‘The Newsagents’ by Connie

News broadcast highlighted the attention of those passing by in the store window front, stealing their eyes for a momentary gaze of sympathy to the death of those who travelled across the globe for safety. The booming strobe light reflecting on the thin glass pane, moisture oozing from the steps undertaken from strangers in the damp pavement streets passing the small crowd Infront of the shop. An arrogant snort or roll of the eyes would catch my pupils’ wrath as I held my mother’s hand squeezing it with anger that a young teenager should not obtain nor bear witness to. One man, respectably dressed turned at the screen, grimacing under his pointed cupids bow at the announcement, I turned my shoulder as he sniggered tacitly; he met my stare, stared back. I suppose because I look like the people upon the screen, he would wish me there too. My mother jolted me back to her side, but I didn’t think this could go unpunished. I stumbled back with great force with my foot, a great yelp put him in his place as he shook his head back at me. My mother replicating his actions towards me also, she was fair, but not fun.

Although I don’t remember the journey from home to this estranged place, my mother’s stern brow would tell of the campaign undertaken by her alone, me in her steady arms. The wrinkle underneath her tender glare would tell me of all her telling of hope to others, as she lulled the humble boat, soothingly swaddling the angst from the other ship inhabitants. Her jaundiced colour calluses gripping on to the rails, like a horse rider, guiding the way for the wild horse, except the waves wouldn’t swallow the stallion in a field of privilege of a ranch. The tempered waters would wash over the boat, engulfing the air around the ship, my mother commanded the oceans to stand down with her motherly yell, and so they did. Even the gods have Hera as their impassioned mother.

I often wondered in my swift youth if she had done this before, but I knew she hadn’t. Mothers are otherworldly, the notion of faking it until you make it comes to mind when I think of my Mama. She always did things herself and her way, sometimes this was too much to entertain and caused great tension between our relationship, but in this current moment, Infront of this television screen, as others left in empathy or restraint, I was so grateful for her, grateful for the mission she endured.