Searching for the Silver Lining - Manya Ulanski (free children's ebooks pdf .TXT) 📗

Chapter 1: Livia

When I was a kid my Babcia told me a story of how when you die, God comes and takes your hand and guides you away from the world of man. He takes you up a mountain top and you look down at your entire life.  Every moment and every person. You see every person you have loved as well as wronged, and you are to asses whether or not you did good in your life.

As I child I thought it was a fairy tail. A whimsical bitter sweet fairy tale. Looking back I know realize it was her way into scaring me into behaving. She would also read to me in Romanian, about how demons would come and talk misbehaving children. She would then tell me to be good, kiss my forehead, and leave my closet door wide open so the demons could attack me if I tried to stay up past my curfew. I feel as though that was her more drastic approach. Maybe this was why I thought the "God's Mountain" story was such a wonderful and cheery tale.

At the age of 19 I did not have much to show for. The only thing I had was my grades. Due to my lack of a social life, I spent my time doing homework, or on Netflix and reading. I did not like community service. The 400 hours I had was from my Babcia not giving me money for shoveling the snow in the winter (only to have a snow plow ruin my work).

I was a bitter person. I was highly annoyed with people. Such as those who took advantage of others. Reckless people, who do not even stop to consider others. Specifically the people who simply assumed I was a grump because I could not relate to them about pop culture. Unless they were talking about Harry Potter, Doctor who, Sherlock, and Lord of the Rings or even worldly educated topics like politics or science I did not care. I was not going to engage in a conversation I did not care for- I had no intention of being fake.

Around a two years before I left for collage something happened. It tore the last fragment of hope I had and turned me into the pessimistic lump I became. My extended family were the ones I had always relied on but after that they fell apart. I was able to prolong it by being there for them but Babcia needed me to escape the poisons and depressing atmosphere of that house. I had applied to a random school that Babcia had approved of shipped of that summer to live there.

When ever I looked back at university there was always two classes I dreaded. Physics and communications. I loved science. Hell I wanted to be a scientist and study radiation, but math was not my strong point. The reason I hated that class was because my professor, Mr. Casey also taught calculus at the community down the road. I had taken Physics before. In Mrs. Julian's class we built catapults and video taped ourselves hitting flaming tennis balls. Then we learned about reflection and light. That was science. That was learning. Yet for some reason Mr. Casey did not think so.

The first day I walked into his class I knew I was going to fail. He introduced the class with :"Math is true science!" we spent the entire semester solving tedious formulas and measuring angles. That was why I hated that class. 

Then there was communication class. I did not like people. Hated them most of the time. I was one of those people who watched Netflix all day alone or who preferred self check out that way I could avoid talking to people. Naturally having to take a class where you learn to talk to people- and politely i might add- was my worst nightmare. The one phrase i feared with ever fiber of my body was "buddy up". Unfortunately I had to hear these words twice a week. One day something happened.

I met a boy name Joshua Jackson Petroski. This story is not necessarily about me- I am just the one telling it. This is about Joshua- well mostly. How we all have a story to tell. How we all have encountered something we would rather forget.  How by meeting Joshua and the others I was able to see everything ends. Everything around you is guaranteed to end. Weather it painful and slow, or is quick and unexpected like a tornado ripping through you life... well that's up to God to decide. Yet somehow the good becomes bad and the bad becomes good. And when the bad becomes good it is greater then that first rain drop that brings an end to the drought. Life is an ironic and sick joke but eventually- if you welcome it, you can see the good. 

This is how slowly I suddenly was able to shed the resent I cared and was able to become human.This is the story of the boy who taught me how to pan for silver. 

 

 

Chapter 2: What it means to be a Pach

[28  Months earlier - Connecticut]

When a loved one dies, there are certain customs you should follow 

1. Wear black

2. Cover all mirrors in the household

3. Long hair is to be pulled back. 

3. Open the windows.

4. Light a candle

5. To honor their memories you must wear something that was their favorite color

6. Minors must wear a black mourning ribbon 

7. The body must be displayed in an open casket for three days in the home of the deceased to allow loved ones to pray. 

8. At burial frankincense must be burned as a servant of the lord sends them to the father 

9. After burial there is to a feast that contains only round foods such as rolls, grapes, and hard-boiled eggs. 

10. If the deceased has passed on outside of the Mother Country, a relative is to present soil from their original home. This is to allow the departed to rest in the earth of their home. 

11. The hardest on of all... you should not cry. Because death is a part of life. 

I had broken the two rules by removing the sheet over the mirror to adjust my attire. I wore a black cardigan with a black circle skirt that was embroidered with red and beige flowers. I pulled at the pale red color of my blouse I wore underneath my cardigan and clipped my heart shaped locket around my neck. I then bulled back my long light hair and tied it back with a red ribbon. 

She loved red 

Then I did the hardest part. I reached into my top drawer of my vanity and pulled out the small bowtie pin that bore a tarnished bronze white eagle button on it. With a shaking breath, I pinned it above my heart. I grasped my locket that- just like the pin- once belonged to her. 

The tears started up and I rasped out "I need you" as I closed my eyes. I sunk down to the floor and cried into my wool skirt. You should not cry. She would not want you to. You are stronger than this. 

“You are not going to cry- you promised her." as said as I whipped my tears. The point of tying your hair back as a sign of mourning was simple, although no one in my family wished to admit it. It was to bare your emotions. You could no longer hide your tears- your pain. You had to face you loss. However, at that moment all I wanted was her back. 

I clasped my hands together and pressed them against my forehead. "Mira. I need you. You just-" I was cut off by a sob. As I clasped my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. I did not want the family to hear. They could not know I was crying. I took a shaking breath and composed myself I cannot cry any more. I stood up and brushed my skirt off and frowned at the tearstains in my skirt. I then covered my mirror and opened the door. To walk down the hall.

When I entered the sitting room I saw my Uncle Bazyli, Aunt Filipa, and Cousin Leo sit on the couches around the coffee table staring blankly. Their faces were bared, they wore crisp black, and their eyes- their bright beautiful blue eyes were glazed over with grief and were an angry red from the tears that threatened to fall. They had lost their daughter- I had lost my only friend. My parents were in the kitten- it was a rare occasion when the three of us were civil enough to gather in the same room. I leaned against the arch of the entryway of my Babcai's home- it was mine as well- and stared at my shattered family. The 

Bakowski- Pach family was a colony of prideful and penniless people, but we somehow still stuck together. Actual no- only the Bakowski side had managed to stick together. We Paches were distant, and hostile towards each other, and as I had said before- it was rare for the three of us to be in the same room. 

 There was a knock at the door, and my family members were in no state to move. All they were capable of was staring in disbelief at their current life. I walked over to the door and called out in Polish that I was coming. However before I could reach it, Babcia caught my elbow and coaxed me to a halt. I turned around and saw her aged face knitted tightly together with concern and grief. 

"Livya, were you crying?" I felt the water sting the brims of my eyes once more. 

"Babcia, we're all crying on the inside." I told her as I brushed her hand off my elbow and finally reached the door. I opened the door to see a man dressed in a dark blue suit and cap. 

"HI there, my name is Stewart. I am here for the Ba-cow-ski? Bacowski! I'm here for the Bacowski family." I looked over his shoulder at the large 12-seated van. I nodded my head at him then turned back into the house. 

"Yeah- it's Bakowski. I will go let them know your here." I said. The young man smiled at me warmly and nodded his head at me, and said, "Take your time." 

I turned and walked down the hall back into the seating room. I alerted everyone that the driver was here to take us to the funeral, but my relatives stayed in their shock-induced trance. I sighed and walked over to Aunt Filipa. I placed my hands on her shoulder and whispered quietly, trying not to upset her. 

"Aunt Filipa, we need to go. We need to say goodbye to her." My heart clenched at my own words, but I could not cry. Now I needed to be strong for the others. I had people in my life that were depending on me to take charge in this time of grief. Aunt Filipa raised her hand and rested it on my hand and whispered. 

"I'm not - I'm not going. I cannot -she is not gone. I don't want to go." Looking at my Aunt, she looked tired, and aged from the pain of missing her first born. I wrapped my arms around her and attempted to comfort her. 

"You have to go. She would miss you if you did not. You’ll disappoint her.” I told her. At my words the woman slowly stood up, and as she raised you could truly tell home much her grief had aged her. She nodded her head and whipped her eyes dry. 

"Leopold, Bazyli let’s go. “She snapped at them in such