As I sat at that remote restaurant on Don Khong, the loveliness of those females continued to emerge.
Initially, the little girls shyly looked at me, and then ducked their heads when I made eye contact. Not wanting to frighten them away, I just allowed them to venture close without responding to their presence. I was engrossed in my thoughts anyway. Over time, the little ones became more and more comfortable to approach me; they waved their hands, giggled, then ran away. Wooden planks rumbling.
Finally, a little girl came and Brazenly reached into my bag. With my head cocked to the side, I watched her as she fished out my neon green Kerropi case that contained my hair-ties and other miscellaneous. The other girls hurriedly gathered around Brazen as she clutched my case. Hastily, I had to snatch the case from Brazen before she emptied all of the contents onto the wooden floor, including my memory cards and phone battery.
In any case, I could see that they had no interest in the expensive technology it contained. Instead, they were fascinated by my colorful plastic barrettes. They laughed and clapped their hands and held them out, begging for the barrettes. Such simple pleasures. It reminded me about living in giddiness of seeing the smile of a loved one, the sweetness of a private joke, the burst of euphoria when feeling the Spring sunshine for the first time of the season. They coquettishly fanned out their hair for me to clip the barrettes into their dark locks.
Just then, the Youngest of the troupe came back from her bath wrapped in a towel. Her hair dripped with water from the river. She had missed my little barrette party. Her lip quivered as she saw the rest of her sisters and cousins and neighborhood friends with the bits of colorful plastic in their hair. As she edged hopefully towards me, Brazen insistently pushed her back, with her hands proffered towards me. I frowned and shook my head, but: it’s not my job to scold this one.
I clipped the green barrette into my bangs and smiled at them. The girls lost interest in what I was doing because they finally realized I had nothing else to give them. They ran laughing down the dusty path among the chickens and the ducks. I turned towards my computer.
Youngest came out, dressed in a worn neon green tee and shorts and freshly combed hair. I looked around—none of the other girls were in sight. I waved Youngest over. She came over obediently, her bare feet padded along the smooth wooden slats. I removed the bright green barrette from my hair and compared it with her shirt. Youngest cocked her head up hopefully. When I clipped it into her hair, I was immediately wrapped in the soft brown arms of this little girl. She placed her hands together in front of her chest and bowed her thanks to me. Then, she ran away and I sat back down with my computer and coffee.
As I breathed in the freshness of the island air and contemplated the River, Youngest came back to me with a handful of dirty green beads. Smiling delightedly, I took the beads and slipped them onto my ankle.
Is there anything more sweet than the offering of a child? The plastic clattered as I shook my leg for her to display them. She patted my bare leg and then went to play with her sisters and cousins and neighbors.
There was a waterfall market, meandering cows, terraced fields, and the beautiful Laotian people. After a day of immensely enjoying this slow pace, I showered in the outdoor stall with geckos walking the walls. I thought about the palms, the dusty road, the brightly colored fabrics, and the blue-green river… the children’s laughter echoed. Those green beads clattered against my ankle again as the water ran over them. I had forgotten that they were around my ankle. As the streams of Mekong water ran down my legs over the beads, the mud rinsed away. The lovely child’s gift glistened like green diamonds against my skin.
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