every time the child next door cried, neighbours collectively held their breath and rested their hands against their hearts. the child had the most genuine cry; it carried the world’s biggest tragedies in a single burst. neighbours wanted to run to the door and take the child in their arms until her tears were no more.
it never seemed to matter why or when the child cried, for as long as she cried, a caregiver soothed her. “don’t worry about the water,” she might have said, or “it’s okay if you stubbed your toe”.
the caregiver’s voice was kind and forgiving. she would console her and never hesitate in her sympathy. nothing was ever a cause for concern since the cries did not waver in their purpose. the child was confused: something had happened to her, and she needed assistance. why was there water in her eyes? why did the table collide with her toe? these were important questions, and she could not answer them. she found solace in the exchange of cries for comfort, even if she would soon learn that some questions would never be answered, and it would be pointless to carry the weight of the world in her tears.