On The Run

Chapter Twenty-Five - "Page One and Onwards"

Sarah

November 1995

“One day, baby,” my mother said, “You and me, we’re going to go farther and higher than the Empire State Building, and we’re going to see the whole world.”

“Mom, that’s not really possible,” I replied, with a chuckle, as I scarfed down red jellybeans; I hated every other color.

She pinched my cheek, with a wide grin, and laughed, “You’re only seventeen years old; what do you know? Anything is possible, my sweet. Anything.”

We were on one of our weekly Sunday rituals, and the sun was setting, drawing it to a close. We were standing atop the Empire State Building, and had been for at least four hours, but my knees were starting to wobble, and I wanted to hurry home and catch the latest episode of Friends.

“Mom, can we go now?” I asked, anticipating.

“It’s that comedy show tonight, right?” she asked, with her ever-present beam. Lately, it had been more strained, but when I asked if she was okay, she said as long as she had me around, she was better than okay. And, I’d promptly forget about it.

I nodded, and started off on a tangent about what I thought was going to happen on the episode, as we took the elevators back down.

As we got down to the ground floor, she cringed, and massaged her chest.

“Mom, are you okay?” I asked, worried.

She’d been in and out of hospital for the past few months, for a heart defect she had, and she’d been told she needed a transplant. But, she’d finally found a donor, and I couldn’t wait until I didn’t have to smell the thick pungent smell of hospital floor cleaner, or see those double doors that read, ‘CARDIOLOGY’.

“Yes, I’m okay,” she answered, standing up straighter, with a smile, “Just messing around with you. You’d think that with all those doctor shows you watch, you’d be able to sense when I’m faking,” she said, chuckling.

“Mom! Don’t do that,” I said, with a frown.

She pulled me into her arms and hugged me tight, “Aw, baby. I’m sorry, it’s just fun to mess with you.”

“Fun for you,” I muttered, pulling back.

She smiled, with a slight strain, barely noticeable, that I thought I’d just imagined it, “Honey, don’t you want to use the toilet?”

“No,” I replied.

She gave me a firm look, “Go use the toilet. There’s going to be traffic on the way home, and we can’t be stopping for you to pee.”

“Fine. Don’t go anywhere,” I said, hurrying off to the loo, to empty a bladder that was pretty much . . . well, empty.

I heard the sound of jellybeans clattering on the floor as I stepped back out into the lobby, and saw the crowd around the woman lying on the floor, eyes closed. I could hear my screams loud and clear, but I felt like I couldn’t make a sound, and as I saw her limp hand on the floor, I heard my own words again and again, in my head: ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

I wanted to tell somebody just how much it hurt. I wanted to scream, hit something, yell at somebody, but it all seemed a little overdramatic. It had been a very long time since that day, and I felt like I should have been completely over it already, but she was my mom, my best friend, and my confidante all rolled into one. How was anyone supposed to deal with losing the three most important people in their life, all at the same time?