Across the Ocean into My Childhood

My uncle served in the army when I was a little girl. He used to bring us chocolate. The chocolate was in lumps, very dark and bitter. It was his pilot’s snack, which he saved for us.

He was a hero. Once the aeroplane engine failed and my uncle had to catapult. He hit a tree on his way down and broke his hip bone. He could have died. But he survived.

At that time nobody in our neighbourhood had a photo camera. He had one. He liked to photograph my brother and me. He developed films in the bathroom. He worked in the dark, only a small red lamp was on. Then he fixed wet photos to the rope in the kitchen and let them dry. Those pictures are still with me. More than fifty years old, they survived fires, divorces and immigration to Canada.

…I don’t know why I bought this CD. Because of the cover photo, I guess. The pilot in the picture resembles my uncle.

by Farida Samerkhanova

BREAKING UP SONGS

‘I’m leaving your father.’ My mother bent to kiss me on the forehead. She handed me a square package, wrapped in brown paper with too much sticky tape. ‘Give this to him when he gets home, will you?’

I nodded, unaware that she was leaving me too. ‘Will you be back for dinner time?’

She didn’t answer, watching herself in the mirror as she pulled on her suede coat, the one she saved for best. She picked up two large bags. I remember thinking they were too heavy for her. She should really wait for Daddy, to help her to the car.

‘Goodbye, darling. Be a good girl, won’t you?’

‘OK, Mom.’

Then she was gone.

That night, I crept out onto the landing in my pyjamas, as I often did, to listen out for secrets. I could hear soft music and the crackle of a fire drifting up the stairs and couldn’t help but gravitate towards them.

My father was kneeling before the flames, watching paper burn. There was a CD case lying on the floor, open and discarded. I knew this music had been my mother’s square-shaped gift but didn’t understand its significance until much later. As the solemn lyrics wrapped themselves around us, my father covered his face with his hands and wept. 

by Jackie Bateman