I have always ran away. I was the solitary one in the family. Always with a book in hands, wandering in the woods to look at the birds, dreaming in the patterns made by the sun under the trees. Sometimes it was hard to keep the words in my mind. I wanted to write them down. I wrote letters I never sent. I honored silence when I should have answered back. I never told anyone about the thoughts I had inside. I felt I was forever lying to myself. And lying to them too. Maybe that's why I started to run away. Now I feel bad for the one's I have deserted...
It all started with Salim. I was ten. He was new in our school, older than us, coming from another country, uprooted. He was much taller than everybody. We were seated at the same table in class and I remember helping him out, explaining him the lessons... and being told of by the teacher because I was forever chatting.
We broke off for the Christmas holidays. And two days after Christmas, my grand-father died. The day before he took me and my brothers and we had a great time sliding up and down the little slopes, trying to follow Grand-dad who was laughing as much as we did. The next day, at breakfast, my dad went to answer the phone and came back telling us the sad news. Suddenly I couldn't breathe, I started crying, quietly, silently... and I couldn't stop. I was still crying while my mother braided my hair. I still cried when we went to my grand-parents holiday home. I cried when I kissed Grand-Ma good morning and she hugged me tight. I cried seeing the pile of telegram on the wrought iron console in the doorway...
Two days later we had a little ceremony for us, children. In a way it was soothing to be together in the village church, where we had celebrated so many joyful events (weddings, baptisms, my Grandma's 60th birthday, my Grand-Dad's 70th). We celebrated Grand-Dad's life, the love he spread around him, the knowledge he shared, the kindness and sweetness of this strong man.
Suddenly the holidays were over. We were back to school. I hurt a lot. Inside. All was going well, up until the teacher's question : talk about your holiday. The knot in my stomach returned. My throat was tight. When it was my turn, I was shaking. I felt the tears coming down my cheeks and managed to whisper "My grand father has died". I couldn't say anything more, started crying loudly. Salim was by me. He put his hand on my shoulder. I can't remember how long we stayed like this, probably until I felt better.
At the end of that year, we had to say good bye. I would never see Salim again as he was not going to secondary school with us.
It all started with Salim. I was ten. He was new in our school, older than us, coming from another country, uprooted. He was much taller than everybody. We were seated at the same table in class and I remember helping him out, explaining him the lessons... and being told of by the teacher because I was forever chatting.
We broke off for the Christmas holidays. And two days after Christmas, my grand-father died. The day before he took me and my brothers and we had a great time sliding up and down the little slopes, trying to follow Grand-dad who was laughing as much as we did. The next day, at breakfast, my dad went to answer the phone and came back telling us the sad news. Suddenly I couldn't breathe, I started crying, quietly, silently... and I couldn't stop. I was still crying while my mother braided my hair. I still cried when we went to my grand-parents holiday home. I cried when I kissed Grand-Ma good morning and she hugged me tight. I cried seeing the pile of telegram on the wrought iron console in the doorway...
Two days later we had a little ceremony for us, children. In a way it was soothing to be together in the village church, where we had celebrated so many joyful events (weddings, baptisms, my Grandma's 60th birthday, my Grand-Dad's 70th). We celebrated Grand-Dad's life, the love he spread around him, the knowledge he shared, the kindness and sweetness of this strong man.
Suddenly the holidays were over. We were back to school. I hurt a lot. Inside. All was going well, up until the teacher's question : talk about your holiday. The knot in my stomach returned. My throat was tight. When it was my turn, I was shaking. I felt the tears coming down my cheeks and managed to whisper "My grand father has died". I couldn't say anything more, started crying loudly. Salim was by me. He put his hand on my shoulder. I can't remember how long we stayed like this, probably until I felt better.
At the end of that year, we had to say good bye. I would never see Salim again as he was not going to secondary school with us.
No comments:
Post a Comment