedroom. She tried to reach her glasses, at her bedside table - something she usually did without the need to open the big bluish eyes of hers.  She moved her hand, driving her forefinger trough the mess, making an effort to find them. And was when she noticed: there were no long forefingers anymore. Jumped out of bed, opened the window, and looked to her hands! And there they were: two brand new fingers. Smiling at her. 

Somehow she always felt she was different. Not only because of the unique color her hair had, especially near the forehead (a dark that was so dark that even the darkest dark, suddenly seemed grey when near it) but also because of her forefingers. These were so long, so long, that she was never able to find a pair of gloves that suit her. And that was the reason her grandmother always offered her handmade gloves in the Christmas and Birthday days. Mary Apple didn’t like her forefingers, and often wished them to be small.

Then, fulfilled with happiness, went singing lullabies down the corridor, straight to the kitchen. Since she was still a child, she couldn’t reach the switch, not even on her tiptoes. For this task she used to make use of one of the forefingers but now you would find her hopping, trying miraculously to touch the switch. Her hair was already a mess, with curls falling down between her eyes. Tired of all the effort, grabbed a chair that helped her in that task. 

Later on, in school, Mary raised her now small finger, trying to ask the teacher if she could use the bathroom. But there were so many students, many of them so tall, that the tiny little finger of hers couldn’t be seen from Miss Sophie’s table. She waited for the next school break, running to the bathroom like a rabbit to his burrow. 

When she arrived from school, her mother was doing sweet rice. God knows how much Mary loves sweet rice. Since the time they were kids, Mrs. Apple let her and her older brother scrape the leftovers from the pot, which she used to do using her big fingers. Those reached the bottom of the pot, bringing a lot of sweet rice. The fingers were so long, so long, that she competed with her brother to see who finished his pot first. Now, her short little finger didn’t carry more than 10 or 15 rice grains.

She went to sleep wishing for the return of her big clumsy fingers she used to had. So big that her grandmother needed to knit her new gloves every years. After all, those were her fingers.

Be careful for what you wish for, ‘cause you just might get it all.

texto por Ana Madeira

ilustrações por Rita CS