"Lucas Scott."
Huh? That's my name, right? I was awaken from my sleepy stupor.
Mr. Davis put a pink not on my desk. It read, "Report to the office. Immediently."
Whitey was pulling me out of class to start killing me? I considered making a run for it, but when I left the class, the principal was standing there.
"Lucas," he said solemnly.
"What?"
"You need to go straight home. I'll give you a ride."
I followed Mr. Andrews to his car, thinking the worst. Keith got into a car accident.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"It's not really my place." Was all he would say.
Keith was fine. He opened the door as we pulled into the driveway.
His face was white, drained of all color.
"What the hell is going on?"
Mr. Andrews nodded at Keith. Keith thanked him for bringing me home and Mr. Andrews left.
"Lucas, sit down."
"I don't want to sit down. I want to know what the hell is wrong."
"This lady who is in the cooking class with your mom just called. When she didn't show up for class today, she got worried and went to check on her."
"She's okay, right? Mom is fine."
Keith shook his head. "She had a brain aneurism."
"What does that mean?" My heart was beating very fast. I wished I was sitting, my head was spinning. "We need to go. Is she in the hospital?"
"She's dead, Luke." Keith's mouth creased at the sides. He was about to cry. His eyes were welling with tears.
"No, no she's not. I just talked to her. She's fine. She's in Italy. She's coming back in two weeks."
Keith shook his head.
"No. No, Keith! She's not dead! They are thinking of someone else. Someone else's...mom." The end was cut off because of my choked sobs.
Keith started crying, but he didn't argue with me. What was he doing crying? This couldn't be right. She was fine. I talked to her last night. He was with me.
"She can't be. She's not-"
Keith wiped his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Lucas."
"No!" I threw a small lamp Mom and I decorated one Christmas together at the window. Pieces of glass flew across the room making rainbows dance across the walls for a second before they landed and the chill from the cold outside air penetrated the house. I threw an art book at a mirror. I kept throwing things and shouting until Keith grabbed my arms. "Lucas." He said softly. He didn't need to say anymore. I cried. He held me and rocked me back and forth. I buried my face in the flannel of his button-down shirt. He rubbed my back with one hand and put the other hand on the back on my head. I felt my knees give way. I was no longer standing on my own. Keith continued holding me. His warm tears landed on my shoulder.
"It's not true." I kept repeating softly.
I clawed his back, grabbing and pulling at his shirt. I'm sure I was hurting him, but he didn't show any signs of pain. He didn't try to shush me or contradict my denial. I think he wanted my statements to be true just as much as I did.
We must have stood there in the living room for an hour, Keith holding me tighter than I had ever been held. Eventually, the tears were gone. I had nothing left to cry. My stomach ached from the convulsions of heaving crying. I tried to keep crying, but nothing came. I felt sick. I ran to the bathroom and vomited.
Keith stood in the doorway. His face was red and tearstained. I didn't like it. He had to be strong, he had to hold me together.
"You should probably eat something," he choked out.
I shook my head. "I'm not hungry."
"Yeah, I'm not either."
We sat down on the couch. He put his arm around me. I wasn't ready to hold myself together yet.
"I'm so sorry, Luke. I loved her a lot, too, you know?"
"She wasn't your mom," I countered. For some reason I thought it had to be clear that I loved her more than he did.
"I know that. When I took her to the airport, she kissed me."
"You kissed my mom?"
He nodded, and smiled to himself a weak smile. "She was an amazing person, your mom."
"She IS an amazing person!" I shouted.
Keith nodded. I found some more tears somewhere in the back of my skull and Keith held me again while I let them out.
"It's not fair!" I said into his shirt. "She's all I have."
"You have me."
"You're not my mom." I said.
"I know, Lucas, I know."
Huh? That's my name, right? I was awaken from my sleepy stupor.
Mr. Davis put a pink not on my desk. It read, "Report to the office. Immediently."
Whitey was pulling me out of class to start killing me? I considered making a run for it, but when I left the class, the principal was standing there.
"Lucas," he said solemnly.
"What?"
"You need to go straight home. I'll give you a ride."
I followed Mr. Andrews to his car, thinking the worst. Keith got into a car accident.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"It's not really my place." Was all he would say.
Keith was fine. He opened the door as we pulled into the driveway.
His face was white, drained of all color.
"What the hell is going on?"
Mr. Andrews nodded at Keith. Keith thanked him for bringing me home and Mr. Andrews left.
"Lucas, sit down."
"I don't want to sit down. I want to know what the hell is wrong."
"This lady who is in the cooking class with your mom just called. When she didn't show up for class today, she got worried and went to check on her."
"She's okay, right? Mom is fine."
Keith shook his head. "She had a brain aneurism."
"What does that mean?" My heart was beating very fast. I wished I was sitting, my head was spinning. "We need to go. Is she in the hospital?"
"She's dead, Luke." Keith's mouth creased at the sides. He was about to cry. His eyes were welling with tears.
"No, no she's not. I just talked to her. She's fine. She's in Italy. She's coming back in two weeks."
Keith shook his head.
"No. No, Keith! She's not dead! They are thinking of someone else. Someone else's...mom." The end was cut off because of my choked sobs.
Keith started crying, but he didn't argue with me. What was he doing crying? This couldn't be right. She was fine. I talked to her last night. He was with me.
"She can't be. She's not-"
Keith wiped his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Lucas."
"No!" I threw a small lamp Mom and I decorated one Christmas together at the window. Pieces of glass flew across the room making rainbows dance across the walls for a second before they landed and the chill from the cold outside air penetrated the house. I threw an art book at a mirror. I kept throwing things and shouting until Keith grabbed my arms. "Lucas." He said softly. He didn't need to say anymore. I cried. He held me and rocked me back and forth. I buried my face in the flannel of his button-down shirt. He rubbed my back with one hand and put the other hand on the back on my head. I felt my knees give way. I was no longer standing on my own. Keith continued holding me. His warm tears landed on my shoulder.
"It's not true." I kept repeating softly.
I clawed his back, grabbing and pulling at his shirt. I'm sure I was hurting him, but he didn't show any signs of pain. He didn't try to shush me or contradict my denial. I think he wanted my statements to be true just as much as I did.
We must have stood there in the living room for an hour, Keith holding me tighter than I had ever been held. Eventually, the tears were gone. I had nothing left to cry. My stomach ached from the convulsions of heaving crying. I tried to keep crying, but nothing came. I felt sick. I ran to the bathroom and vomited.
Keith stood in the doorway. His face was red and tearstained. I didn't like it. He had to be strong, he had to hold me together.
"You should probably eat something," he choked out.
I shook my head. "I'm not hungry."
"Yeah, I'm not either."
We sat down on the couch. He put his arm around me. I wasn't ready to hold myself together yet.
"I'm so sorry, Luke. I loved her a lot, too, you know?"
"She wasn't your mom," I countered. For some reason I thought it had to be clear that I loved her more than he did.
"I know that. When I took her to the airport, she kissed me."
"You kissed my mom?"
He nodded, and smiled to himself a weak smile. "She was an amazing person, your mom."
"She IS an amazing person!" I shouted.
Keith nodded. I found some more tears somewhere in the back of my skull and Keith held me again while I let them out.
"It's not fair!" I said into his shirt. "She's all I have."
"You have me."
"You're not my mom." I said.
"I know, Lucas, I know."