Sunday, February 13, 2011

Mother

There was a robbery last night. They broke into Zigman Zibanski's small single room, where there was a leaky corner sink.

He owned nothing of value, but a gold picture frame with a photo of his mother. That's what they stole. Zigman felt sad as he turned up the fallen chair and put disheveled clothes into place. He then drank vodka and fell heavily back into bed. When he was especially drunk he thought of his old country and the days behind the iron curtain where the police took his mother away.

This was his secret, of course. He told no one of that time. Even his friends he'd never let inside. He'd only meet them at the front door and then they'd go to the One Lucky and drink. If not for those nights, his heart would leak like a corner sink.

7 comments:

Jane Doe said...

First of all, I love the name Zigman Zibanski, that's just awesome.

Secondly, this was a great piece. It's very poignant and sheds a lot of light onto Zigman's character despite the fact that it's very short. Great writing.

all ways 11 o'clock said...

This is a great bit. We all know someone or have lived like Zigman hiding away from their past. How brilliantly sad this story is.

~robert

Human Paradox said...

I need those night too. Good ol' Zigman.

Mary said...

What a sad, but very realistic, tale!

Fisheye Lens said...

Welcome back to the Zig-man. Glad he didn't get left behind in Boston or New York. Or go back to Gdansk.

Old Ollie said...

Those bastards stole his secrets.

Tell ZZ to call French if he ever needs him to lay down a boot circle.

thingy said...

This was intriguing and well written. I want more. : )