It is seven o’clock in Space Station 9, and the children are going inside for the evening. Their rose-colored cheeks glow in the moonlight, as they run towards me. In the crowd, I spot my little granddaughter. Short curls of her jet black hair fall over her round large eyes. She jumps towards me, embracing me with her small arms. I hug her tight, and our space helmets clink. As soon as we get inside, I remove our space helmets. Taking her soft chubby fingers into my old wrinkly ones, we walk for a while. She begins to slow down and suddenly stops as though she saw something.
“What is it, Love?” I say as I lean in.
“Grandma, what was it like when you were a kid?” she asks looking up at me with her  sepia-coloured eyes. Her  innocent curiosity strikes me.
I figured out that as you aged, people started to view and treat you differently. They see you as fragile, or crazy or sometimes they don’t see you at all. You become invisible, an intruder in life, just waiting to leave. Yet, my granddaughter did not understand this. To her I was just like the others, someone meant to stay.
“Oh dear! Many years have passed since the time my hair was dark and my hands didn’t tremble at the slightest action. Well, love, I can say that things have changed from when I was a kid, well a teenager. Let me start by saying that there were no flying cars and humans haven’t always lived in Space Stations,” I said as I slowed down to look at her.
“They haven’t?” she asked with such naivety that it made me smile.
“No, love. The human kind used to live on this beautiful planet called Earth. The air was fresh and there was no need to wear a space helmet once you left the station,” I patiently told her, making sure to explain even the facts that seemed common sense to me.
“But how did you breathe?”
“We breathed normally, dear. The year was 2014, and I had just finished 9th grade. I hadn’t liked high school. The idea of having to belong to a group, didn’t suit me.  It wasn’t the school work that bothered me, love, for that, too, could become a stressful task. For me school had never been overwhelming, but the people were. I was happy to leave for the summer,” I paused trying to recall the memories that to me had seemed lost, “See, I had volunteered at the Red Cross. I had decided to work with little children, for it seemed the best option for someone my age. These little children were just like you . Except they did not have any parents to tuck them in bed or any mothers to heal their wounds.”
I stopped for a short time, to look at her. My granddaughter, my shadow as we called her, reminded me so much of myself that a nostalgic feeling swept inside of me everytime I looked at her. They say even our brains think the same way. At the age of five, her little mind could process abstract thoughts at the rate of an adult’s.
“Well did they go to an orphanage?” she finally asked.
“ Of course they did. That is where we visited every week. I can clearly remember the first time I went to the orphanage. It was July and summer vacation had already started. All my otiose friends had left…”
“Otiose? What does that mean?” she said grinning widely at me.
“Oh sorry, love, that is just another word for lazy,” I quickly explained.
She nodded and continued to smile. I wondered what she was imagining in that tiny head of hers. It seemed as if complex ideas for her were just a game of the mind.
“When I first arrived at the Red Cross Center, I had noticed I was the youngest in my group. Of course, as the youngest, I was also the easiest prey to the blood-hungry teenagers who were at least three or four years older than I was at the time. At the center, we were put in a van and driven off to the orphanage. I sat in the front seat, alone, for all the older kids sat at the back,” I paused remembering the old bitter memories which stung in my head.
I watched my little granddaughter as she walked besides me. Her profile was illuminated by the light which created a slender and longer shadow of her. To imagine that in only ten years, my little granddaughter would already be a teenager.  She would become someone whose morals, values and individual ideas would be lost in order to meet those of her social group. They say that abnegation is unselfish, however to the teenage kind it is an egoist act, essential to their survival.
“Grandma, grandma?”my little granddaughter called for my attention as she pulled on my sleeve.
“Oh I am sorry, love, I was thinking about the story. So, when I first saw the orphanage from the small window of the van, I was startled. See ,love, my parents had told me stories of how perfect the world is. They had taken me to adventure parks, toy stores, and bought me the most beautiful clothes. They had shown me all of the pretty parts of the world, and had omitted the ugly ones. Still at fifteen years old, even though I was not as naive, I believed that the world  was right, that it was truly perfect. Anyways, I will not bother you with these bitter thoughts of mine, for you’ve got all of high school to listen to those. I just want to tell you that when I first saw the orphanage, my perfect world fell apart,” I sighed.
I looked over to watch her reaction. She was quiet as she trudged besides me.
“ I do not know if my memories have been sabotaged by my age, for the memory of the orphanage to me seems like a dream or rather a nightmare. I can only remember the white walls which had been painted with the dark grey of the pollution, and the small rectangular windows. All in all, it was a sombre setting…”
“What does that mean?” she queried.
“It means sad, love. And it was. When we got out of the van, we were saluted by a middle-aged lady. I believe she was the manager of the orphanage,” I paused to give a bitter smile at the thought, “She led us inside the building. The first floor was occupied by children about five to ten years old. And, love, I will tell you it wasn’t like those movies where the children will just come and hug you while there is background music playing. The children, some of them gave us a shy smile, while others seemed scared or even made snickering jokes about us. Anyways, each us was presented to a group of kids who we were supposed to stay with. In my group, I had two girls and two boys, ages ranging from three to six. They did not like me, love. They were scared of me, or maybe they were scared of affection. I can’t easily say which it was. I tried to play with them and get them to like me, yet they still would react angrily at my presence.”
“Why didn’t they like you?” she asked now looking up at me.
“Mhhhh, because I was a stranger. All of their lives, the people closest to them had been  strangers. Okay, where did I leave off? Right. Here is where it gets interesting. My group, the volunteers, just after an hour already wanted to leave. There might have been three or two of us who wanted to stay. At the end, the supervisor of the group decided we should leave. And, love, this next memory is the one that has made me a slave of guilt and remorse even to this day. One of the kids from my group, came up to me and muttered, ‘Of course, you’re leaving too’. I wish I could tell you that I did stay, and that I visited the orphanage again just to see that little boy, and tell him ‘Here I am’. However, I didn’t. I walked away, even though I could have stayed. The choice was mine, yet I decided to conform. I do not know, if it was because I was scared or because I wanted to be like the rest. Whatever the reason, I walked away from a person in need of love. I had walked away from someone I had pretended to give my affection, so I could write it down on a piece of paper where college members and others would see that I was a good and decent human being. Yet, how they could and can judge someone just from that piece of paper is still a mystery to me,” I quickly finished.
She kept on walking and didn’t utter a word. The rest of the walk was quiet, and I wondered if I had upset my granddaughter in any way or if she was as disappointed as I was in myself. When we reached her home, I gave her a big hug
She quietly whispered in my ear, “ Grandma, I still love you, you know?”
“I know,” I whispered back and saw her run towards her mother. And like that I walked towards home, knowing that I only knew the truth. The boy who I had walked away from had been adopted just five months after I had met him, and was now the father of my little granddaughter. With that little secret in mind, I walked home with a smile on my face.