It Was Yellow - Kevan Smith

“Singlas, I want Singlas.”

He squirmed in his seat on the back of the shopping trolley, reaching out for the single bananas.  He knew he could have those now and not wait for his mum to feed him at home.

“Yellow, I want a yellow.”

His mum grabbed a big one, knowing it would keep him quiet for a little while.  She peeled it and shoved it into his dark pink sticky hands.  He almost choked jamming it down his own throat, making ‘num num num’ noises as he chewed it and made chubby sausage finger marks in the rest held tightly with both hands.  He spat tiny bits of banana over the older lady pushing her trolley past.

“Now darling, be good, mummy’s trying to think.”

She strode up and down the aisles deftly moving to stop junior from grabbing too much into the trolley.  She apologised to everyone he spat banana on saying “it is yellow, he loves yellow” while she placed the erroneous items back on the shelves, whether they belonged there or not, all the while avoiding oncoming trolleys and harassed shoppers.

While weaving back and forth she heard the Police siren screaming past the front of the store.

“Oh fuck, what’s happening?!  YANJUDA!!”

She grabbed her chubby banana-eater and stood still behind the end of the aisle.

“Again, not again”

The bombs went off in her head as she sunk to the ground and pulled her precious one into her chest, covering him in her large shawl.

“Not again, NOOO”

Aleppo screamed back at her.  The ear-piercing bombs, the stench, the sounds of death, the panic of dozens begging, wailing for their god to save them yet again. 

He bent down, patted her on the shoulder.

“Is everything ok?  It’s only just a siren, they have gone now”

The old man’s eyes were soft and kind, hands gentle on her shoulder.

“It’s ok, they’ve gone now, it’s ok.”

She looked up through wet, soaked eyes, not sure where she was.

The fog going.

Everything was ok, normal.  No damage, no bombs or smoke, just Woolies on a busy day.

She saw his gentle smile; felt his soft hand on her shoulder trying to help her off the floor and she stopped hugging her precious boy quite so tightly.

“Thank you, I’ll be alright.  Thank you.”

He patted her back as he helped her stand.

“I know, sirens used to do that to me too. I know.  It’ll pass.”

His smiling eyes helped her straighten; his voice calmed her.

She was safe now.

This was not Aleppo.