Serif Aydin
“No mother, no father, no brothers, just me in a strange crowd. While I was thinking of my loneliness, I saw other mothers kissing their kids and stepping away. It happened to me what I was afraid of. I started crying.”
My MOTHER WAS ALWAYS WRITING ME NOTES. She’d slip them into my bag whenever she left me somewhere. I never really understood the meaning behind those notes. I recall the first one was from my first day of school back in 1982. How old was I then, six or maybe younger? The playground buzzed with students, some hopping, others dashing about. Clutching my mother’s hand, I watched as a teacher in a black suit formed lines in front of the school entrance. A sinking feeling washed over me, the realization that in just a few minutes, I’d be left alone. No mother, no father, no brothers; just me amidst this sea of unfamiliar faces. As the thought weighed on me, I saw other mothers peck their children’s cheeks and step away. My worst fears realized, tears welled up in my eyes.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” my mother probed. I tried to reply, but words escaped me. Why do lips quiver before tears? Is it from having too much or too little to say?
Only two words came out: “Don’t go!”
“I’ll be right here when you come out,” she reassured.
“No!” My voice cracked.
“It’s OK. I’ll be here,” she promised.
“What if I can’t find you, Mom?”
“You will, sweetie. I promise.”
“And if I lose you, Mom?”
“You won’t lose your mother, Joe,” the teacher interjected.
She tried to escort me to class, but I resisted.
With a smile, my mother reached into her bag, pulling out a small envelope. “Listen, sweetie,” she said. “If you ever miss me too much, open this.” She dabbed away my tears with a tissue, enveloped me in a warm embrace, and bid me goodbye.
Now, at 26, the memory is as vivid as ever. I can still see her retreating form, her hair dancing in the breeze. That was my mom.
I waved with the envelope in hand, and then… nothing. No news of her for 20 years.
All I remember is that I was a school beginner, still learning to read, still grappling with the world.
Then, on March 21st, 2002, an envelope appeared in my mailbox.
Should I open it?
Could it be from my mother?
Would this 20-year-long nightmare finally end?
Questions swirled in my mind, seemingly without end. Hastily, I tore the envelope open.
“This is the last message they’re letting me send. Please send $. They’ll kill me.”
Chills raced down my spine. “What should I do?” The thought of involving the police crossed my mind, but the fear of repercussions kept me hesitant. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I decided to sleep on it.
The morning arrived without rest. Anxiety gnawed at me. This felt like some twisted movie plot. Why would anyone target my mom? Neither rich nor famous, what could they possibly want from me? But there was no time to speculate; action was needed. I hastily penned a reply, “How much? And by when?” and hoped for a response. Meanwhile, I studied the return address and set off to find it.
After a lengthy drive, I arrived. Surprisingly, the address led to a quaint home. Everything about this seemed off. Why would they share an actual address? Lost in thought, I was jolted back to reality by blaring car horns. I quickly parked and cautiously approached the house. The home was deserted, save for a bag of flour with an attached note: “If you want to see your mother again, come to 178 Basketball Street!”
Another drive brought me face to face with a foreboding building. Gritting my teeth, I pushed open its massive doors. There she was, my mother, flanked by a short middle-aged man in a mask.
“Did you bring the money?” His voice was eerily deep.
“Yes,” I murmured.
“Hand it over!”
I hurled the bag to him, and he sprinted away. Overwhelmed with emotion, I rushed to embrace my mother. However, as I did, darkness slowly consumed my vision. My mother’s voice grew distant, then louder and clearer, “Come on, Joe, it’s time to wake up.”
Blinking, I found myself back in familiar surroundings. “Where am I?” I croaked.
“You dozed off during our chat. Must’ve been an exhausting day,” she responded.
“Mom,” I murmured, tears threatening, “I just want to tell you… I LOVE YOU!”
About The Author
of course like your web site however you need to take a look at the spelling on quite a few of your posts. Many of them are rife with spelling problems and I to find it very troublesome to tell the reality then again I will surely come back again.
Hey, thanks for your feedback. I appreciate it. I checked, and found some mistakes. I don’t know if there are any more or not.