Etched Scars

It is late in the afternoon in winter, and the sun is already disappearing. My husband is away for work for the weekend, leaving me alone with my son. Since the weather is miserable outside, I decide it is the perfect time to clean the house. The only room left undone is the basement. I swing the wooden door open and walk down the stairs, Alex tugging along right behind me.

“It’s such a mess in here,” I sigh, glancing around and trying to figure out where to start.

Alex walks toward an old sofa and climbs up. I head to the shelves to pull the boxes down so we can sort through what to keep and what to throw away. It’s incredibly dusty up there. As I bring them down one by one, the air fills with dust. I inhale it and sneeze.

“Your father keeps a lot of stuff in here,” I say. “I’ve asked him many times to come down here and choose what he wants to keep, but now we are choosing for him.”

Alex climbs off the sofa, walking toward the boxes to look inside. He starts to unpack everything onto the floor, going through the items one by one. All sorts of things are packed away in there: old tapes, cameras, flashlights, toys, and papers.

“This one is heavy, watch out,” I groan, placing a massive box carefully onto the ground. Once it hits the floor, my hand goes completely numb from the strain. I start shaking and rubbing it to get the feeling back.

Alex jumps into the empty space left by the box. “It’s big! I fit in here,” he laughs.

“Be careful, I don’t know what’s in there,” I call out as I grab some ice for my hand from the mini-fridge we keep in the corner beside the shelves.

Suddenly, he grows very quiet. The sound of plastic rustling against his fingers echoes through the room. I turn around and see him going through a stack of old photo albums. Curious, I walk over and kneel beside him. He is so deeply focused that he doesn’t even notice my head leaning over his shoulder.

My eyes travel through the photos as he turns the pages, until he suddenly stops and stares at one picture for a long time.

My hand instinctively moves to my chest, my eyes welling up with tears.

“Mum, who are all these people?” he asks, pointing at a picture of seven kids dressed in light grey clothing. Then, his finger moves to a different photograph. “Who’s he? He’s in a lot of pictures with you. Is it dad?” He turns and looks directly into my eyes.

“No, no,” I stammer, trying to keep my voice steady and low. “Back then, I didn’t know your dad.”

“Then who is he? You seem close,” he asks again.

I cup his cheek with my fingers. “His name was Callum…,” I gulp hard, trying to drown the tears rolling down my cheeks. “We were best friends. My savior.” A tiny, bitter smile tugs at the corner of my lip.

“Can I meet him? Where is he now?” he asks, a smile spreading across his face, his eyes sparking with admiration.

I close my eyes for a second, sobbing from within and biting my lower lip to hold the tears back. “Oh, darling… he would have loved you,” I sigh. “He passed away many years ago.”

I turn away from his gaze as the tears finally escape me. I wipe them away quickly and get back on my feet. “I should continue with the other boxes,” I tell him, trying to dismiss my thoughts.

But Alex’s small hand wraps around mine, stopping me. “Can you tell me about him?” he asks.

My heart pumps hard for a second, but I find myself smiling at the thought of Callum.

“Please,” he begs, shaking his hand in mine.

“Get up, we’re going to pay somebody a visit,” I exclaim, lifting him up in my embrace. With my other hand, I grab the photo album.

I change quickly into blue jeans and a t-shirt, grab the car keys from the table, and we get in the car.

“It’s a long drive. It’s better if you sleep.” I advise. He is already sprawled across the back seats, pulling his jacket over himself like a blanket, his eyes already shutting.

I roll the driver’s window all the way down as the air suddenly feels too thin and my lungs grow heavy. I look at myself through the rearview mirror to pull myself back to who I am today. The person I used to be is buried in the past. I can’t go back, and I won’t. Slow, deep breaths. I’m Mika and I’m fine. I’ve got my life together, built a family. That’s who Mika is.

I exhale. Everything settles into place. My breathing finds its rhythm.

An hour and a half later, we arrive at a small, weathered cottage tucked away in a quiet corner of rural Ontario. The headlights cut through the dark, snowy driveway, illuminating a single porch light that glows warmly against the freezing Canadian night. I turn off the engine, and a heavy silence fills the car, broken only by the soft breathing of Alex still fast asleep in the back seat.

“Hey, baby, wake up. We’re here,” I whisper, gently rubbing his back.

His sleepy eyes open as he sits up, trying to understand where we are. I grab my bag from the passenger seat and slip out of the car. Once Alex has stepped out too, I lock the car and we walk together towards the door. I knock and wait. Minutes later, the door swings open.

“Mika? Is that really you?” Angie, now elderly and long retired, asks in disbelief. “Come inside, don’t stand out in the cold.”

A tingling shiver flows through my body, and I fall into her arms. “How have you been?” I ask as I pull back. “This is my son, Alex.”

Angie’s eyes water. “Lovely to meet you, little man,” she says, pulling him into a warm hug.

“Hi,” he replies in a shy voice.

Angie guides him to the kitchen table. “Have you eaten? I’ve made soup,” she says, pouring some into two bowls.

“You don’t have to.”

“I insist,” she says, passing a bowl to Alex. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I open my bag and pull out the album, opening it to the specific pages before passing it across the table to her.

“Let me put on my glasses.” She laughs, moving them from the top of her head down to her eyes.

“Alex and I were clearing out the basement today and he stumbled upon this…” I take a breath. “He has questions about Callum. And I thought, what better person is there to tell him than you?”

Angie traces her fingers over the photos, reminiscing.

“Do you want to hear a story, Alex?” she finally asks, looking up at him. Alex nods eagerly.

“Then who am I to stand in the way of that?” She smiles at Alex, then places her hand over mine, squeezing it gently.

“Think of Callum as a superhero,” she begins. “Whose power was saving others and helping their minds stop racing.”

“Wow, that’s so cool. I want powers like that!” Alex jumps off his seat.

“Am I right, Mika?” she chuckles.

“Very,” I choke out. “I couldn’t have described him better.” I walk over to Alex, hugging him tightly from behind.

“Shall I start?” Angie asks Alex.

“Mhm.”

I sit on the sofa and Alex climbs onto my lap. Angie settles back into her armchair.

In another lifetime, I should feel anxious and scared right now. That’s how the old Mika would have reacted, but the new one doesn’t. Callum was my best friend and his story deserves to be shared. He didn’t only save me; he saved everyone who was left in his path.

Some people are placed in this world to fulfill their purpose and then move on to greater missions. That’s what I choose to believe. Callum didn’t die for nothing. He died happy. Fulfilled. For him, it was the first time he felt like he truly mattered.