Just a few weeks later, in early August, we celebrated my birthday. I turned five years old, and Papa announced I was old enough to go to kindergarten.

“It’s free, there is an elementary school down the street.”

“But he’s only five. Maybe we can keep Rodion at home for one year? It’s a big adjustment.” Mama fussed.

“It’s better that it happens right away. Otherwise, what’s he going to do, sitting at home all day long?” Papa gave Mama a pointed stare. The implication, of course, was that she was sitting at home all day long.

“And you? You want to learn how to speak English?” Papa turned to me now. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore and responded with confidence.

“Yes.”

“Good boy!”

Before I knew it, the first day of kindergarten arrived. Mama packed me a lunch and we walked together to the bus stop, while I clutched her hand for safety. The yellow bus came, rumbling down the street. I got in and ended up in a seat next to two little girls, right in the front.

One of them spoke to me. She had light brown pigtails and big brown eyes. She was smiling, opening and closing her mouth and I understood absolutely nothing. We pulled up to an enormous building and I followed the crowd inside. Before I knew it, I was in a classroom, shriveling in terror. The day passed in a blur. I understood nothing.

As soon as I saw Mama waiting for me at the stop, I dashed out of the bus, my lower lip trembling.

“How’s my little guy?”

I started crying. I wept so hard, as I’ve never cried in my whole life. Mama squatted next to me, hugged me, kissed my tear-streaked face, trying to console me.

“I don’t wanna go back! I don’t wanna!” I cried and cried, and then, when I couldn’t anymore, I hiccuped.

“Oh, my sweet little boy, come on, let’s go home and have a snack.” Mama led me up Greenfield Avenue to our house.

That’s when I noticed a woman standing on top of the hill, hands on her hips. To my horror, she was staring directly at us, and, from the concerned expression on her face, it was evident she’d witnessed my meltdown. Mama must have noticed the woman, too, for she squeezed my hand and we continued to climb up the steep hill.

“What’s she doing there?” Mama mumbled under her breath. We were the only Russians on our street and no one understood us. I looked down at the ground and quickened my pace.

“Good day.” The woman said in perfectly accented Russian. She looked older, her short hair streaked with gray. The woman was dressed like an American: practical beige pants and a short-sleeved pink top with a collar.

“What’s your name, little guy?” The woman leaned over. “Why the tears?” She continued speaking in Russian, leaving no doubt as to her origins. “My name is Vlada.” She extended her hand to me. I didn’t take it.

“This is Rodion.” Mama responded, putting her hand over me in a protective gesture.

“What a beautiful name. Traditional, Russian.” A dreamy expression appeared on the woman’s face. Her voice was unusually deep, almost like a man’s.

“I am Lydia.” Mama said. “You’re Russian!” She added unnecessarily.

“Oh, yes, we moved here five years ago, from Novosibirsk.” Vlada flashed a victorious smile. Five years was my entire lifetime.

“How nice. We are from Moscow. Moved here last month.”

“Oh? I can’t tell from your accent.”

“I was born in Kolomna.” Mama said. I looked up at her with surprise. This fact part of her biography had never been mentioned before.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“That’s good. Muscovites are so snobby. Dreadful people,” Vlada said, without missing a beat. “And you seem like a nice lady. A month is nothing. How are you adjusting to America?”

“Oh, just fine. We came here to join my husband, you see. And he’s settled in Pittsburgh.” There was pride in Mama’s voice. Her words sounded just like the fairy tales she’d told me when I was little. About my strong Papa welcoming us with open arms in America, and I also straightened up.

“What’s going on with the little guy? I have three boys of my own. If you ever need help, or some advice, come by. I’m happy to be of assistance.”

“Oh, thank you. But we’re fine. We’re just going home. First day of school.” Mama started moving uphill suddenly, as if regretting taking this stranger into her confidence, and pulled me along.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” Vlada said, panting slightly, but following us. “I live right down the street. Right on top of this hill.” She pointed at a distance.

“Alright.” Mama turned around, still gripping my hand tightly. Forced to come to an abrupt stop, I tripped and fell. Immediately, I started crying again. “What now!” Mama yelped, then, noticing my knee, said in exasperation: “Listen, it’s not a good time.”

“I’ve been through it all.” Vlada spoke over my cries of agony. “Listen, let me help you.”

“I don’t need any help!” Mama yelped, and the next moment she, too, was weeping. Red blotches appeared on her cheeks, and she sniffled. “I just can’t take it anymore.” Mama smudged her mascara. “You’re the first person who’d been kind to me here.”

“Oh, my dear.” Vlada shook her head. “America is a tough place, initially, but you’ll get used to it. I’m so glad I ran into you two. It was like God told me to go for a walk at exactly this time, so I can help you.”

“I just don’t know what to do.” Mama admitted, completely ignoring me and my scraped knee. “I really am about to give up.”

“Oh, dear, dear, let me walk the two of you back,” Vlada fussed. “Come on, Rodion, let’s help your mama out.” Vlada took me by the hand, gently but firmly, and ordered: “You lead the way!”

I clenched my jaw, and, proud of this responsibility, walked uphill toward our house. It was only a short walk, up the hill and then to the right, but I felt like a general leading an army. I could hear Mama speaking to Vlada, their muffled voices behind us, but I didn’t turn around. Not even once. Five minutes later, we were standing on our porch, Mama fumbling for the keys.

“And here we are.”

“Oh! So you’re Philip’s wife? I should have guessed!” Vlada exclaimed, when Mama opened the front door. “But I’ve known him since he first moved here.”

“You have?” Mama took her shoes off. “Please, here are some slippers.” She offered a pair to Vlada, who had already taken off her sensible beige sandals.

“Oh yes, of course, we were the first Russians to buy homes in this neighborhood. Philip and us, we bought houses just a month apart. And used the same real estate agent, Tatiana. She introduced us. Tatiana’s clients all know each other.”

“I had no idea.” Mama led Vlada to the kitchen. “Have a seat, please, and let me make you a cup of tea.”

“I’m not a fan of tea. Though I do like strong beverages.” Vlada let out a giggle that sounded like a horse’s neigh. “If you catch my drift.”

“Of course, yes. But I’m not sure if I have anything to offer you right now.” Mama turned her head frantically around the kitchen, then rushed to the freezer. “Vodka maybe?” Mama held out a large bottle.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I prefer cognac. It does wonders for my high blood pressure.” Vlada waved her hand indefinitely. “And your boy is just adorable.”

“Rodion!” Mama remembered me. I’d been standing in the doorway, still wearing my backpack. The blood on my scraped knee had now dried. I must have been a sad sight, because immediately Mama let out a squeal.

She rushed to me and gave me a hug. “Your knee! How is it?” She squatted next to me, then, noticing my bag, fussed. “Oh, sweetheart, take your bag off. Oh, my poor baby.” She led me to the chair, and I sat down. “Let’s wash this blood off.” Mama then changed her mind, made me get up and walked me to the kitchen sink, where she proceeded to wash my scraped knee, mumbling to herself. Once Mama was done, she told me to go be a good boy and wait for her in the living room.

I was getting hungry. I hadn’t eaten since that morning and had been too shy to have lunch at school, but I found our new acquaintance to be extremely intimidating, so I sat on the couch and waited. I heard the clanking of glasses and Vlada announce in her low voice,

“Na zdorovye!” I am not sure how much time had passed by, because, when at last the front door opened and Sergei walked in, I had drifted off to sleep. I jerked up and stared at my brother. I’d completely forgotten that it was the first day of school for him, too, and evidently, so did Mama. She ran up to the front door, bypassing where I’d been sitting.

“Sergei, hi, sweetheart.”

Sergei threw off his black leather jacket that he insisted on wearing to school regardless of the warm September weather. “It was bad.”

“Sergei, we have a new friend. Meet Auntie Vlada.” Mama pointed to the kitchen.

“A new friend?” Sergei frowned, narrowed his eyes, then, glancing in my direction, said: “I’m tired. Going to take a nap upstairs.”

“Don’t you wanna tell me about your day?” Mama asked, but Sergei was already half-way up the steps.

“No, thanks.” He said and, seconds later, the door to his room slammed shut.

“Yes, Sergei is my oldest. He’s fifteen, going on thirty.” Mama laughed to Vlada.

“They grow up fast, don’t they!”

“They sure do.”

My stomach rumbled, and I expected Mama to tell her new friend that it was time for her to feed me, but Mama proceeded back to the kitchen and took her positions around the kitchen table.

I turned on the TV.