She sent me away seven years ago, and today she'd come to take me back. But there was no way I'd go---not after being abandoned to a group of Swiss nuns whose prayer was the sole offering for lonely tears.
ReunionM. Stanley Bubien
I could only guess why she was here. Maybe she thought that now I was older and she'd be able to handle me better.
Or maybe she felt guilty.
The door flung open. In stepped a wire of a woman, hair as stringy as her figure. Our eyes met. Hers looked tired, but the impression fled as she burst into tears.
She ran over, arms outstretched. Her embrace crushed me, but I fought it. With all my strength, I forced her away.
"What?" she asked---and after seven years, she dared use my nickname, "Yitzak, don't you recognize me? I'm your mother."
I swallowed hard. It was all I could do to choke out my single question, "Why... Why'd you send me away?"
She dropped to her knees and clutched my hands in hers. "It was the only way to be sure... the only way to protect you. They were coming for us, and I couldn't let them put you in a camp. So many died beside us---your father and me. Our one hope was that the Germans wouldn't get you. That you were somewhere safe." She pulled my hands to her lips.
Understanding crept silently. Time passed. Tears splashed my fingertips. Though it had been seven years, these were tears we shed together.
Copyright ©1996 M. Stanley Bubien. All Rights Reserved.
Please contact the editor for free text versions of this very short story formatted for e-mail, usenet news, or ftp.