by Christine Stoddard

Created on: March 01, 2009

"Chandra's Case"

Chandra sprinted through the woods behind her house with the swiftness of all the sprites she had read about in her storybooks. The tiny spines of blonde hair on her legs shone in the early spring sunlight. She felt enchanted. By what, she knew not, nor did she care. Chandra only knew that the day was beautiful and that somehow she had to capture a sliver of it to remember forever.

The little girl, the one of fairytale long hair and large, serene eyes, normally struck the adults in her life as strangely ambitious. Her heart wanted to conquer all.

Over tea one afternoon, Chandra's mother chatted with her sisters and neighbors about how much her daughter wanted to visit the moon. Scores of sugar cookies sat on platters set on the table.

"Doesn't every kid?" the sisters and neighbors said, shrugging their shoulders and sipping their tea. One or two of them nibbled on their cookies, sending flakes of sugar flying to the floor.

"But Chandra wants to kiss it. She wants to hug itno! Embrace it. Love it."

"Oh, you know what they say about the moon.
Maybe she just likes cheese," one sister teased, "C'mon, stop being so poetic."

But Chandra's mother was no poet. A pragmatic woman who arranged the contents of her kitchen cupboard alphabetically and never once tried a new recipe, she sighed at Chandra's odd behavior. She did not understand the girl who aspired to draw crayon portraits of everyone in the many countries and kingdoms she promised herself she would one day see. She did not understand why anyone would ever want to leave the comforts of the routine they knew in their homes.

Chandra's father, too, lacked the sentiments of a poet. He kept only one photograph in his house and that was the picture taken on his wedding day. (Of course, the picture's true purpose in the home was questionable, as the frame covered up an unfortunate stain on the wall.) Chandra's father denounced religion, ate only five different meals, and, since the age of twenty, always appeared about ten years older than he actually was. He rarely smiled.

With such bland parents, no one could determine the source of Chandra's overwhelming curiosity and vivacity. At every moment, she seemed thrilled just to breathe, as if even the common air contained some kind of sparkling magic.

"Chandra does not walk," her kindergarten teacher once mused, "She dances with the angels."

And that day, that beautiful day in early spring as she ran through the woods, Chandra again danced with the angels.

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