A Promise

Summer had hit its peak, the streets so hot you’d burn your feet without a good pair of sandals. The few people indifferent enough to expose their already sunburnt skin stood in front of shops and bars, eventually hiding in the shade of decaying trees and stained awnings. In the early mornings, when the heat was still bearable, chatter filled the stoked air, before, around midday, exhaustion will have settled even on the most talkative folks.
I was on my way home, with the dress my mother gave me soaked in sweat and tight on my back. As I passed by the voyeurs, none looked up to acknowledge my presence. The men gazed into their half empty mugs, the beverages inside too warm for enjoyment, whilst the women hurried to take down the dry laundry to prevent its loss to the daily thunderstorm.

The first sign that something was wrong manifested in three peculiar cars near my home. My skin took on a cascade of sweat and the impulse to escape seized me at the sight of men dressed in green and grey uniforms gathered around them, some spaced out alongside the road. Only their eyes peaked through the fabric and their hands enwrapped weapons the size of axes.
A pack of three had gone up to our porch, banged on the door and after a few seconds mother peered through, her distinctive red hair bound together at the top. I wondered what the men told her, remaining in the distance to avoid triggering a scene. Like a lingering deer I hid behind a tree, oblivious to the predatory presence awaiting a moment of weakness.

A warm sensation spread on my shoulder and I let out a scream. A sudden decline in sufficient air ceased my cries. The hand previously on my shoulder had wandered over my mouth. “Be quiet, sweetheart.” The grip softened as I turned around to look into father’s eyes. His filthy clothes looked out of place and the alcoholic stench emanating from him invaded my senses immediately. “Have you been drinking again”, I whispered. Shame disfigured his appearance as his eyes plead to me. “I’m sorry.” His hands felt old and fragile in mine. I followed his gaze to our house, the fear now more prevalent than before. “Is it because of them?”, I ask. An indistinct nod confirmed my conjecture. “They’re going to take me.” Nausea flushed over me, followed by a relentless notion to bury my fist in something. Or someone. I pinched my eyelids shut as to keep the salty water inside. “Hey, it’s okay, love”, he whispered while swiftly wiping away the escaped angry tears. I was taken aback by the sudden shift in manner. His eyes now levelled with mine and I tried my best to avoid them, while trying to clear my tear-blurred vision. “Look at me.” The rough surface of his palms enclosed my cheeks and turned my face to his. “Listen, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. But what I know is that the moment I get the chance to, I’ll come back to you.” My chest tightened at the thought of his absence. “What about mother”, I handle to ask. “I talked to her, she’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. I promise.” – “Pinky Promise?”, I ask, my finger ready to hook with his. “Pinky Promise.” Our bound was sealed, if not on paper but in our minds we’d carry it, wherever our paths may lead us. So I watched him go, taking a piece of me with him, confident he’d give it back someday.