As usual, the dirt streets to my house were so quiet at this time of the day, as if life was not going on here at all. It was drizzling. “At least I’m saved from the excruciating heat, today,” I said to myself. Everywhere was covered in mud. I tiptoed carefully not to get myself covered with mud. I reached the big rusty metal gate of our house. Despite its age and rust, faint traces of purple and green colors adorned it, resembling the delicate petals of a purple hyacinth flower.
Entering our yard, I stamped my shoes onto the apricot truck beside the gate to get rid of as much mud as I could, so I didn’t get mud in the yard. I went toward the water tap which was next to our little garden. I put my umbrella away and took off my scarf. I washed my hands and my face to freshen myself and washed away the mud from my shoes. The drizzling rain had bestowed a newfound freshness upon the flowers in the garden with the usual layer of dust and dirt had left their petals. As I was walking toward our hall, I could hear the television sound from inside. I put my scarf and bag aside when I entered the hall.
The aroma of warm, newly baked bread hot from the oven filled the house. It sharpened my hunger. The warm and cozy atmosphere of the house relieved the exhaustion of the busy uni day from me. I took a look at the living room where my two little sisters were lying down on their bellies, completely engrossed in watching cartoons. They didn’t notice my presence. I wanted to go to the kitchen to greet my mom.
“Salam Mother jan,” I said.
She lifted her head, momentarily diverting her attention from slicing tomatoes, and with a warm and affectionate smile answered, “Salam Jan mother. You come early today my sweet daughter”?
“Our teacher was sick and we didn’t study the last subject,” I answered.
She nodded while placing the vegetables and the plates on a tray.
As she was leaving the kitchen, she said, “The food is ready, bring the bread and the pot before the meal gets cold.”
After drinking a glass of water, I put the bread on the pot and went to the living room. When I entered the living room the TV was off. Neither my mother nor my sisters were there. I put the stuff down and sat there waiting for them to come. A few minutes passed and nobody came to the living room. A strange silence lingered in the house. I could hear myself breathing.
I went back to the kitchen. I called, “mother jan?”
No one answered.
I called again “Mother jan! Mother jan! Zahra!”
I left the hall and stepped into the yard. To my surprise, the ground was dry like it didn’t rain. The flowers were covered with layers of dust. I searched the garden and went toward the little storage room. I checked inside and went back to the house. I checked each room again. There was nothing but silence.
An overwhelming sense of fear started covering my whole body, causing my heart to beat so fast that I thought my heart would come out of my mouth. The echo of my own voice in the absolute silence intensified my fear. “How is it possible?” I murmured to myself. I raced back to the yard and opened the exit gate in the yard. No one was in the alley. Returning back to the yard, a soft rhythmic sound caught my attention coming from within our house. I searched from room to room, desperately trying to locate the source of the sound. Suddenly, I opened my eyes.
For a moment, disoriented, I struggled to comprehend my surroundings. My heart still raced in my chest. My mouth was dry. I acknowledged the sound was my morning alarm clock. A profound sense of heaviness and numbness settled over my body as if I was wrapped by invisible chains, unable to move. I stared up at the ceiling. The faded coat of white paint on the ceiling, the stagnant air of the room, and sensing the presence of my roommates made me realize I was in my shelter room. I was thousands of miles away from my peaceful home, from everything and everyone I knew.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how long my mother had been away from my life. For seven long years, her warm and caring presence was replaced by a distant and cooled atmosphere of my shelter room. Tears started flowing down my cheeks. I tilted my head away from my roommate not wanting her to notice my tears.
The alarm started to ring again, I reached for my phone and turned it off. I opened WhatsApp and dialed her number. It kept calling as she was offline.
With tears still in my eyes, I hugged my knees tightly, trying to fall asleep so maybe I could see my mom closely again in my dreams.
Atifah Azizi is the sixth round winner of our weekly writing competition. She wins $100 AUD and publication in the archipelago.
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