Purpose ❆ Benny Rodriguez

20 | mom

　For a minute, I stared at my hands, contemplating. What reason did I have to wake her? We had no plans for the day. Nothing to prepare for. . . .

　Sighing, I made my decision. I would let her rest. Clearly she needed it.

　As I stood, I glanced at Mom again – and then I froze. She looked so peaceful, so peaceful, so deep in sleep. It was then that my eyes flickered to her chest, covered by her deep purple blanket. I stared, my gaze unwavering.

　She was still. Completely still.

　My heart had already picked up its pace. A wave of anxiety crashed over me, pricking at my skin, my muscles. Suddenly my skin tingled all over and then went numb, and I could feel my insides rumble, a threat, and the beating of my heart was so violent that it hurt my chest.

　"Hey, mom," I managed to say, dropping down to the side of the bed. The movement traveled through the bed, moving her with it, but she did not stir. "Hey."

　I gripped her shoulder and shook gently. She did not react in the slightest. So she was in a very deep sleep, of course, and I shook her again, harder this time.

　"Mom, wake up." My voice was louder this time; there were times that Mom could be a very heavy sleeper, and once Elizabeth had to scream in Mom's face to wake her up. The exhaustion must have caught up with her.

　I should leave her alone, I thought. She's just really tired. She'll wake up when she's rested.

　But I could not push away the worry buried in my heart. I shook her again, harder, harder, always harder, and I called for her several times, louder and louder, but she never once stirred. Now the panic was setting in.

　The moment I stood to my feet, my knees buckled, and I nearly tumbled to the ground. My entire body was numb, and my hands were trembling violently. I could not choke back the painful rising nausea.

　"Mom," was all I managed to whisper, my voice breaking completely. I stared at her in shock, terrified. No single thought could run through my brain and actually make any bit of sense. My mind had gone into a frenzy.

　Only after I had watched her chest for five minutes straight, searching for the slightest of movements – and finding none – did I trudge out of the bedroom.

　Elizabeth had not moved from her spot against the counter. She stared down at the coffee mug, tracing her finger along the rim. I could not speak, but she noticed me on her own after a while.

　The girl's brows pulled together instantly, creased with worry. "What's up with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

　I was biting down on my tongue; the metallic substance of blood was bitter against my throat. If I had been breathing, I might have choked on it. All I could do was stare at my older sister, unable to open my mouth, unable to find my voice. Shock consumed me.

　"What?" she demanded, the worry now coloring her voice as well as her eyes. She straightened up, moving to enter the living room, coffee mug in hand. "Benny, what is it? Why are you looking at me like that? You're scaring me. . . ."

　Mom. My mouth shaped the word, and blood oozed down my lip. The sight caused Liz to lurch forward.

　"Benny!" she shrieked, reaching me in seconds. Then she touched my lower lip with her free hand, dabbing at the blood. "What happened to you? Why are you bleeding?"