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Support Systems

About half way to the waterfront, Sanem nudged Metin... just a mock body check with her shoulder, prompting him to begin the conversation. He looked at her for a few steps then, knowing direct is always best with Sanem, "Your dad's sick Sanem." She stopped. He had only gone a half a step further when he stopped as well. She had a million questions in that one second and he could see it. But she held her voice hostage, knowing he would share all he knew if she was calm. Patient. "Okay... go on." She started walking again, so he took her lead and continued with her. "I don't know every detail- I only know it's not terminal, but it's serious. The treatments he needs are out of the country... Mexico I think." She remained silent for the short remaining walk to the bench at the edge of the bay. She had to will herself not to give a knee-jerk reaction and start hammering Metin with angry questions, which would have been her norm. But since her little revelation about opening up in general to new concepts about her life... her desires from the unknown... she held back, trying to see things from a different perspective.

Metin was watching her intently... trying to prepare for her normal angry reaction, but a little unsure since she didn't seem to be going down that path. When they had reached the bench, she remained standing, looking out over the water. He ventured a small touch to her shoulder, "San?"

She turned her head to look at him for a moment, then back to the water as she lowered herself to sit. He followed suit. She finally spoke, but kept her eyes on the sea, and kept her tone calm. "I assume Emre doesn't know?" Metin tried to ignore his natural urge to make a big deal of Sanem's uncharacteristic composure and just answered the question. "He doesn't." She gave a nod in acknowledgment. The next question was a bit harder, not just because of the question itself, but because she turned to look at him for this one. "Why do you know and his children do not?" Metin winced as he saw her tear streaked cheeks shining with the light of the street lamp behind him.

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The two pairs of siblings were enjoying their spontaneous little outing in the park, catching a vendor before he locked up his cart for the night.  They walked a bit, munching on chestnuts, talking about old visits to the park in their childhood.  They settled at a park table and started laughing at old stories of who got who in trouble.  Leyla was usually the one to tattle...  "Well, one of us had to keep you all in check!" She redirected a bit,  "Can, do you write about those memories?  Childhood adventures and stuff?" In a rare, unguarded moment, Can answered readily, "Not as much as I used to... it's a bit of a 'current events' kind of approach for me." Ayhan and Osman looked to him expectantly... Can rarely spoke about his writings and when he did, it was usually very brief, and high level so they were eager to listen any time he spoke about it.  

He was feeling at ease with his mahalle family in this particular moment and indulged in the audience he had.  "I mostly write about things I wish to do, but sometimes, those adventures are kindled by what's happening in my life in that moment.  I take the reality and make it grow, evolve and spread into grand dreams... quests, if you will."  Then he started thinking again... "I only hope there is an audience who appreciates my stories as much as I enjoy creating them.  Sharing my writings is what scares me the most I think.  It's hard to show such a personal thing to others...  to those close to you is hard enough, but to strangers- that's petrifying to me."  

He started feeling his nervousness return.  "What if people laugh, or just don't even care to read my works?!"  Osman laid a hand to Can's shoulder, squeezing a bit, "Brother.  What matters most is what your works mean to you... and you alone."  Can understood that piece but feared failure.  "While that's true, it could still mean my end.  If other people don't connect with my writings, they won't buy the books and I'll never get to take my own journey... forever having to settle for only living vicariously through my writing.  Yes, of course, I want the integrity of my works to remain intact, but I also need to appeal to a large enough audience to support myself and my family financially.  I just don't know I can do both."