The Buckle toothed girl- a short story

See the girl sitting at the last bench all alone?
Yes, the buckle toothed one. She’s pushing back her tears, staring blankly into her book. You can see through her large wet eyes an untold story. Somebody from the other end of the classroom put forward a query and just as you turn to answer him, the girl quickly wipes away her tears. Apparently she is fully aware of you staring at her and now when you turn back your gaze, she is all smiles. Her crying, pitiable self is gone.
At lunch, you run into her again. She is giggling now but sobers a little at your arrival in the corridor. You wonder if you just imagined her crying just half an hour ago. You interrupt her, asking her to guide you to a particular classroom. She is all smiles and god manners as she ushers you into the classroom. The lunch is over and you get engrossed in your lecture forgetting all about the girl.
The next time you see her is in the local market at the grocer’s. It is evident she is well acquainted with the household stuff and you watch in awe as she bargains with utmost expertise; her sixteen year old frame almost reminding you of somebody. She suddenly notices you and wishes you a good evening. You smile back in acknowledgement and she returns to her fight with the shopkeeper. The old man apparently knows her pretty well and she gives such a sweet smile to him as she leaves that you feel melting away. The old man stops her, passing a little chocolate to her over the counter silently with a smile and she runs off in a hurry, promising to be back in an hour.
‘She is going to make a cake for me today. A fruit cake. It is my birthday sir and I haven’t had one since my mom passed away. My wife doesn’t make fruit cakes.’ The old man beams to you.
‘Nice girl I must say sir. She lives around this block. Her parents sent her to this city for schooling. She is a paying guest at the Chowdhary’s.’
You buy your packet of cigarettes and walk back to a building five blocks away. You take coaching there and you walk into the class in a disturbed state of mind. You wonder if it is wrong. You remember her smile and feel warming up towards her.
It’s the school annual day. You are the coordinator and somebody notifies you about a clash in one of the green rooms and you rush to sort it out. The door is marked ‘ANCHORS’ and you get pissed off at the concept of senior students fighting on the very last minute.
It is the same classroom. The girl is sitting at the last bench. Buckle toothed. Trying to fight back her tears. You can’t control yourself anymore. Emotions surge up inside you. You walk towards her; wanting her to STOP crying. You want her look up and face you.
You stop in midway as somebody’s voice startles you. You’re back to your senses and you kick yourself as you look around to see two more guys of her age, her co-anchors, staring at you. You rush to the door assuring the principal to settle things down in fifteen minutes and turn around as he leaves. The girl lifts her gaze, wipes her tears and smiles at you. And you can’t tell the difference. You’re taken aback and pat her gently and warn the two boys as you leave.
An hour later the girl is on the stage. Smiling. You look at her smile and it reminds you of somebody familiar. You try to push the idea away but your hands fish out your wallet. There is an old tattered photograph in it. A five year old you in blue shorts and vests with a buckle toothed girl smiling at the camera. Her eyes are red. But, her smile doesn’t give away her pain.
Just like the girl smiling on the stage. You walk out of the auditorium and look up at the skies. You feel the girl in the photograph smiling at you from the heavens. You are reminded of her. Again. Your elder sister. The girl with the buckle tooth.
This time you fight back your tears as you put the wallet back in your pocket; hiding your pain behind the tears. Just that you’re not good at it dear, you’re never good at it.