When I turn onto Brookwood, I know it is going to be minutes before I am ambushed by my favorite four boys in the world; they are always filled with stories and words and ideas and sounds that they want me to hear. When my car slows to a stop in front of the red brick building that has become their home in the last seven months, one of two things will happen: Four little dark haired boys will wave furiously at me from the window or four smiling boys will come filing down the tight stairwell out onto the street to greet me.
DesiRAH! DesiRAH! I have never loved a variation of my name better than this one. Z (8) comes flying out of the stairwell, practically tumbling out onto the street. SM (6) and NN (4) come running out behind him, screaming my name, instantly competing for attention before I even step out of my car.
Please be careful! I advise, trying to gather the contents of my purse before I exit my car and walk over to meet them.
Z is wearing ginormous black platform boots, which he points to proudly. “New shoe”, he tells me. “They are wonderful!” I exclaim, although I am secretly debating about whether or not I should tell him that they are for girls. He is 8, but I know that if he wore those to school, there would be plenty of 8-year-olds who would point out his cultural faux pa and make him feel really badly about himself. “DesiRAH, girl shoe or boy shoe?” he asks me perplexed. “Let’s ask Mommy” I suggest. I know I took the easy route; I just couldn’t bear the thought of making him enjoy his new shoes less.
SM has a silk cap on--where did he get this gem?--with a long fake black ponytail. “Lookit, lookit DesiRAH,” he says, forcefully thrusting his fists in the air, followed by some kicks and other fighting stances, “Me Chinese fighter!”
NN is prancing around, singing my name as I walk nearer to the door. He’s wearing new shoes too, but they are really slippers--with large Pokemon heads on them. He can hardly walk and the yellow action figures around his feet certainly don’t help him in the process, but he has a striking smile and only mimics sounds he hears in English, which makes him incredibly endearing. I scoop him up tell him I missed him. He beams.
E(12) comes down the stairs and smiles at me, but he is the older brother and he is collected and cool; he contains his excitement and gives me a high-five. Moments later, MM, their mother and my dear friend, descends gracefully down the stairs and grabs my arm.
There is a strange thing that happens in those first five minutes. Right or wrong, I feel home.
