There are things and experiences in life that you remember decades later. To the outsider, they may often seem banal, but to the person who has experienced them, they are of extraordinary importance because they are deeply and indelibly etched in the memory.
I am lying in my crib. My father has his suit on and a tie around him. He seems strange to me. In her most beautiful dress, my mother sits in front of the mirror and combs her hair especially carefully. I sense that I will soon be left alone. My father sits down on the edge of the bed, strokes my hair, and tells me in a calm voice that they will be back soon, I should not be afraid and especially not cry as I am already a big boy. Also, they will bring me something nice. My mother puts the double cuts, carefully wrapped in parchment paper, into her purse. Then the chamber door slams shut. I am alone and in the semi-dark room I am afraid of the shadows cast by the furniture. The silence frightens me. I want to cry, but the fear of the void squeezes my throat. What if I have to be alone forever because my parents are not coming back? Where have they gone? Why don’t I know where they are? So much uncertainty. At last sleep takes me in its merciful arms.
The other morning it is bright in the sleeping chamber. They are back again. The fear was for nothing. My mother’s fuzzy head struggles out from under the feather blanket, my father sleeps quietly and deeply. Next to me on the chair is the promised souvenir: a brown chocolate-covered chocolate marshmallow. It is filled with sweet white cream, the progenitor of all chocolate marshmallows. But they didn’t exist back then. Or did they?
That it was Dad’s only suit, probably his wedding suit, as he sat on the edge of my bed and spoke soothingly to me, I could not yet know. Even my mother, in her most beautiful skirt suit, had only one suit and one or two dresses left in her closet for cooler days. The double-cut in their handbag was a cost-cutting measure, because during the dance break they could not afford the pair of Vienna sausages that an unemployed man offered to buy from a thermos container he carried on his belt in front of him. The few pennies still had to be enough for the promised souvenir, and the installment for the bedroom furniture was also due soon.
There are things and experiences in life that you remember decades later. To the outsider, they may often seem banal, but to the person who has experienced them, they are of extraordinary importance because they are deeply and indelibly etched in the memory.
I am lying in my crib. My father has his suit on and a tie around him. He seems strange to me. In her most beautiful dress, my mother sits in front of the mirror and combs her hair especially carefully. I sense that I will soon be left alone. My father sits down on the edge of the bed, strokes my hair, and tells me in a calm voice that they will be back soon, I should not be afraid and especially not cry as I am already a big boy. Also, they will bring me something nice. My mother puts the double cuts, carefully wrapped in parchment paper, into her purse. Then the chamber door slams shut. I am alone and in the semi-dark room I am afraid of the shadows cast by the furniture. The silence frightens me. I want to cry, but the fear of the void squeezes my throat. What if I have to be alone forever because my parents are not coming back? Where have they gone? Why don’t I know where they are? So much uncertainty. At last sleep takes me in its merciful arms.
The other morning it is bright in the sleeping chamber. They are back again. The fear was for nothing. My mother’s fuzzy head struggles out from under the feather blanket, my father sleeps quietly and deeply. Next to me on the chair is the promised souvenir: a brown chocolate-covered chocolate marshmallow. It is filled with sweet white cream, the progenitor of all chocolate marshmallows. But they didn’t exist back then. Or did they?
That it was Dad’s only suit, probably his wedding suit, as he sat on the edge of my bed and spoke soothingly to me, I could not yet know. Even my mother, in her most beautiful skirt suit, had only one suit and one or two dresses left in her closet for cooler days. The double-cut in their handbag was a cost-cutting measure, because during the dance break they could not afford the pair of Vienna sausages that an unemployed man offered to buy from a thermos container he carried on his belt in front of him. The few pennies still had to be enough for the promised souvenir, and the installment for the bedroom furniture was also due soon. 𝓣𝓸 𝓑𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓮𝓭…
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