The Foreigner

Allie saw the world through her own lens. She was, as Claire affectionately called her, “culturally adjacent.”

Her unique nature was reflected in everything she did. Where common sense dictated that only one pattern should be worn at a time–or that colors such as red, orange, and pink should never be worn together–Allie had her own ideas. She clashed polka dots and stripes, rainbows of colors, and managed, somehow, to make the ensemble look put-together and charming.

Her patterns of speech were equally endearing. Where most of the world said things like, “I want a pony badly,” Allie preferred, “I badly want a pony.” She blended words unapologetically, creating her own precocious vocabulary. Pelicans were pelikeets; meatballs were meatbulbs; and she referred to her favorite meal, ravioli, as ravellini.  At mealtimes, Allie could never keep straight which meat was which. She referred to chicken as pork, pork as beef, and every variety of fish was simply called tuna.

Her gait had a musicality about it that caused her ponytails to bounce as she walked. She rarely walked on flat feet, rather she pranced through her days on tiptoe. When she spoke, she twirled her hands for emphasis, as though all of life were nothing more than one long dance.

Allie’s eccentricities and idiosyncrasies had the unexpected tendency to draw others in. She was charming in every quirk, and her days were spent flitting from one friend to another.

One day, she arrived home from school beaming. Claire looked up from the laundry in her lap as Allie tossed her sparkly backpack across the floor.

“Mama,” she called, twirling as she entered the living room, “today I made a new friend!”

“Oh?” Claire asked.

“Mmhmm. Her name is Sofia, and you wouldn’t believe it. She’s foreign!”

“Foreign. How wonderful!” Claire smiled. “Where is she from?”

Allie paused mid-twirl, furrowing her brow. Her hands fell to her sides, the smile disappearing for just a moment.

“You know, I can’t remember.”

“That’s OK,” Claire resumed her folding. “Maybe you can ask her tomorrow.”

“I will, Mama. You would love her. She’s really great!” With that, Allie skipped off to her room, singing a song to herself as she went.

Over the next days, Allie spoke incessantly about her new friend.

At dinner, as Ben set a steaming pot of curried rice on the table, Allie squealed.

“Sofia used to eat this in her old town! She told me all about it!”

“That’s great,” smiled Ben. “It sounds like they have good taste in food.”

As they waited for the bus the next morning, Allie bubbled, “Did you know that Sofia has an accent?”

“Does she?” asked Claire.

“Yes! Everything she says sounds different,” Allie giggled. “I kind of like it. Today I might ask her to read my homework so I can hear how she says things.”

In the car on the way to the store, Allie looked wistfully out through her window and remarked, “Sofia had to travel a long way to get here. I bet she was in a car for days.”

On Saturday, she dressed all of her dolls in brightly-colored napkins, wrapping their bodies in paper togas. She secured the dresses with hair ties, then marched them through the living room in front of Ben and Claire.

“What’s this?” Ben asked.

“Oh,” she smiled sweetly, “just a little parade so you can see how people dress in Sofia’s country.”

That afternoon, she insisted on calling her grandmother so that she could tell her everything about her new exotic friend. She went into great detail about the things Sofia ate, about her wonderful accent, and about all of the ways in which Sofia had led an exciting life.

“She’s just really great, Grandma,” she concluded at last.

“She sounds wonderful!” Grandma replied warmly. “Does she come from far, far away?”

“Oh, yes! My teacher showed us on a map yesterday in school. She pointed out where we live—Illinois—and then traced a line all the way to Sofia’s home. It was almost on the other side of the world, Grandma!”

“It must have been something for her to come here! I’m so glad she has a friend like you, Allie, to make her feel welcome. What do you call the place she used to live?”

“Well, Grandma, I don’t think you’ve probably ever heard of it. But I’ll tell you anyway. Sofia came all the way from Oregon.”