I learned to read long before I went to school. She has taught me. Listening to her cry for help, I run to find her, to catch her. To prevent any… to prevent what? I run, holding in my hands a note of hers that I discovered a few minutes ago and read it. The note says, “Help me, God… Where can I say that I cannot stand it anymore?”
Why “CAN’T she stand it anymore? What can’t she stand, or… whom? Dad or… me?” I think, as I hear her calling for help. Did I make her sad again? But what did I do to her this time? If she talks in general, I think that she’s unfair. Panos brings us food, washes our clothes, does the shopping for us... Why isn’t that enough for a mom – my mom – to be happy? Panos probably wonders the same thing whenever he finds her – as he finds her – and then, he gets very ang
