The Moments

Chapter Fourteen

"One second," dad says, but when he talks to Jem the conversations always take a while.

As soon as he parks my chair, my phone buzzes and I snatch it hastily, I'm disappointed to see that it is not Jordan's name lighting up my screen. It's my mom. I slide to answer anyway and like there's a little switch in my mind, I put on my best attitude. The peppiest version of myself.

"Hey Maddie!" she chirps and it's not until she uses my nickname that I remembered people call me that. My dad and nurse Kate know I hate it, and it's as though Jordan had never even considered it an option. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy that would abbreviate. He has the patience to muddle through the full three syllables.

"Hey mom," I return, trying to match her enthusiasm. I know jail isn't as fun as she makes it out to be, but I let her believe that I'm convinced.

"How are you love?" she inquires. It's part of her routine. She calls, she greets, she questions, she sighs, then she claims she has to hang up, whether it's true or not.

"I'm alright. A little uncomfortable right now, but it's not out of the ordinary," I didn't mean to sound so helpless and pitiful. It's kind of hard not to sometimes.

I can practically hear her frown as she says, "I'm sorry Maddie."

She says my name a lot when we speak. She didn't used to do that, but I think she does it now because she thinks she's reminding me that she's here and she hasn't forgotten about me. She likes to tell me that she thinks of me everyday, and I never say it, but I think about her a lot to. I want to tell her more than just the surface information that gets relayed to her. It's not fair that she's on the outside of her own daughter's life. She deserves to know about people like Jordan, but it just seems like a weird thing for me to bring up. It's just not the type of thing we talk about anymore.

I want to subtly work him into the conversation because he's becoming something of a boyfriend and of course she should know that. So I ask, "What's new with you?", hoping she'll ask me the same thing in return.

"Nothing much. Wishing I was in solitary confinement some days. My cell mate it a nightmare," she whispers the last part as though said cell mate might be near by, but she's just messing around. My mother's humor is basic and not very funny, but I appreciate it none the less. "What about you? Any adaptions in the wild life of Madelyn?"

I smile at the use of my full name and I grip the opportunity to talk about Jordan. "Yeah actually," I begin, "there's this-"

I stop mid sentence as a rush of people appear out of the elevator. A gurney is pushed hurriedly down the hall with this boy on it, I crane my neck to look at him, but I've never seen him before. He must have just been brought in. There's blood staining the sheets around him and he's laying perfectly still. Dead still. He's paler than anybody should ever be and the doctors pushing the gurney are shouting over each other and I can't make out a single word. They pass me and I can smell the blood. I gag and barely pull myself out of the chair and to a small trashcan before I throw up.

As though in slow motion, the crowd of people break apart just enough for me to get a good look at the boy's full body. He's clothes are soaked in a mix of water and blood. His hair sticks to his forehead in thick clumps. His chest doesn't rise or fall. He doesn't shiver, despite his blue lips. Everything about him looks so still and calm, yet everything surrounding him is chaos. It's weird to think that death isn't the storm itself, but the calm that comes before. Everything after is the storm. The death is action that sets the endless results into motion.

I finishing emptying my stomach and quickly swipe the back of my hand over my mouth. I breath heavily, watching as the doctors and the boy disappear around a corner. I spit into the trashcan and look up to find my dad kneeling beside me and a few nurses offering to help. My dad is used to me being sick so he waves them off and helps me back to the chair. He keeps glancing down the hall, in the direction all the chaos went, as though they might turn around and come back. I'm still reeling from the sight. I still feel sick from it.