Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

SŞeyma Koç

resembled a tired bird’s dream, which flutters to a land’s branch and snuggles. Fresh and light… I guess Aunt Şehriban wasn’t only my best friend, but probably my mother ’s also. They had such long conversations, which I cannot understand truly. Once she understood that I was bored, she told me, “Let ’s bring me a paper and a pencil; but not an eraser”. Even if she did ask for an eraser, I couldn’t bring her one; I didn’t have one. I always lost my eraser. I didn’t know these days that my lost eraser was equal to a bread price and I couldn’t understand why my mother was warning me to keep it this time... To my surprise it was a fight for bread. She began to draw a picture for me. In the meantime she was finding out the story of the picture. “Look!” she was telling, “This is a bride, and this is the groom…”. She was saying that the groom and the bride had eloped. They were behind the horse carriage. It was white, her wedding dress was snowy. Her veil was lacy. She loved the young at that time. Even though she wasn’t telling; I could easily figure out from the black short hair under the veil; but at most I understand with such tears in her eyes, it was her… Without spelling “Love”, Aunt Şehriban told me love. One day she caught me when I was kissing my lips on the mirror. She collapsed into gales of laughter with her breasts which were telling we are here. I felt all


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