Crybaby

Solveig!” He says excitedly and gives me a big hug.

When I can hardly breathe, I tap him carefully on the shoulder and he lets go, laughing.

"Nice to see you too," I say a little shyly and quickly.

"How was the ride? Are you tired? Are you hungry? Or would you prefer to take a little nap first? ”He asks continuously, picks up the suitcase and carries it into the house.

I run after him carefully and looking around and have to remember all of his questions.

"Well, yes something, no, no," I answer with a smile and he sighs.

"I was talking too fast again," he says, annoyed by himself, and leaves the suitcase in the hallway.

I quickly notice that nothing has changed in the apartment either. The same pictures are still hanging in the hallway as back then. Pictures with me and my uncle, or just some in which I can be seen with my parents. Since my uncle has no wife and no children, there are no pictures of them. However, some depend on his youth and my grandparents, who unfortunately passed away, or pictures with his friends.

"It's okay."

"So would you like to eat something?" He asks me again lovingly and looks at me in a friendly manner.

"Yes, please," I say after thinking for a moment.

Later I won't be able to eat anything anyway, so better now than not at all. As we walk down the hall towards the kitchen, the floor creaks with every step. That's the only thing that still annoys me so far. With a smile, I notice that nothing has changed in the kitchen either. It's still messy, dishes are piled on the sink, and oil stains are visible on the hob. There are still magnets on the fridge from different countries that my uncle has toured. To love me, he put a clean kitchen blanket on the dining table.

"How is school going?" He asks me while he turns on the stove.

I sit comfortably on a chair and watch him relax while he heats the saucepan. The excitement and nervousness is gone for now, that makes me easier.

“Okay, I still have a few problems in French, but got better in math,” I proudly reply.

"Good Good! Math is much more important than this boring and extremely difficult language, ”he says and I smile happily.

Seriously? I had imagined everything a thousand times worse. I thought I would cry all the time, but luckily I feel good here.

“So the soup is warm now. You eat everything, then you change and then we go, ”he says and has to swallow at the end of the sentence.

"Thank you."

When I start to spoon the soup, he disappears up the stairs with my suitcase. The alphabet soup tastes great, even if it's just very easy to make, at least it does something for me. Finished with the soup, I put the dishes in the sink and run up the stairs to my old room. The suitcase is on my bed and nothing else has changed in my room. The duvet was changed, the window is open, but my books on the shelf and my wardrobe have not been touched. Finally I open my suitcase and take out the white dress. It is not an over the top or provocative dress. It looks simple and when I put it on, it hangs slightly over my shoulder. 

But before I even get dressed, I first get into the shower and enjoy the lukewarm water that patters my body. When I come out again, I notice the almost broken mirror in front of me. It was my fault. I was so dissatisfied, angry and sad at the time that I had to live with my uncle. It's not that I hate my uncle, but I already knew very well then that he only let me live with him because I looked so much like my mother, his sister. Otherwise he wouldn't have cared. At the time I actually wished I didn't look like my mother. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted confirmation from the world that I am not important to anyone so that I could die. Many referred to me as suicidal, but I didn't want to admit it before and were constantly making plans how I could throw myself in front of a train. I didn't want to admit that I had a problem. I couldn't agree with anyone when they said I had a problem and I really needed help. 

Anyway, I just wonder my uncle didn't remove the mirror. Maybe he hadn't noticed ... I put my hair in a turban with a towel and finally run out of the bathroom with my underwear on. Finally, I pull my dress on and go back to the bathroom to get a blow dryer. Then I stand in front of the mirror and blow dry my hair. After about ten minutes they are dry and easily fall over my shoulder. Since I refuse to put on my make-up because sooner or later the stuff will smear my whole face anyway, I leave it at that. Lastly, I just put on a little jacket and then run down to the living room, where my uncle is waiting patiently in a black anorak. 

"You look nice," he comments and gets his car keys.

With a little thank you, I follow him outside and get into his car. We drive to the cemetery in silence. I used to think it was funny why we dressed up so pretty just to go to the cemetery. Every time he told me that my parents wouldn't like it if they saw me in street clothes and weeping. So I always put on a nice dress with the hope that they would see how big I have become and how much I have changed. After a quarter of an hour we finally arrive at the cemetery and get out of the car. I was about to start walking when he got a bouquet of flowers out of the trunk.

“When did you manage to buy that?” I ask curiously.

“This morning, before you came,” he replies.

A strange feeling spreads in my body as I look at the many graves and we walk past them. I suddenly feel observed, but it doesn't feel pressured, it feels safe. With respect, I nod to the few people who walk past us and finally stop when we are in front of my parents' grave.

“He who lives in the memory of his loved ones is not dead, he is just distant. Only those who are forgotten are dead, ”I read my parents' burial motto to myself.

My uncle carefully places the bouquet on the grave and clasps his hands. He stands there in silence and with his eyes closed. My throat constricts, my heart contracts, and my eyes start to itch suspiciously. Shivering, I take a watering can and run to the water dispenser. I fill the watering can and concentrate on it. At some point the water will already run out of the jug and I startled when I hear a voice behind me.

"Are you okay my child?"

Startled, I turn around and see an old woman with a friendly smile on her face. Immediately I turn off the tap and smile at her apologetically.

“I didn't know anyone was behind me,” I quickly explain my fright.

"No problem, are you okay?" She asks me nicely.

"Yes, thanks for asking."

In order not to have to talk to her any further, I lift the watering can and run quickly back to the grave. I see my uncle's forehead wrinkled and how he struggles with tears. I look away anxiously and water the flowers. They are tulips, my mother used to love them. More memories of her immediately come to my mind. How we bathed together when I was little. The vacation by the sea, when the two buried me in the sand and only my grinning head peeked out. How she helped me with my homework, how she sang me to sleep because I had a nightmare and finally her pale face in the coffin at the funeral. 

Suddenly the watering can falls out of my hand, my knees sag and, unhappily, I bury my hands in the ground. My eyes burn as I stare at the grave and finally start sobbing. Damn how much I miss her! How much I would have her next to me now, lying in her arms and looking into her warm brown eyes! I would give anything to enjoy this feeling again. The feeling of security and love. 

"I miss you," I whisper desperately.

Then suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder, as I look up, I see my uncle with a warm smile on his face.

"Me too," he smiles unhappily.

He pulls me up and hugs me. As he howls my hair wet, I cry into his suit. I don't know how long we'll stand there, at some point we'll break away and smile at each other.

"You crybaby," I say to him and laugh.

"You are just saying."

It feels good to finally laugh again. Finally, I wipe the tears from my face again and look at my parents' grave for the last time. Then we return to the car and, tired from crying, get in it to head back home.