TT #21: Hand Held

The first time mama let go of my hand, we were in the middle of the teeming Makola market.

I was just 6 years old.

She told me to stand there and count to 10. I closed my eyes 8…9…10! I looked around, expecting to see her standing nearby, but she had disappeared. I collapsed to the ground wailing until Daavi Mary, the eggplant seller, managed to track my mother down at the tomato stand and hand me back to her.

Somehow, mama didn’t seem thrilled.

The last time she let go of my hand, the big people told me I was at an adoption agency, and they would find me a wonderful new family. Yet I didn’t want a new family, I wanted mama.

But she never came back.

Until last week, when I received a letter from her apologising for abandoning me and inviting me to lunch at Luna rooftop bar. We hugged near the railing, then she stepped back to see read the story a decade had etched on my face.

When I flung myself off the railing, she tried to save me. Then she realised I was too heavy. She tried to save herself. Then she realised I was too determined.

I’ll never let go of her hand again.

Prompt: I’ll never let go of her hand again.

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