“Mom, can I sit with you
for a little bit?” my son asked
as he settled in the chair
right next to me.
I was reading my book
in the little pond terrace.
Far enough
for the noise of our house
not to interfere with
the plot twists…
but close enough to hear,
if someone really
needed me.
“Sure. What’s up?”
I replied.
“There’s nothing to do.”
He sighed.
“So can you tell me a story?”
“What kind of a story?”
I was curious to know.
“Just about your life.
How you grew up.
About your childhood.
Those sort of things.”
His answers came
quick.
“Ok. Well… I grew up here.
This is where I spent my childhood.
And all my friends lived in that
big building right over
there…”
I pointed to the green house
on the other side of our
wooden fence.
And I continued telling him
all the things we did back then…
back when we were kids.
And he listened.
It was only when I ran out of breath
that he stood up,
ready to go back to the house
and look for his sisters.
But before he did,
he wrapped his little arms
around me and gave me
his biggest squeeze.
“Thank you for telling me
all your stories, mom.”
“Happy to.”
I whispered in his ear,
adding…
“I’d love to hear yours
next time as well.”
And off he went.
“Okay.”
He managed to call
over his shoulder.
Already halfway back
to the house.
But then.
All of a sudden.
He stopped,
turned around, and…
came back.
“Actually,
Can I tell you my stories
right now?”
I smiled, delighted.
“Of course!
What would you like
to tell me about?”
I was itching to know.
“About how I grew up…
and went to school.”
He seemed a little bit shy,
but continued.
He told me
about his adventures
at school.
And all the fun things
he gets to do with his friends…
And also how it felt
those first few days and weeks
being so many hours away
from home.
And my heart ached and soared,
as I listened to his stories
mesmerised.
Hoping this moment
would never end.
With love,
Elina Janevica
Artwork / European School, “Under the Oak Tree” (fragment), 19th century / personal collection
