A Color With Love

Chapter 8

After leaving my old room, I was envoloped in the rush of doctors and the routines of all the hospital residents. I noticed there was a map of floors and room numbers and walked briskly across the corridor toward it. I saw where Trena must be- the front desk checking my out from the hospital. I could just imagine her impatiently tapping her foot awaiting my arrival. But I had other plans.

I looked closely at the color-coded floors:

The Front Desk- Green, First Floor.

Then I saw what I'd been looking for:

The Morgue- Red, Third Floor.

The color red suits the floor name well. Red for all the blood and pain for lost, loved ones. I skimmed feverently for the nearest elevator, already knowing I was on the second floor since I'd overheard Elena say so to Trena.

Once I found one, I rounded the left-hand corner. I hoped to the Holy Heavens that the elevator was all mine, with no one to intrude my thoughts. Again, thanking God silently, for my wish had been granted. The metal doors parted, allowing my entrance. I pressed the sticky blue button that had the number three on it. My heart skipped a beat when I read the fine print clearly stating: All entrances to The Morgue require employee passes.

Where was I to get one of those? I asked myself. I found my answer immediately after the medal doors parted once again, for my exit. A short, rather stalky, woman walked toward The Morgue, intently focused on the clipboard in her hands. So much so, that she never noticed with any sort of surprise, that she was to be followed. She paused for a short moment to retrieve the Employee Pass in her breast pocket. The door slid closed after her, as I tried to walk swiftly while keeping my foot falls as quiet as possible. Which is, by the way, much harder done than said.

My heart was racing with the thrill of being somewhere I'm not supposed to be. The door was inches from my reach as I thrust my hand into the threshold. The computer-generated door paused with confusion, then opened.

Two doctors, in their long white coats, were bent over an occupied table. And by occupied, I meant that a body lay under harsh light, being analyzed closely. I ducked behind cubical-like lockers and listened.

"It's obvious, isn't it? With her fingerprints on her neck clearly showing us her struggle..." a masculine voice said.

"Yes, but I just don't want to believe someone so beautiful would want to end their life..." the woman I followed earlier stated.

"In a world like this, what you want to believe and what is true, are two very different things. Though it's very unfortunate, yes."

"And look! Her knuckles are raw like...like she'd beaten someone," they both looked at eachother. I shut my eyes, knowing that it was indeed my mother that was under their speculation.

I was proven correct as one of them read aloud, "Megan Martez, suicide. By the blood levels and her liver, you can clearly tell she was a binge drinker."

"I talked to Elena today," the woman shifted the subject.

"Oh?"

"Yes. Her daughter is going to take Sofie in. Poor, poor Sofie," she said shaking her head solemnly.

"Do you really trust Trena to be, you know, a mother?" the man asked curiously.

"It's not ours to judge, but of my opinion, I would say she needs a chance to forgive. But if she wastes that opportunity, then she will continue to fill Sofie's life with the hatred she's always known."

"Hmm..." the man agreed quietly, dismissing the conversation.

They both tugged either side of the thin white sheet, and covered my mother's face.

I then decided, as they left, that I wanted some alone time with my dead mother. A chance to say what needed to be said. A chance to forgive. A chance to forget.