The Milk Jar

I look out of the window. At the milk jar, hanging at the fence separating the road from our yard. It is grey, almost hidden in the dark. But I see it, I’ve seen it a million times.

The first time was in winter. The room was so cold I couldn’t sleep. The winds were howling through my window. I listened to their sounds when I heard the front door open. I got up, walked to the window and looked outside. In the dark I could see mum. She wore her white night gown, making her way through the yard. Her shape was bent, there was something she was carrying. For a second she stayed at the fence before returning back to the house. It was still dark, but something changed. In the dim light of the streetlamp I saw something was hanging at the fence. A little milk jar.

I was standing at the window, the winds touched my skin and my breath formed a cloud on the glass. I stared at the jar. Suddenly I saw a shadow hasting towards it. The shape was small, and it turned around fast, but in the light I saw it was wearing a cap. Coloured yellow like buttercups. It was Hanna. And she had taken the jar.

Back then, the last time I had seen her had been months before. I remember the boys’ laughter when they pointed their fingers at her. Pushed her. Called her a dirty Jew. And I looked into her eyes, and they were begging me to stand by her. Like a friend. But I stood silent.

I look out of the window. At the milk jar, hanging at the fence separating the road from our yard. It is yellow now, as the day begins to dawn. I’ve seen it a million times, but the colour is unfamiliar.

Every Friday, from the day it had first happened, I was standing at my window. Every Friday in the dark, I saw my mum in her white gown, as she passed through the yard. Every Friday, a little milk jar hung at our fence. Every time I stood at my window, every time it was gone before dawn. A girl with a cap coloured like buttercups had taken it. I’ve seen it a million times.

Like the million times before, today I look out of the window. But something has changed. I could see it in the clear light of the day. Something was hanging at the fence. It is cold now, bleak and silver. A little milk jar.

And never again a girl with a cap coloured like buttercups would take it before dawn.