Serkan, recently divorced, has fought to overcome a tragedy. Feeling responsible for the death of his son and the end of his marriage, he's suffocated himself with work. What has kept him afloat is his best friend's unending support and an unlikely...
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My Saturday evening proved to be very long. While my irritation with Serkan had accompanied me all the way home, it quickly vanished once I'd showered and sat in the living room to drink my tea.
I felt empty.
I wasn't sure what'd caused me to feel this way, only that I was suddenly overwhelmed with longing. Perhaps it was today's date and what it represented or the fact that I hadn't kept my promise to him. Perhaps, all I wanted was another hug from him. I missed him.
I walked to the bookshelf and pulled out old photo albums and scrapbooks. And I spent the better part of an hour browsing through their pages. My encounter with Serkan couldn't have produced this nostalgia. It couldn't be due to losing the scholarship and internship. I'd already accepted that.
So what was going on with me?
Memories played in my head as I revisited the events pictured on the album pages. Vivid images of my mother and me, of our times together. I broke down when I found a picture of my father and me fishing. I was probably 4 or 5 years old.
Eyes swollen and nose running due to crying was how Hala found when she arrived home from work. Ayfer immediately came to me and asked softly, "Are you okay, Canim?"
I couldn't verbalize my feelings. So, Hala sat beside me on the sofa, pulled me to her, and kissed my forehead. I pointed to the picture feature on the page. "I can barely remember him," I bawled. "His gaze, his smile, his scent... sometimes I wake in the middle of the night after dreaming with Anne and Baba. I can recall my time with Anne distinctly. I remember our flowers, planting them, singing together as we tended to them and watered them. I remember the games we played; I remember cooking together. I remember Anne tucking me in before bed. But all that has to do with Baba seems like a blur."
My crying intensified, so Ayfer rocked me and gently rubbed my arms and back.
"You were glued to your father whenever he was home. Mustafa loved to make you laugh. You'd wake up early every Saturday just so your father would take you fishing with him and his friends. A bunch of big men together with a tiny little girl. Your father taught you to paint; he taught you to read. You were always so headstrong, so independent. Only your father could manage you." Hala sighed, becoming emotional, too. "You inherited that good heart of yours from him. And to be honest, I think losing him was probably easier for me than for you because I saw and see him every day in you."
My aunt continued remembering different moments from my childhood while she played with my hair.
I couldn't tell when I had fallen asleep. But when I woke, it was almost midnight.
"Dada?" Melo called.
"Hi, Melo," I replied, my voice hoarse. I was sure she could tell that my eyes were red and swollen.
"You were crying, weren't you?" She came to the sofa and sat beside me like my aunt had before. "Serkan didn't mistreat you today, did he?"
"Of course not," I stated. "Serkan was just Serkan. Serious, Sarcastic, bad-tempered. Except for that little girl, Kiraz."
