Yana’s First Day

• Olivia Maybanks, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2018

Mama’s warm brown eyes seemed to melt away all traces of fear from me. ‘This is our new home, you have nothing to be afraid of’ she gently whispered to me, brushing my hair in delicate strokes. ‘Can they find us here?’ I questioned quietly.
‘They will never. There’s nothing the war can do to us now.’ Mama always seemed to have a way of putting things into perspective. Even on my first day of school at the age of 10, I felt like nothing was going to stop me from feeling safe. ‘Now come, we don’t want to be late,’ she motioned, ‘ You have an interview with the principal before school starts.’ Inhaling deeply, I followed Mama out the door and onto the coarse concrete path.

Up until now, I could never just walk out our apartment door and onto the street knowing that I was safe. The only time Mama ever allowed me out of our old apartment in Syria was when we had to flee from Mukhabarat, the secret police. For almost three years, I had to live behind boarded up doors and windows, with almost no knowledge whatsoever about the outside world, apart from the loud, ringing sounds of nearby bombs. Even now when I’m safe and sound in Brisbane, I cant bear to be apart from my mother for just five minutes. I didn’t know how I was going to survive a whole six hours at school.

Standing in the principals office wasn’t the best feeling. I couldn’t communicate with anyone, there were strange looking people, strange objects, but worst, I couldn’t see Mama. I continued to stand unnoticed and scared in the the corner of the packed room, eventually sinking down onto the floor and burying my forehead into my knees. ‘This is even worse than Syria’ I thought, ‘ At least I had Mama there.’ Salty tears began to slowly drip down my ashen face, and memories of my old home began to flood back into my mind. I felt weak and useless without Mama. ‘Where are you,’ I trembled, ‘I need you.’

Suddenly, a gentle voice talked to me “Are you okay Yana?” I looked up and saw a soft, dark skinned face staring at me, not with anger, but a worry. Then I looked at myself. The dark skin on my knuckles had turned white from squeezing, my eyes felt pouty and sore from crying, and I was shaking all over.
“I want Mama,” I trembled, and I could hear the raspy sound of my voice.
“Oh, yes I’ll go get her now.” the woman replied, rushing out the door. A few moments later, Mama came rushing in. “Oh Yana, I’m so sorry,” she apologised, gently brushing the tears off my soggy face. I didn’t care. I was just glad that Mama was back, and I felt safe again. Once I felt a bit better, I asked Mama, “Who was that lady?”. She turned and smiled at me.
“She’s your new teacher.”