Part I; Chapter 1

Spring 2024

My mother always told me you should live each day like it was your last, which is why it baffles me that the day she died was less than ordinary for her. It had begun like any other rainy April morning, with an overall sense of lethargy and disdain for what little daylight peeked through. I was dragging my feet to get myself ready for school, and all I can remember thinking was that if I missed the bus, Mom was going to murder me.

I rushed out the door without saying goodbye.

The bus had pulled up just as I got to the corner, and with a sigh of relief I had clamored aboard, hoisting my guitar case above my head so as not to hit anyone with it. The day seemed like any other from that point on, and I paid no mind to the passing minutes as I trudged through first period, then to my locker to get my things for gym class.

At 9:57am that morning, the lights in the gymnasium flickered, and then went out. Class halted for fifteen minutes before the back up generator kicked on and Mr. Gormen sent us to the showers. We were all late to our third period classes, with notes from Mr. Gormen, as I trudged down the hall to math. When I opened the door, I saw Miss Stern, my math teacher, standing with Principal Matthews. They both looked at me with a sad expression, and I furrowed my eyebrows, confused.

“I have a note from Mr. Gormen for being late,” I held the piece of paper up in front of me, a peaceful offer of defense.

Principal Matthews—a tall, broad, mountain of a man—simply shook his head, placed his rough, giant hand on my shoulder, and turned me back out of the room. He didn’t speak a word to me as we walked down the hall to his office, my mind trying to remember what I had done to get escorted to the office by the principal himself. His door was shut, which was strange since he had an open door policy; he only shut his door when he was expelling someone or delivering some other such bad news.

A knot started to form in my stomach. “Principal Matthews, what’s going on?” He glanced at me, his blue eyes dark and concerned. It was eerie to see the contrast of a soul against the man’s exterior. I swallowed, my heart rate increasing threefold by the time the door opened. When I stepped in to his office, I saw my sister sitting in a chair and my father, facing away from me, leaning against the wall. My eyes darted from one to the other, panic rising in me. “Dad?” my voice squeaked.

Dad jumped at the sound of my voice, and he turned, slowly, to face me. He had this strange, lop-sided, sad smile on his face. “Sit down, buddy,”

I will never forget the sound of my father’s voice as he said those three words: It was gruff, laced with something that I couldn’t place at the time. It didn’t sound like my father’s voice at all, and it was terrifying. He tried to cover it, to speak steadily and evenly as he stuffed his hands in his pockets nervously, while he explained that I had forgotten my lunch again, so Mom was on her way to bring it to me when a tractor-trailer lost control in the rain. Blood started to drain from my head—I could feel myself getting light-headed and dizzy, my legs suddenly feeling too weak to support my full body weight.

My backpack fell from my hands when my father paused, pressing the palm of his hand to his chest. “Mom’s OK, though, right? Dad, she’s OK, right?” I realized I was shouting, but I didn’t care. My father was just standing there, staring at me, tears welling in his eyes.

Not even when Grandma passed away had I seen my father cry.

“No,” I shook my head, backing away from him as it sunk in, the word falling from my lips uncontrollably. My back hit the wall and I slide down to the floor, sobs tearing from my throat at the thought, bringing with it the vomit that had threatened me before.

My mother was dead.


A Scar Away Home | Next