things

A lady looked at them curiously as they stepped out. He lowered his gaze. It was not polite to stare. Especially at women. Especially in this country. He turned around, half turned, and waited for his mother to come out the other side. She did, and walked around. “Mariya?” She called out to the lady. Loud. In that air of hers. He didn’t notice it then, but later, he would think about it. It was loud, he was sure that the guards and drivers standing at the gate would have looked. But he didn’t notice it then. Just in the way of this place. The lady nodded her assent, and in a voice just as affected, greeted his mother. They walked inside, he was behind them. It took him a little while, but he realized that the event had not yet begun. They were setting it up. The lady began showing them the trinkets that were hanging from the lights, the greens, the flowers, it was classy. Classily done. He really liked it. Especially the little details. The decorations included small glass flowers, and glass bird sculptures. Many of them. But not enough to make it look bad. Just enough that they looked pretty good. The bride's father walked out in a shirt, and casual wear. So, the event was not for a few hours. He seemed stressed in a cool way. Lounging but also a little fidgety. How do you explain such a thing?

They walked over to the garden that was a whole plot, right next to the house. A walkway that was covered in strings and baubles. Then the sitting area. A whole stage of flowers. They walked out. He had enjoyed seeing it.

“How was it?” His mother asked him.

“Rich people,” he answered in an awed tone. They lived two blocks away in the same expensive area in the otherwise poor country. But these people had twice the square footage. The driver opened the door to the very expensive German car, he thanked him mildly, and got in. Air conditioned. He mused. Rich people. Very rich. No wonder- and as he was thinking the next sentence, he looked into the rear view mirror from the backseat, and saw the face of the driver. His driver. It wasn’t in pain. It wasn’t in sorrow. But there was a grimace. Or maybe not that. It’s hard to explain the expression of a man when that man is not your blood and not a stranger. Not close enough, and yet familiar enough. It is easier to explain what the underlying emotions are. Sorrow? Shutting off from the world that he did not live in. The world that he could not give his children. Surely he had understood how rich they were. Being used to the richness of the people that he worked for, sure. He’d gotten used to it. But he’d seen the gate. He’d seen the armed guards, not one. Guards outside. He’d seen the boundary wall, the building that could have housed his family, and his extended family, and his cousins, and their kids. And he’d seen that there was space for a lawn, the same amount of space that the house took up. These things he could not provide his children.