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We are playing soccer near the clothesline behind the main house.
Jimmy, my brother, is eleven, and my sister, Ciru, is five and a half. I am the goalie. I am seven years old, and I still do not know why everybody seems to know what they are doing and why they are doing it. She is small and thin and golden.
She has sharp elbows, and a smile as clean as a pencil drawing.
It cuts evenly into her cheeks. She runs toward Jimmy, who is tall and fit and dark. She is the star of her class. It isand we are all in Lena Moi Primary School. Last term, Ciru was moved a year forward.
Now she is in standard two, like me, in the class next door. Her first term in standard two, she beat everybody and topped the class. She is the youngest in her class. Everybody else is seven. I stand still between the metal poles we use as a makeshift goalmouth watching Ciru and Jim play.
Warm breath pushes down my nostrils past my mouth and divides my chin. I can see the pink shining flesh of my eyelids. Random sounds fall into my ears: People outside our compound are talking, in languages I know the sounds of, but do not understand or speak, Luhya, Gikuyu.
My laugh is far away inside, like the morning car not starting when the key turns. In school, it is always Ciru number one, blue and red and yellow stars on every page.
It is always Ciru in a white dress giving flowers to the guest of honor—Mr.
If I am washing with her, we are splashing and laughing and fighting and soon we are in a fever of tears or giggles. She twists past Jimmy, the ball ahead of her feet, heading for me. I am sharp, and springy. I am waiting for the ball. Jimmy runs to intercept her; they tangle and pant.
A few moments ago the sun was one single white beam. Now it has fallen into the trees. All over the garden there are a thousand tiny suns, poking through gaps, all of them spherical, all of them shooting thousands of beams. The beams fall onto branches and leaves and splinter into thousands of smaller perfect suns.
I laugh when Ciru laughs and I find myself inside her laugh, and we fall down holding each other. I can feel her laughter swelling, even before it comes out, and it swells in me too.
My patterns are always tripping on each other in public. They are only safe when I am alone, or when I am daydreaming. Ciru laughs loud, her mouth wide and red. The sound jumps toward me, flapping sheets of sound, but I am lost. Arms and legs and ball are forgotten. The thousand suns are breathing.
They inhale, dim and cool into the leaves, and I let myself breathe with them; then they puff light forward and exhale, warming my body.Why Buy an Essay Online? Sometimes it happens that you find yourself in a drastic situation when your essay is due tomorrow or even today.
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