She Can Only Cry

She cries and cries. There is nothing that she can do but cry. She looks at the sky, she cries. She looks at her own reflection in the mirror, she cries. She looks at the flowers she planted months ago in her small garden on the right side of her yard, she cries.

There are only tears, there, in her eyes, on her cheeks. Sometimes, on her blouse, on her hands, everywhere. There is nothing but tears.

Her neighbor, an old man of 40, never misses a single morning, looking at her from his balcony. He just watches and watches. He never says hi, or even waves his hand at her.

She knows that she has a spectator. But, she doesn't care. She doesn't need one.

He is now watching her again. But, this time, he has a telescope with him. He can see the details better now. He sees her tears. He feels sorry for her. He really does. He seems to be able to feel her pain although he doesn't know what causes it. He feels like crying, too. His heart is aching, wondering what has been done to her fragile heart.

She sees him, and his telescope.

Both his and the telescope's presence change nothing. She keeps crying. There is nothing she can do. She can only cry...for a reason that only she knows what.

A Smile at The End

She walked…here and there. She didn’t know where to head. She looked back. She thought there was someone following her. But, there was nobody. She stopped, took her mobile phone from the purse, dialed some numbers and pushed the green phone picture. She waited. Nobody answered her.

She started walking again. It’s getting darker and darker. She didn’t even see the moon, seemed like it was fully covered by the clouds, hiding itself. It was somehow scary.

She knew, she had made a wrong decision. She shouldn’t have been getting out of the house, she should have just stayed and kept her mouth shout. But, she couldn’t help it.

It was typically her. She always wanted to tell the truth, even if it hurt. Her father would know anyway that her mother had been spending time with that man even if she didn’t let the cat out of the bag.

And now, alone in this absolute obscurity, she regretted her decision.

Her regret grew bigger and bigger when she looked back and found that a man—or two, she wasn’t certain, she was too afraid to look back one more time to ensure—was following her from such a short distance.

Then, she felt hands on her back, on her mouth, on her eyes. She screamed, out loud…but even she couldn’t hear any voice coming out of her sealed mouth. She couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, anymore.

She knew it was the end, and, she smiled

Maya Kayren, DVM

~20 years ago~

My heart beat faster and faster as the little girl came into the room. I couldn’t see her face. Her eyes were glued to her brown shoes. Her dress, also brown, seemed not to fit her well. It was a little too small.

Mrs. Jig brought her closer to me. I reached out to her. She stepped back. Mrs. Jig looked at me, asking me to try once more.

I didn’t want to try once more. I didn’t want to scare her. I wanted to give her space.

“Maya, this is Mrs. Kayren. She will take you to her house. Maya, please, look at me while I’m talking to you.”

Maya, the little girl, looked up. I saw tears in her green eyes.

I looked at her. She looked at me. We said nothing. But, I believe our eyes talked to each other. Our eyes said million words.

All of a sudden, she stepped forward. My heart beat even faster.

“Do you have cats?” she asked.

I smiled. I nodded.

“Good. Let’s go to your house. Let’s see if you can be my mother.”


~Today~

There she is, Maya, my daughter. She looks beautiful on her graduation day. She is now Maya Kayren, DVM, my smart adopted daughter.

Tears of a Pretty Girl

That pretty girl, sitting on the cold bench, was looking at the lake with her wide eyes. I was on the other bench, also cold, reading my book. Well, not actually reading beacuse she really took my attention. I could see her fine nose, a little bit up, smelling the air. The nice smell from the lake.

In front of us, there were some little rowboats two persons in each, a man and a woman. She was still staring at the lake. No expression, no happiness, no sadness, nothing. I could see her eyelash from my place. They must have been so long and curly that I could notice from about two metters and a half.

I tried to read my book again with my eyes sometimes looking at her. Half an hour. It was almost dark. Most of the boats were disappearing from the lake. Only some couples walking out of the park, hand in hand. Some others enjoy the darkening process. No sunset in the corner of the lake but still it was beautiful.

I put my book back to my bag. Tired of sitting down, I walked to reach the lake. A few inches from it, I stopped. I turned my head to see the girl. She also stood up. A few steps away from the bench. Her long brown hair and skirt were flying so beautifully on the cold air. Just one thing bothered me, tears.

I saw tears on her pinky cheeks. Now I saw sadness. Wondering what on her mind now. It seemed like she just could not help it. She was trying to manage her feeling but then, she really could not help it.

Standing there, tears from her eyes onto her cheeks, down touching the land, absorbed. But not her sadness. She kept it in her heart, wishing that she could do the same with it, letting the fetile soil absorbed it so it did not have to be her burden.

I was still there, watching her. She did not notice me. That might be better. I would not be able to heal her wounded heart.

Knowing "It"

Does she know what I know?

That has been the question that fills my head lately. I wish I could just for get the fact that I know something that my best friend might not know. Or, might know.

Yet, I can't ask her if she knows it or not. What if she doesn't know? Asking the question will make me inform something that she might wish not to know.

Ah, I know, this is complicated.

Well, it looks simple, but trust me, it actually is complicated!

How can it not?

I saw my best friend's husband walking down the street with a girl--yes, a girl...I bet she's not even 17 yet!--holding hands.

Well, let me just assume that she doesn't know. And if finally she knows it and comes to me and cries on my shoulder, I think I won't say a thing about what I know.

Or...???

The Key to The House with The Windows Closed

The windows to the small house on the other side of the hill were always closed. They were dusty. They were dark. I had never been allowed to go there.

I asked Mom once, "Who lives there, Mom?"

She didn't answer.

And then, one early morning, I decided to check it out my self. I was nine, and I thought I was big enough to make a decision. And it would be visiting the house of which windows were never opened.

It was summer. All my friends were leaving town. I was practically the only child left without any vacation plan at all. Mom said we were lucky enough to get food to eat everyday, a vacation would cost one year without food.

Monty, my best friend, asked Mom if I could go with him. But, of course, with dignity Mom said no.

So, I thought, the dark house would be my summer fiesta. Alone, by myself.

So, I took all the tools I thought I might have needed to get into the house. A hammer, some nails, and anything I could find in the attic. All filled my tiny bag.

"Where are you going?" Mom asked during breakfast.

"To the lake," I answered with a trembling voice.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"I know it, Mark. You're going there, aren't you?"

I nodded. Mom could always tell when I lied.

"I think, it might be time for you to know."

"Know what?"

"I'm sorry I have to tell you this, Mark. But there's the place where you might find your Dad's soul. He was murdered there. I know I told you that he died as a soldier. Well, he didn't. We got robbed and he wanted to save us. You were only 7 months by then. He got shot on the head. I could not live there any longer. Yet, no one wanted to buy it, knowing the story. So, I moved in here."

I didn't say anything. It must have been painful for her to tell me that. But, I left to the house anyway, in the afternoon. With a key, given by Mom. The key to my past, to her painful past.

I love you too, James…

What could I say more? He deserved it. The most handsome man at this university told me that he loved me.

No, no initial dates, no approaches whatsoever. He just came to me in a nice lunchtime. He sat in front of me, watching me swallowing a big homemade sandwich.

He said nothing until I decided to look at him and, “Yes?”

“Mita, I love you.”

I smiled, and said, “Well, I love you too, James,” with my wondering face.

“I mean it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh…”

He started to jump out of his seat…and…

“Wait!” I said.

He took the seat again.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Just telling you how I feel.”

“Ok. Why?”

“Just wanted to.”

“No, I meant…not why you told me that but why do you love me?”

“You’re pretty and smart.”

Oh, James! You’re driving me crazy.

“Well, you’re also handsome and smart. But I don’t think those are the only reasons one would say those three words towards someone else.”

“For me, they could be.”

“Did you bet on me?”

Oh, Mita, come on! You’re not the most beautiful girl or the ugliest one that man would make a bet of. Get real!

“Of course not,” answered James with his beautiful smile.

“Ok…so, you just came to me, said those word, and then what? I don’t think that’s normal…I mean, from where I came from, although it’s not the most modern country, I know, before saying those words, there should be, you know, like dates or stuff.”

“So, let’s go for a date.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll pick you up at 7 at your place.”

“You know my place?”

He smiled and left me just like that.

I called him, “James!”

He turned, “Yes?”

“Come…”

He came to me, stood beside me.

“In a way, I love you too, James. And, I meant what I’ve just said.”

He smiled and left me just like that.

Ok, let me see…the most wanted man in this big university had chosen me? Told me that he loved me out of nowhere?

And I just told him the same thing? Out of nowhere?

Oh, well, he deserved it. The most handsome and the smartest man!

I can’t believe it!

…

I'm sorry, Sandy...

I don't know how it started. I only remember how it ended. Maybe that's what people call a broken heart.

I entered the room. I saw him sitting there with his eyes closed. I didn't know whether he was sleeping or not. I went straight to my room.

I cried silently. I knew I had to end it. I knew it was over even before I spelled the words to him. Maybe he knew it too.

I stayed at the room until 11 pm. Then I stood up, one leg stepped ahead. The door was opened. He was there, tears on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry..." he said.

I hugged him. I shook my head.

"I'm leaving tomorrow..." said I.

Then I left the next day with a huge desire to forget it all. He hurt me and my adopted little girl, Sandy. She was taken from my hand because of him.

Or, because of me? I'm sick, I can't deny. But she shouldn't have been the victim. My broken heart is nothing compared to her broken soul.

I'm sorry, Sandy...

Please End My Sad Misserable Gloomy Cheerless Life...

Why should have they blamed it on me? They never asked questions. They just yelled. And I could do nothing but staring at their scary faces.

It wasn't my fault. It was my motoric capabilities. I didn't ask to be like this. I even never asked one of them to give birth to me.

And now, they looked at me with an endless pitty. They looked at me as if there was nothing that I could do and they felt so sorry about it. They were so sorry to have me as their handicaped daughter.

It wasn't fair! I wished that I could have dissolved from their sight. There was no more reason for me to still be part of their life if my existance only made their life even worse.

I wished to be able to just leave this cruel world they were living. But again, I was handicaped! I couldn't even kill my self.

Luckily, they loved me so much, or love themselves so much, I'm not sure. They used their own hands to try their best to finally finish my sad misserable gloomy cheerless life.

Thank you, Mom, Dad.

Lindsey and Ray : wishes flying away...

Lindsey took all the flowers that he handed her. Colourful flowers, varied species. She smelled the big hand bouquet. Fresh, as if he just picked them up in a garden somewhere.

“Do you like them all?”

“Yes, Ray, they’re beautiful.”

“I saw Mrs. Palder had just picked them up from her garden. I came to her and bought them all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

“Who turned them into such a beautiful hand bouquet?”

“I did.”

“You did? You gotta be kidding me.”

“You don’t believe me.”

Ray seemed upset. He didn’t answer when Lindsey asked him what he would like to have for a drink. So, Lindsey went to her kitchen.

Ray went closer to his hand bouquet put in a small table in the corner of the guess room. He smelled them. He smiled. When Lindsey came in to the room, he was not upset anymore. He took her by the hand.

“Ray, just sit down and enjoy the lemonade. I made it my self.”

“Hm…can I have milk added in my lemonade?”

“You’re still weird.”

Before going to the kitchen, Lindsey kissed his right cheek. He seemed so happy. He was even happier seeing her back with a box of milk.

“There you go. Please your self, honey.”

“Honey…you know what, Lindsey, lemonade would taste great with honey…”

“I don’t have honey, honey…I am not Winnie the Pooh who always has honey in his fridge.”

“You’re right.”

“So, what brought you here, today, Ray?”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, you know. Come here.”

Ray kissed her deeply, on her cheek. Lindsey gave him a big big hug. A hug that he would never let go.

“I don’t wanna go back there, Lindsey. I wanna be with you.”

“Oh, dear, I can’t.”

“Mrs. Palder said so but I didn’t believe her. She just wanted to hurt me.”

“Look at me, Ray. You gotta go back there. I can’t keep you here.”

“But you know I can’t come back there. I brought you flowers, I thought you’d understand.”

“Look, Ray, I am not your mother. I don’t have the right to keep you here.”

“You are my mother. You’re the only one who treated me well. The woman who gave birth to me left me with him. You have to save me from him. You should’ve taken me with you when you left him! You don’t love me!”

Then he ran away, went out of the house, out of the neighbourhood, out of sight. She couldn’t do anything but let him go. As she couldn’t do anything when she decided to leave his father—a crazy abuser—and saw him cry out loud in his room, begging her to stay. She loved him. Two years they were together. She tried to stay only because of him. But then she knew she had to move on. No more abuse. It killed her that she had to leave him behind. But she would do differently, should she have a choice.

New Year

The count down begins. Five...four...three...two...one...

There he is...crying out loud, covered with blood.
There he is...still crying, clean.

The count down ended a few minutes ago. That was the best count down ever happened to me. On the count of zero, I got the best gift from God.

There he is...held by his mother.
There he is...trying to get feed.

I fed him. Five past 00.00 on the 1st of January, this year.

Year End

It still hurts. It always hurts. Just like other year ends. The images keep haunting my mind. How the blood...

Ah! I can't...I won't...

But I must...

There he was, covered by red liquid...I was hoping they were a kind of syrup that we usually drink in the sunny warm afternoon, with ice, so sweet. But then, it wasn't any kind of syrup. I was hoping that I was watching a movie with him, a thriller one, with him right next to me, ready to close my eyes whenever I get scared. But then, I realized, we were not in the movie.

There he was, after the count down...five...four...three...two...one...

Big Crash...Boom...

Blood...

No More Anger

He looked at me with billions of angers in his eyes. I looked at him with nonstop tears in my eyes. It was not my fault that I didn't get the money. No one wanted to lend it to me any more. They knew that there was no way that I could pay them back. And it was not his fault either that he had got fired from his job last month.
Then he left, with his two pairs of pants. I expected that he would sell them to get some money for me and my baby.
There was my baby, so pale and crying, longing for food and medicine. Her hands never left mine. She took the power from the touch. I wish I had so much that none of us would lose our consciousness.
When he went back home, he had no more anger in his eyes, only tears, more than what I had before he left the house. Then he screamed so loud that everybody came and saw my baby's body and mine, both cold, deserted on the floor.

Gone

When she opened the window, she knew that she would not see him anymore there. She had to face it all by herself now. No one to be there for her, no one to hold her hand, to wipe her tears away, to hold her tight. She thought that she would have him forever. He said that he was deeply in love with her. She had had no hearing problem, so she must have heard it correctly. He loved her. He also mentioned it again, again and again although she sometimes told him to keep quiet, to keep it in his heart. She said that she was afraid it might be gone with the wind and he would no longer have it for her.
She was so right. It disappeared on the day that the baby was born and gone at the same time, death. He only took a glance at the baby and never showed his face anymore. Not in the hospital, not in the house. He was gone with his wounded heart and guilty feeling.

Previous conversations:

8 ½ month before
“What did you do with that bastard?”
“Nothing!”
“But how come you went out from the same hotel almost in the same time?”
“What? I had a conference there. I didn’t even know he was also there. I am a reporter, he is as well. We might be just reporting the same program.”
“I told you to stay away from him!”

9 months before
“Let’s get away from that bastard.”
“How?”
“Second honeymoon.”
“What?”
“Here are our tickets to Lombok, just the way you have been dreaming of, dear.”

10 months before
“Don’t call me anymore, please…”
“Why not? I still love you.”
“I am married now.”
“To him? Do you think he loves you?”
“Of course he does!”
“I’ll show you that actually he doesn’t love you.”