Sevda Khatamian | A Moment Longer
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Children of the Street

 Just before I pass the pizzeria by the clock store, a shiny black van pulled over the narrow alley. A very young beggar kid with dirty and old clothes slowed down. Waited. Seemed like a perfect chance to earn a few coins from the people inside the van. It was windy and hot. The door opened up just a notch, and the kid hopped on. The black van drove away.

Mountain and Mist

All the paper work was done, the crazy rush was over, and I could now walk slowly. But I didn’t. It could’ve rained any second. It’s been misty and foggy all morning. Oh, how I miss the morning mist of these highlands! I looked to my right. Thrilled as one could be, almost got the goosebumps, as if I was seeing the view for the first time. Although I’d lived here for a long time. I used to live down this street, just a couple blocks away. My magical apartment and I, and the ATM machine up the street where I paid rent through it the whole time I was unemployed. I’d seen this view many times before, but my eyes had never sent the right signal to my brain. I’d simply turned my head around, looking for something more interesting than the view of a mountain in the distance. Perhaps I was taking that for granted, thinking that it’d be there tomorrow anyway. And the next day, and the day after. Every day would be different, I should’ve known better. The mountain beyond the city, covered in white mist and dark blue clouds barely holding the rain. Everything about the view was comforting and enjoyable. This street suits its name perfectly right.

The Small Child

I was waiting for my parents in the car. It was sunny, so I had to roll down the windows. My parents were grocery shopping. Later I found out that dad sells the eggs to that supermarket. Some of the eggs go to the small supermarket in the village, the rest is sold to this one in the town.

Just a few steps away from the supermarket, a little kid was standing by his mother. Or maybe her mother. It was hard to tell whether the child was a boy or a girl. But I think he was a boy. He was looking in my direction, so I waved at him. He gave me a blank look. Assuming that he didn’t notice me, I waved again. He blinked, frowned for a second, and cracked a smile; he seemed interested. I waved with both hands this time, mixed with a little bit of dance move. His smile was wider now. I opened my mouth, and made a funny look to make him laugh. He didn’t laugh, although, his little round white teeth were perfectly visible. He looked around him, and bent to pick something off the floor, or out of a box or something. I couldn’t see what was by his side. He stood back up, and raised his arm to show me what he’s got. A potato; he was showing me a potato. I laughed. I looked at him again, and laughed even harder.

His mother noticed him and the little game going on between us. She smiled too, although she couldn’t make sense. She asked him something. He was too young to speak.

Restroom Obsession

I had a friend named Tunc. He was not really a friend, we worked together for a short while. He was very tall and skinny, long thin nose, pale skin and dark hair. His two front teeth were slightly overlapping, lisping a bit as he spoke. He had a slim pair of glasses sitting on the middle of his nose which he had to rearrange every now and then. He was weird. Very weird, actually. One of the weirdest people I’ve ever met. I didn’t get to know him that well, to be honest. He was out of his job in about two months.READ MORE

One Minute

“Your phone is ringing!” Ertu said as he pointed to my phone on the table. I saw the bright screen glowing underneath my wallet. I picked it up. It wasn’t an incoming call, it was outgoing–my phone had ringed someone. It called my dad, and fifteen seconds had passed already. “Hello, hello” he was saying. I said hello to him. It was exciting to hear his voice.READ MORE

Paper

I gave Olga a pen and a piece of paper. That’s the only way how to entertain a seven-year-old. “But what do I draw?” She asked innocently.

“Anything you like!” I answered.

“I could write you a letter.”

“That’s the best idea. Please do!” I was delighted.

She sat there for a few minutes, going through ideas and thoughts she wanted to write to me about. She didn’t write a word.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” I asked.

“I don’t know what to write in my letter.”

“It could be anything. Anything at all.”

She rested her chin on her hand and looked into the space in front of her. She was thinking. And she was very puzzled.

“Do you know what a letter is?” I asked her.

“No.” She said honestly.

Him or her?!

I turned right to the hallway, to the ladies room at the end of the aisle. I wondered if it was the same dog I saw the last time, wondered if he was still alive. It wasn’t, it was a different one this time. And he was napping, I’m not sure if he was dreaming. I’ve been to so many public bathrooms, not as filthy, still disgusting enough for a dog not to sleep on the gray dirty tiles of the public bathroom of the Park. He was pretty, a very pretty dog. What was he doing there?

7.Jun.17 – Ankara, Turkey

Midnight Dark

It’s started with the Town, has always been about it. Poems dedicated, memories engraved; all for better, and sometimes worse. Passing by the familiar streets, I realize all of a sudden, that it’d been missing. Habits, bus tickets, thoughts and dreams that once glued it all together, is now dusty, left behind.

Doesn’t anyone live here anymore? Is the image upside down? It’s only bad timing, so you say. Hope I’m not interrupting. Took me an hour to go, and sometimes longer to return back. Every single day. The path of going and returning is not the same, they may say. Was that a plain illusion then, a naive modification for a hard life above and beyond, forced to be lived happily ever after? It was not really, was it?! Things are certainly different.

25.June.17 – Ankara, Turkey