Dream with Me ✔️

13: Come Back to Me

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Aurora ☪︎
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Chapter 13:  Come Back to Me [Edited]

"I miss you so much mija. Come back to me"

Those words continue to ring in my head, over and over. It's as if someone is playing a recording on repeat. I can't even remember when my mother said that to me. Trust me when I say I've tried so hard to pinpoint when these exact words were said to me. Though every time, my mind draws a blank and associates it with black, emptiness.

I've been having moments throughout the day where I freak out about me possibly going insane or having some kind of memory loss resulting in the lack of sleep I've accumulated all these years. Or maybe that this is some kind of repercussion from the car accident. I realized this as a lot of the phrases I hear, or I think I'm hearing are related to the crash or some fragment of it.

Luckily, the plane descending is enough to keep me back in the present time. The thoughts of finally seeing my mom after a couple months make me anxious and want to get off the plane as soon as possible. I'm anxious to be back in my home. I haven't been in the apartment since mid-summer when I had to move in the dorms.

A part of me is afraid that things have changed since I left. Another feels that it would be awkward when I see my mother again. I know that it shouldn't be but it's been a while since I've seen her in person. Sure I talk to her once a week over the phone, but that's not the same.

Eventually, I'm home.

Stepping out of the Uber and dragging my small suitcase out with me I face the old, worn down, apartment on the side of Seattle tourists don't see. The nostalgia hits me as I make my way to my apartment, my pink key in hand, prepared to open the door I used to open every day.

As soon as it squeaks open I'm welcomed by the familiar darkness and shadows outlined by the minimal furniture. The entire place smells like my mother, it's comforting. I quickly glance behind me, the sun is almost completely set. I rush in and close the door behind me.

My mother isn't home yet, which isn't much of a surprise, so I flip on the lights. Instantly putting my things away in the room I used to share with my mom I go straight to the kitchen to cook. It's a one-bedroom apartment, there aren't many options on where I could sleep. I'd like to say having to share my room my whole life has definitely helped things go by smoother when I first moved into the dorms.

Thanksgiving food for us is mainly just American food, a little more than a regular dinner. My mom would buy a small tres leches cake from the small bakery a few blocks from here. We don't necessarily think of Thanksgiving as a super important holiday. It's nothing special and almost like a regular day besides the extra food and saying our thanks.

Since it's just the two of us, we obviously don't make a lot of food, seeing as that would be wasteful and unnecessary. For the food we do have leftover, we would eat it the following days until we can go to the store again.

By the time I'm finished, I place the array of food on the small, two-seater table. I decide to keep the cake she bought last night in the fridge until we're done with our dinner. I know my mother's schedule like the back of my hand. She's probably getting off the bus and walking back home right now.

I take my time to sit down, to get a good look at the apartment and the memories it holds. All the hours I couldn't use on sleep were used to study. My unknowing mom only a few feet away, and a curtain separating the small room to give us a sense of privacy.