Because of that, my brothers spent their weeks pretty busy, which was great, because my mom spent her summers pretty busy too: with work.She was the mayor.Andwith great power comes great responsibility, as Voltaire wrote — or I might have heard it somewhere else too.She definitely carried that great responsibility on her shoulders, and I knew I often found myself trying to take some of that weight off her.
So, for the past two weeks, on some evenings around 6 p.m., I’d been driving out to wherever my siblings were to bring them home.
My sister, Mira, who was 14 years old, about three years younger than me, was in that phase where summer meant busy days too, but busy hanging out with friends during the daylight, and at the arcade chatting with boys during the evenings, something I also kept an eye on.
My favorite summer days were spent at the beach, my favorite place to be.Evermere had a beautiful coastline painted in shades of blue.I would go with some friends from school or by myself, accompanied by my journal and one or two books (I usually packed two, because my mood affected what kind of book I felt like reading).
Some summer days included going for walks in the hills, where my horse friends were.Others were spent at Miss Amara’s house, having piano lessons with her.
Most afternoons, I’d fit in a visit to the Community Integration Center, which we called the CIC, where I was volunteering.
And on some nights, I went to the village movie theater with school friends, danced on the underage nights at OndaMix, or at the occasional Evermere summer fairs.
Today, I was heading to the CIC a bit earlier to spend some time helping plan the end-of-summer village festivities, which would be a three-night fair with food trucks from local restaurants, stalls selling regional specialties, live music from our local band, and lots of sharing, laughter, and a deep feeling of togetherness.
There was something really special about living in Evermere.
It was so easy to ask for help, knowing someone next door would offer it to you.With no doubt in their mind that you would do the same for them.
Feeling safe about forgetting the car keys in the ignition at night.Losing a backpack in the middle of the street in broad daylight and getting it back hours later — both of which had happened to me before.
I wondered how much the notion ofcommunitymattered to a person’s happiness.The sense of belonging.Maybe that’s something that’s always missing from true fulfillment.Or maybe, if someone wasn’t born into it, they wouldn’t feel the lack of it at all.Would they?
Like the rest of my family, who lived in big cities and didn’t really know the names of the neighbors in their tall buildings, or didn’t really say hello to all the strangers on the walk home.
But maybe, because having a big family practically counted as being part of a community, I couldn’t really consider them for this dilemma.
I parked the car in the parking lot of the CIC.
The CIC was an enormous building with only two floors, shaped like a square with a vast garden in the middle.Ancient trees shaded the windows of the Center’s rooms, and the stone tables scattered across the lawn.
I was walking toward the large iron gate at the entrance when I noticed the beautiful pink flowers covering the wall, as if trying to leap from inside the Center onto the street pavement, more and more of them blooming every day.I wanted to capture their growth.I wished I had a camera.
“Good morning, Ella!”Ross, an adorable man, greeted me as soon as I walked through the CIC’s door.
Ross was recovering from back surgery due to a herniated disc.It had temporarily affected his ability to work, and he came to the CIC regularly for physical therapy.But I, a hopeless romantic, suspected that not only his back was leading him here but also his heart… because of Raquel, one of the nurses.
“Good morning, Ross!How are you feeling today?”I asked him.“And is Miss Amara around?”
“I feel magnificent!”he smiled.“I heard Miss Amara saying she was heading to the village to bring materials for some final touch for the party.”
“She never stops!If you see her, would you please tell her I’m here?I’ll start organizing things at the saloon.”
“Of course, if I see her, I’ll let her know!”he said and waved me goodbye to continue his slow walk toward the cafeteria.
I took a detour around the CIC.
Miss Amara was retired.But she loved the Community Integration Center, she did all kinds of things around here.
She was the CIC’s coordinator.She organized activities, fundraisers, donations, and harmonized the volunteers’ schedules.She basically made sure everyone had what they needed, when they needed it, while also showing up for duty for anything else she might be needed for.
Miss Amara had a lot of energy.She was one of those people you would call “a force of nature”.We spent a lot of time together at the CIC, contacting local businesses, supermarkets, and restaurants to collect food donations, and organizing it all; supporting elderly residents, reading to them or simply spending time listening to their stories while accompanying them on walks around the Center; reading books to the kindergarteners, playing with the kids, and helping them with small tasks or homework while they waited for their parents to pick them up.
The CIC was a place of connection for the entire town.
From Miss Amara and the CIC, I learned that happiness is like a flame: one candle can light a thousand more.
Chapter 4
