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good and obey my parents, so I wouldn’t add to their
troubles. I still didn’t know what their troubles were, but
rather than explain, she just squeezed me tight and said,
‘My dear, my sweet child,’ and began crying even harder
than mother.
The truck eventually rolled up and Shkeliqim, the driver,
saluted us and began to load our suitcases and boxes into
the back. My mother had to step off her suitcase, and she
went to hug Enisa, so that they both watched Shkeliqim
through teary eyes, as my father calmly passed him one
piece of luggage after another. When the last backpack
was loaded, and Shkeliqim was tightening the tarpaulin,
I felt a sting in my own heart, and nearly joined in the
crying. I had this sinister premonition that my summer
had come to an end even before it had started. That
father would never again take me to the Golden Rocks
beach after lunch, so I could jump into the sea from the
incremental boulders.
When we turned out of our street, Shkeliqim said that
we needn’t stay awake on his account, and that we were
welcome to go to sleep, because the drive would be long
and tiring. He was suspiciously happy, talking a lot,
laughing even more, while we silently stared out at our
last journey past the theatre, the Golden Gate, the Arena.
Soon my birthplace receded into nothing more than
those clusters of distant fireflies on the black horizon that
mother always loved, but now she intentionally turned