this imploding heart

I see terror in your eyes, as we go up, we go down

Just as I was hanging up the phone with my father on the work phone, (can I still borrow your car to go swimming tomorrow, dad? 'Yes, but I'm not sure what's going on as far as my ride to Idaho goes, so I'll call you later'), my cell phone starts ringing from an unidentified number. It's my mother, calling from a mechanics shop in Rathdrum, ID. As soon as she speaks, I can feel the blood draining from my face and hands and my breath quickens. Her voice, usually big and bright and a half step away from a song, is shaking like she's been sobbing, or standing in the snow for days, or both.

"Momma! What's wrong!? Where are you?!"

(and still, after all these years, everything in me expects her to say "I'm at Kootenai Medical, waiting to get checked out of ER and into a room." Especially with this voice. That's what this voice usually means.)

"Oh, honey. I'm...." she breaks and I can see her leaning forward, resting her forehead against her delicate fingertips. "I can't do it. I'm too tired. I'm at the auto shop in Rathdrum, trying to get.... I need.... I'm so tired. I need you to come with your dad tomorrow and drive me over. I can't do it. I'm sorry."

"Oh, momsa. Don't be sorry. I'll be happy to come and get you. Are you crying? Please don't cry, mom."

"I'm not, I'm not crying. I'm just exhausted, Sonya. I'm....I'm too exhausted. There's a painter at the house now and there are still twenty things to do and I just.... ."

"Don't lift a finger. I'll be there before you know it. I'm serious, mom. Don't kill yourself over this. Not worth it."

"I...thank you, honey."

Moving. Sucks.

Posted by Sonya at August 12, 2004 01:01 PM