Don’t leave me, Freida.
The memory of that night flashed back, fast and sharp, as I tore the old brown envelope opened again. Like an unhealed wound, the pain struck deep and my eyes welled with tears.
I stared at the pictures. They were monochrome, older than I expected and creased at the edges. Some were torn and taped back together.
Dada was in all of them. Younger and good looking. The kind of man any woman would want.
One picture stood out. He held the hand of a slender, beautiful woman in front of a bar. The polished sign above them read ‘Mouse Rider’. Motorbikes were parked outside it.
I remembered going on night rides with Dada on his bike. Those were times I felt safe, loved by my family and certain nothing could ever go wrong.
Not long after, everything spun out of control fast and my family broke up into irreconcilable pieces.
The woman in the photo was his first wife. Before Mama.
More pictures slipped out of the envelope. In one, the woman had a bruised cheekbone and split lips. Her smile was gone. Her eyes looked sad and hollow.
There were hospital discharge papers stuck to the back of that picture. It read ‘Cause of death: Internal bleeding’.
A whimper escaped me as my tears soaked the creased papers. Mama did not know about Dada's first marriage. But Freida must have found out somehow and tried to tell Mama.
She tried to tell me too. Instead I chose myself.
I slid down to the floor and sat cross-legged, pressing the pictures and papers to my chest as I wept. In remembrance of my dear Mama. I cried also for the woman in the photographs. For Freida.
Mama was gone but Freida wasn't.
I must find my sister. No matter what it takes.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "mouse rider".
Thank you for visiting my blog.
Image credit: Alex_Bon
