An Ending Without Goodbye

Written Spring 2005

 

I can remember the exact moment when my childhood ended. I was always mature for my age – always the “little grown-up.” I’ve seen more in my eighteen years than most people have to see before they turn forty. But falling into the arms of my best friend that December morning, the door to my youth officially slammed shut.

            Rindi’s love for me was apparent. The trip from her house to mine usually took about twenty-five minutes; that day she made it in ten. I loved my best friend, and I always will, but I’ve never wished so badly that I didn’t have to see her. I flew outside, tears streaming down my face, speechless. The screen door slammed behind me; Rindi shuddered.

            “Mal…I um…I’m…I drove as fast as I could…” she trailed off. I sobbed.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s early. You had a sleepover. I’m sorry. I knew I

couldn’t move her. I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t say any more. I could barely even breathe as I clung to her. Luckily for me I was standing directly in front of our concrete stoop, because a few moments later, my legs buckled and I involuntarily sat down. It was a cold, dry day; too beautiful for the event it was forced to host. I stared at the front yard that would no longer be mine. I had grown up here. I had missed the details. Suddenly I noticed the slant of the tiny walkway that began at the front door, passed in front of the picture window, and ended at our large, open, concrete driveway. I noticed the way the sunlight filtered through the branches of the two huge maple trees in our front yard, one in front of the other, lining the driveway. The tree closest to the house bore obvious evidence of me: the rope swing my Papa hung for me when I was five. He was teaching me how to hammer and saw; I helped him make the wide, board seat and drill holes in each end. He tied a then white rope through each hole and fastened each end to the sturdiest branch; the tree was mine. I introduced myself the first time I used the swing.

“I’m Mallory,” I said softly, “and I know that you can hear me – it’ll be our

secret.” I smiled to myself at knowing the secrets of trees. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to swing. Tell me if it hurts.”

With this, I wrapped my tiny arms as far around the coarse trunk as I could

reach, and I hugged my tree. I heard a faint giggle, and I turned around to see my mother, smiling at me through the open picture window. “I wanted to see if I could reach all the way around,” I lied. I didn’t want to betray the trust of my new friend. I’m sure now that she heard the whole thing. My mother just laughed and shook her head. My mother…

            My memory disappeared and it was December again. Inside, the paramedics were talking in hushed tones. Shouldn’t they be talking to me? I thought to myself. I couldn’t go back inside.

“Rindi,” I started, breaking the long silence, “can we go sit in the car,

please?”

She nodded and I was grateful. The car was facing away from the house,

which I was also grateful for. I couldn’t watch them bring her out; it would kill me. I had already seen too much. My head started spinning with a thousand images. I remembered the entire morning. Each detail flashed in my head like a flashbulb. The alarm blared. The clock flashed six a.m. The channel seven news was playing on the television we hadn’t turned off. She asked me to turn the channel the night before, but I didn’t want to get up. I fell asleep without saying goodnight. Groggy, I growled.

            “Mom…the alarm…it’s loud.” The weather report was on. I glared at the alarm clock that sat on the far side of the room. We had camped out in the living room; my mother on the couch by the window, and myself on the couch across from her. I looked over at her; she was lying facing the window. I rolled my eyes.

“Mooom,” I said, imitating the high-pitched voice she used to wake me up,

“time to get up. It’s six. You have work.” Silence. The only sound was the air-raid drill beeping of the clock. The room was dark except for the light of the television. I rustled under my blanket. I was fast asleep, too, I thought to myself, she must not feel good; she always gets the alarm. I guessed that this was some kind of random payback for every morning of my life that I had to get up early; waking me is like waking a sleeping bear. I even growl.

            “Mom.” This time I said it firmly, raising my voice, “Time to get up!” Complete silence. My mom was a light sleeper. “Damn it,” I muttered. I reached for Lola. My mom had given her to me as a good luck charm before a dance competition, two weeks before; she was a stuffed dog, a Westie, and I couldn’t sleep without her. I finally found Lola under the blanket beside my feet. I threw her across the room. She bounced off my mom’s arm, to her hip, and into the floor. Stillness. The alarm blared. Something was wrong.

            I pushed back the covers and sat up to rest my feet on the cold, hardwood floor. I stood and walked to the wooden chest at the end of the room. It sat beside my mom’s couch, and I smacked the top of the alarm, turning it off. The clock read 6:04. I reached for her arm.

            “Mo-“ I froze. Cold. Ice cold. “What the…” I reached for the lamp at the end of the couch; I turned her over. Light flooded the room. My mouth gaped open; my knees buckled, and I hit the ground beside the couch – hard. Her lips were blue. “Mom?” I choked. “MOM!” I screamed. I shook her as hard as I could; I grabbed her face; I opened her eyelids. I screamed again, this time incoherently. My mind raced. I stared at her lips; I tried to open her mouth – it wouldn’t move. I smacked her face; I smacked my own. I must be dreaming, I thought. Something snapped; it wasn’t a dream. My body moved without me.

            I raced around the room, straightening up anything that the paramedics would see. I paused to make sure I had done a good job. The clock read 6:10. Through foggy eyes, I looked at my mother; I adjusted her pajamas and straightened her blanket. Beyond panic, I went numb. I walked calmly into the kitchen. Past the refrigerator, where a Thanksgiving card was displayed prominently on the door; past the table, cluttered with bills and papers, and the stove, with last night’s pizza box still sitting on top. I stopped at the rack beside the stove, and picked up the phone. I dialed 911.

            “Hello?”

            “Yes, I need an ambulance.” My own calmness shocked me. I had never called 911 before.

            “What’s the problem, ma’am?”

            “My mom…she’s,” I paused. “She’s dead. I can’t move her. I need someone.” I was slowly losing my composure.

            “Now ma’am, are you sure you’ve tri-“ I lost it.

            “SHE’S DEAD. I CAN’T MOVE HER. I NEED SOMEONE. NOW!” I bellowed. Sheepishly, the operator answered me.

            “Calm down, ma’am. I just need to verify your address, and someone will be there as soon as possible.” I verified my information. “Do you want me to stay on the line with you?”

            “No.”

            “Ma’am are you –“

            “NO.” I hung up. I felt like I was watching a movie. I watched myself slowly step back through the kitchen and into the living room. I moved the clock, and pulled the wooden trunk closer to the couch. I sat with my mother; I held her hand. I whispered to her – mother-daughter secrets and confessions. I squeezed her hand and slipped her ring off and onto my own, smaller fingers. I was flooded with memories: our road trip on Route 66, our spontaneous trip to Wilmington, North Carolina. I fell in love with the tiny downtown and the peaceful beaches that now form my favorite vacation spot. I remembered the seven Backstreet Boys concerts that we attended. Mom threatened to follow the buses to some place in Georgia, but I reminded her we didn’t have the gas. I wished that I hadn’t reminded her. I remembered countless hockey games, especially my first. Her favorite sport to watch became mine as well, and we traveled all the way to Toledo, Ohio once just to see our boys win a playoff game. I remembered my lessons. “Sit up straight; Put your napkin in your lap; Chew with your mouth closed.” I remembered heart-to-heart talks. I cringed. There would be no new memories.

            I stayed with her until the paramedics arrived. The clock read 6:19. They rushed in as if there was something they could do, something they could fix. I shook my head. They asked me a million questions. What time did I find her? What happened? Could I fill out this information sheet? Was there someone I could call to take me to the hospital? To meet me there? The woman asking me questions was the mother of a boy named Jonathan; I went to elementary school with him. I wondered if she remembered me. Her manner was quiet and awkward; I figured she remembered.

I absently answered her questions as I stared over her shoulder. They took my mother’s pulse. I felt angry. Couldn’t they see that her lips were blue? Tears filled my eyes. Did they have to drag it out? A man with a clipboard wrote something down as he looked at her. Another man pulled out a white sheet. My mouth gaped. My questioner paused and looked at her feet. I watched them pull the sheet over my mother’s body. Her body, I thought to myself. I was filled with an indescribable feeling of dread. I told Jonathan’s mom that I needed to make a phone call. I called Rindi.

Tears were streaming down my face. Snapping back to reality, sitting in Rindi’s car, I pleaded with her.

“Please go tell the paramedics we’re leaving.”

“Okay. Are you gonna be okay right here for a minute?”

“I can’t go in there.”

“Okay.”

She stepped out and I stared at my feet. My whole world was crashing all around me and I was powerless to stop it. I felt sick. Rindi was coming back outside when I stepped out of the car. Head swimming, I walked to the edge of the woods; I threw up. Rindi brought me a towel from her backseat, and rubbed my back.

“We have to go. I can’t see them bring her out. I physically can’t.”

“Okay hun, let’s go.”

            We got back into the car and drove away. When we got to the hospital, we sat in the parking lot. We waited; I sang with the radio. I tried not to go crazy. It felt like the whole world was coming to an end. In a way, part of my world was ending. Childhood was over. Rindi held my hand and I stared out the window; I couldn’t feel anything. Childhood was gone.

Reviews

[Kadie Tee]

Wow, that was great. I totally know how that feels... to realize that your mom isn't there anymore, just a cold, stiff body that they cart out of your house and into an ambulance. Just so much comes crashing in at once... it's a feeling that only we can know.

I flowed through your story really quickly, which is refreshing because a lot of people get caught up in too much descriptions and wordiness, you know? I loved the part about your tree swing... really touching and brimming with the warmness of childhood. I get what you mean by your childhood disappearing, because I compare my life today and my life before my mom died, and the warmth and comfort is just gone. Home doesn't feel so much like home anymore... just an empty shell. Not to sound too negative, but it's like all the happiness and reasons to be homesick suddenly evaporated.

We have almost the same story here... I didn't include my best friend 'cause I thought it would get too complicated, but my best friend actually slept over at my house that night because we were celebrating her birthday... crazy coincidence haha. But yeah, not meaning to ramble, but I really loved your story... I'm so glad you told me to read it, hehe. :D

[lAcEy_LoO's Poems Site]

OMG that was so good... very cleaver i liked the opeing line!!! "I can remember the exact moment when my childhood ended." i dont think many of us remeber when our child hood ended!!!!

Very good... i liked it alot