Alaattin Bender Painting By: Bailey Kellenberger

Painting by Alaattin Bender 

The colors seem to sweep across the canvas, whispering words of sorrow and despair. Immediately, I wanted to know her story. With her hands seeming to fiddle together and her head hung low, it only leads me to believe that this little girl, this painting, was the result of heartache. Her Columbia blue ruffled dress only reflected the way she felt on the inside; lonely. The way her straggly locks cover her solemn face depict another story, one void of a happy ending. A story of a young girl, perhaps four or five years old, broken and shattered, carrying a burden far too great for such a young soul to bear; the loss of a parent. The world reflects her grief and sorrow with its mournful hues of blue, gray, and black. The way she almost seems to fade away into the backdrop is yet another indicator that this little girl has gone unnoticed.

This is her story:

Their words of sympathy mean close to nothing. The way they rub my back and try to tell me that things will be okay were nothing but simple gestures with little meaning. They don't understand what I am going through. They couldn't understand what it's like to be left completely alone. I felt as though I was suffocating in the middle of the street, screaming, but no one could hear me. No one could help me. I had shut the world out. Little by little, my isolation grew. I just wanted them back. Dreams of a time when Mama and I roamed around the garden and looking for all the creepy-crawlers we could find, haunted me. We toppled over rocks and dug under rotten trees. Not until we had named all the bugs would we lay under the swaying willow and watch the clouds peer through the gaps between the branches. I would give anything to go back to that day. I would give all my porcelain dolls away to just see Daddy with his ash gray beard laughing and holding Mama. Things used to be so perfect. The only piece of Mama that I had left was her gold chain bracelet. It was about the only thing that hadn't burned in the fire. My Oma told me to cherish my memories and hold them close to my heart. That's just what I did. I managed to wear the ruby beaded hair pin that Daddy got me for my fifth birthday every day. When it caught the light just right it sparkled like the Northern Star on a clear autumn night. God, how I missed them. Whenever I could, I would slip into my blue dress and waltz down the halls of Oma's apartment. The dress made me feel beautiful. It was Mamas favorite. She used to spin me round and round as if I was a horse attached to a carousel. She would call to Papa and ask him just how beautiful I really looked. That's all I can remember; happiness. However, those are just memories that will one day be distant. My hair pin gems will soon fall out one by one. The gold in my mothers bracelet will wear down. My blue dress will fade to a pale gray and become too short for my sprouting legs. I must do my best to never let my memories fade or wear down because then I will be truly alone.