Incoming Call

I sit in the silent zone of Richview Library. Mom calls my cellphone. Afraid to answer, I leave it ringing on silent. I stare waiting for it to go on voicemail. Guilt sits at the bottom of my stomach. I rest my forehead in the palms of my hands. It’s been three weeks since I’ve heard the news. The events are still fresh in my memory. Desperate to find a distraction, I open my grade eleven biology textbook and begin reading a chapter on genetics. The silent hum of an old radiator heats the room on a cold October afternoon.

n

 

Mom pulls up to the curb of Maggie’s apartment in Mississauga. The cool mid-October air blows gold and brown leaves off the ground. Mom hops out of the car. She pokes her head through the door and faces me in the passenger seat.

            “Move to the back so Maggie can sit there.” She says. 

I nod. I scuffle to the back. An uneasy feeling in my chest erupts from the pit of my stomach. It’s been two weeks since Grandpa has been sent to the retirement home. I don’t remember what he looks like anymore. Dad warned me this morning his condition has taken over.

            “It might be hard for you. Are you sure you want to go today?”

I can hear his question running through my mind. Of course, I want to go. What kind of a granddaughter would I be if I didn’t? I watch Mom open the door to the front entrance. Maggie links her arm with Mom’s. Her hands shake as she steps one foot slowly in front of the other. Maggie wears a brown leather fur coat and matching hat. It protects her red hair from the wind. Mom helps her down the side of the building toward the car. Maggie appears small next to the massive pink and white building as she scales beside it. Blue circles run deep underneath her eyes. She looks exhausted. Mom brings her to the front of the car, and opens the door.   

            “Chao Maya!” She pops her head inside. “How are you?”

            “I’m alright Maggie,” I say. “ How are you?”

She sighs. “Oh, you know. So-so.”

I give her a weak smile. I don’t know what else to say. Should I comfort her? Tell her everything will be fine?

Mom closes the passenger seat door. The two of us sit in silence as Mom walks around the front of the car and to the driver’s side. Maggie sits with her hands folded in her lap and she stares dazedly out the window. I look down at my feet. Mom opens the door and settles herself inside as she sparks the ignition. 

            “Okay, here we go!” She declares.

I want to say something. Anything. But the words are left jumbled in the base of my throat. Mom and Maggie strike up a conversation, but I’m too nervous to pay attention. The car rolls onto Dundas Road, and we head toward The Trillium Hospital. Grey clouds cover the sky and rain splats onto the car windows. I sit quietly in the back for twenty minutes. The rain spits onto the ground, turning the light grey ash fault to black. What a s****y day.

            “Maya I’m going to find a parking spot. I’ll drop you and Maggie off at the front. Wait for me inside.” Mom says as she enters the parking lot.

            “Okay.” I nod.

As I open the back car door, it begins to rain. The cold drops land on my head. I rush to help Maggie out of the car. We walk quickly to the roofed entrance.

            “He is not doing well.” Maggie states.

            “Tata told me.”

            “I know he did. I just want to warn you, it may be hard.”

First Tata and now Maggie. Do these two think I have no backbone? Mom runs down the parking lot, avoiding the rain.

            “Ready?” She says.

I feel anxious.

            “I’m ready.”

When we enter, Maggie leads us to the elevator.

“George is on the second floor.”

This place reeks of disinfectant. I feel myself grow impatient. I look up at the elevator turn style as it counts down to the main floor. I hope he can remember. That’s all I ask.

n

I follow Mom to the front desk as she asks the receptionist for George’s room. Dozens of nurses scramble over the floor. They remove patients out of their rooms. It’s midday clean up. Each patient is placed in wheelchairs. They all look shriveled. I try to find my grandfather. I eventually spot him smiling in my direction. He looks almost unrecognizable.

            “They are going to bring his medicine soon.” I hear Maggie say.

We walk to Grandpa’s room. He keeps his smile plastered on his face.

            “Maggie!” He greets her with excitement.

He looks toward Mom and I, but he is unable to recognize us. He wails his arms like a child. His smile does not fade. The nurse wheels him back inside of his small bedroom. He is crammed with another man, diagnosed with the same condition.

            “On je kao malo dete cada.” (He is like a little child now) Maggie says. I nod my head with comprehension.

Grandpa still cannot remember me. But he eventually remembers my mother. He greets her with a laugh and cheers loudly in front of us. Maggie pulls out Grandpa’s old harmonica. His eyes widen like those of a child on Christmas morning. He throws his arms forward and calls out to Maggie to give it to him.

            “Daj me! Daj me!” He calls out. (Give it to me! Give it to me!)

            “He’s forgotten how to speak English.” Maggie explains. “He can only speak Serbian now.”

            “I see.”

She gives him the harmonica. He begins to blow, making an array of intertwined melodies. He suddenly looks at my mother and Maggie. His face molds into a perplexed and unsure expression.

            “Gde je Maya?” He asks. (Where is Maya?)

            “Ona je ispred tebe, George!” (She’s in front of you, George!)  Maggie calls out.

Grandpa looks dumbfounded as he finally notices me sitting in front of him. He stares for a brief moment.         

            “Ovo nije Maya,” He explains. (This isn’t Maya.) “Maya je mali.” (Maya is small.)

            “Ne George, Maya je sada veliki.” (No George, Maya is older now.)

I stare directly at him, and smile nervously. He gazes in my direction a bit longer and then realizes who I am; his sixteen year-old granddaughter coming to visit. This realization is too much for him to handle and he begins to break down in tears.

            “George sviraj tvoj Harmonica!” (George play your Harmonica!) Desperation bubbles in Maggie’s voice.

And just like that, Grandpa goes back to being a helpless giddy child. He is vulnerable and ignorant of his condition.

            “You see Maya,” Maggie turns toward me. “He does not remember much. He remembers you as a little girl.”

            “Oh.” 

Are the only words capable of leaving my mouth.

n

As I sit in the silent zone of the library. My mother calls for the third time. I look down at my biology textbook. I have a test in a week on the human body. I can’t focus. My phone goes off again. I know something must have happened. It could be about Grandpa, or maybe she’s calling because she’s worried. I place my palms over my eyes and sit with indecision. A woman turns to me and says,

“If you're not going to answer your phone, the least you can do is turn it off.”

            “Sorry.” I say.

 I grab my phone and leave the silent area. I walk down the steps to the first floor. I see parents taking their young children to the library. They smile and run around the lobby area with excitement. I walk past them, and open the doors to the cold bitter wind of a late October afternoon. I call back.

            “Maya! Is that you?” My mom panics.  “The receptions bad I can’t hear you!” She continues.

            “I’m here.” I say.

            “For Christ sake, I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon!”

            “I’m sorry, I turned my cell phone off.” I lie.

            “Well, Maggie called me.”

Its about Grandpa. It’s serious, I know it is. I don’t want to hear it. Not today.

            “What is it?” I ask.

            “George has been sent to the hospital. He got an infection in his liver, and it spread to his lungs. He’s been sent into the emergency room.”

I feel my eyes burn. A lump forms inside my throat preventing me from speaking.

            “Hello? Are you there?”

            “Yea.” I say.

            “So I’m going over there tonight, okay?”

            “Okay.”

            “Dad will come pick you up.” She says.

            “Okay.”

            “And there are some left overs in the fridge for dinner, okay?”

            “Mom?” I ask.

            “Yes?”

            “Is he going to die?”

            “I don’t know sweetie. He isn’t doing very well, but the doctors are trying their best to help him.”

I know she’s lying. The last time I saw him was back at the retirement home. He couldn’t stand by himself. He could barely speak. And worst of all, he couldn’t recognize me. That’s my last memory of him. I was the unrecognizable girl that came to visit.

 

 

Author's Note

I'm still working on the ending. Suggestions would be helpful! Thanks for reading.

Reviews

[emipoemi]

I have no words.....my voice is in my awe!! This reads extremely well, and though it got a bit confusing in terms of what point in time the scenes take place, it in the end wraps up superbly. Absolutely well done!

(and with a title that actually fully suits the story, rather than simply be a throwaway mention of a theme within the story)