I’ll never forget that night when I went out to pee and saw my father locking the door. We lived in a big brick flat house with an old roof made of tiles. The bathroom was at the other end of the house, so I would just pee outside. That night, I happened to meet father on the way out. He didn’t talk to me when he saw me because we just had an argument, which was not unusual. You know, I was 16, talking and studying all day with people who only cared about celebrities and NBA games.
He turned his head away from me, unlocking the door. I also avoided looking at him when I passed the big door in the living room. I stood near the door peeing with the yellow light in the yard shining. It was winter time. The wind was blowing through my long underwear and thick coat. It felt like cold running water on my face. I was still angry about my father not understanding anything I told him.
I looked at the yellow light, it was so warm on this winter night. I saw it every night when I got home from school on my bike. It was the most beautiful thing I could have on those nights. My father was not all that bad. He had his good moments when he was happy and relaxed, I mean, when nothing bad happened. He rode a motorbike cab for a living, supporting me and the family. Mother was away in another city.
I turned back and looked at my father, his hair was getting longer. Under the light, it was reflecting the goldish yellow color. He was getting old. He had lost a lot of hair.
He was still silent until I noticed something on his right thigh when I got inside. I stood there watching. It a was huge scar, almost as wide as his thigh.
“What? This is how I make money.” He said and then locked the big door from the inside.
He went to his room, I went to mine. I sat on the edge of my bed, crying. The wound was from a car accident a few days ago. He talked about it once with more sighs than words when we were having dinner under the yellow light bulb in his bedroom, our dining room. I didn’t talk a lot. I didn’t know how to comfort the man in front of me. It was very common, motorcar drivers having accidents in my hometown with the craziest traffic I’ve ever known.
My body was shaking from crying, the scar touched something deep and soft in my heart. It was like being kicked in the stomach. I didn’t making any sound, just breathing with my mouth wide open. The cold air was like cold spicy soup in my throat.
I couldn’t let him hear it.Share...