Between Then & Now || Currently Editing for Wattys 2022

45.

The ringing makes me jump awake, my soul hurdling back into my body from wherever it had wandered off to. My eyes snap open and I rub them, trying to free them of whatever tear-formed crust had appeared overnight. Somewhere in the apartment, my phone continues to ring, and ring, and ring, and I groan, stubbornly getting up out of bed to follow the noise.

When I pick it up, I see that it's 3:42 p.m. and my mother is calling. My finger hovers over the "answer call" button. My mind just wants to go back to its adventure, to just hit "ignore" and leave this world. But then, almost instantaneously, it remembers why it wants to leave in the first place, and I hit "answer."

"Ola, thank God you're okay." My mom's voice is shrill on the other end, and I'm instantly snapped awake. Did she just say "God"?

"Mm-hm," I respond, propping myself up on my elbows on the counter. Thelma instantly stands up on the other side of the bed, her brown-eye winking at me as she walks over to the edge near the counter where I stand.

"How are you doing?" Even over the phone, I can tell she's hesitant, her voice aching to ask something else but not knowing how to phrase it. How the hell does she know everything?

"Yep, totally fine, Tata's dead, and I've just been vibing in the back of my van in some random town in Washington." As I reach over to open the blinds, light floods the van and I instantly squint. My head pounds, and my eyeballs feel like somebody sprinkled baby powder in them and let it sit overnight. "All good over here."

There's a sigh, and I feel her shoulders drop. "Lala."

"Mom, I'm good," I snap, and, suddenly, my mind comes back to me, and I'm angry and frustrated and pissed off at her for not telling me, for not giving me more time, for–

"Baby, I'm so sorry, I didn't feel like it was my place to tell you–"

"Why didn't you? Why wouldn't it be your place?" The blankets fall from my body as I stand up, going to the bathroom to take a look at the damage. The other end of the line is silent, and as I scan the red, irritated outline of my eyelids, another wave of sadness hits me, and I do my best to keep my voice from cracking. "Just like it wasn't your place to tell me why he left? To tell me why I hadn't seen my father since I was twelve years old? It wasn't your place, right? And now he's gone and I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye because it wasn't your place?"

"Honey, I'm so, so sorry." I can hear the pain in her voice, but I don't care because my heart is hurting and, whether or not she wants to admit it, she's is part of the reason why my chest feels like it's caving in and nothing is going to be okay again. "I am sorry–you're right. I should have said something, I should have explained what happened. And I am so very sorry."

A rock forms in my throat. A giant rock, and I swallow, but it doesn't disappear. My eyes burn and I want to throw my phone across the van, to scream again, to yell at her, to just be angry. But I have no more anger to give–because there's no point. No matter how angry I am, how much I hate my mom, my dad, the world right now, it won't bring him back. Because death has this kind of dreaded permanence that you never really understand until you experience it.

A tear falls down my face, dripping onto my chest, and I wipe my eyes with the sleeves of my sweatshirt, sniffling. "I don't really want to talk right now." I walk to the bathroom and turn the light on, grabbing toilet paper from off the roll.

"Lalabel..." Her voice catches on the other end and I can tell that she wants to cry. But I don't really care. Because all I want to do right now is just sleep. To just sleep and sleep. She continues as I stare at the wooden wall behind my bathroom mirror, wiping my nose. "I know you wanted to go on this roadtrip to find yourself and gain some freedom and everything, but do you maybe think it might be a good idea to come back home for a bit?"

I don't say anything, checking with my tongue if my teeth had formed any cavities in the last however many days I hadn't brushed them.

"I don't like the idea of you being out there on your own, with no one else. Not right now." 

I sigh and step out of the bathroom, turning the light off behind me. "I don't know."

For a moment, nothing. Then, after a moment, "Okay." My shoulders fall as I reclose all my blinds and turn off the lights, laying in bed and pulling the covers up over my chin. "Whenever you're ready–we're here."

I know she's waiting for a reply. Just some form of affirmation. But part of me doesn't care and it's exactly this part that pulls the phone away from my ear and hits the red "end call" button. My hands pull the covers up over my head as Thelma situates herself down at my feet. And I close my eyes until I'm no longer aware that they are closed.