FORTY-EIGHT

I think Mom's going crazy.

After Marco's mom dropped me home, I found doctor Zackly in the living room, shaking his head disapprovingly at my disappearance. He said Mom collapsed a few hours after I left, shouting she didn't wanted to forget me. Supposedly, Dad sent me messages and called me to inform me of the incident and when I checked my phone… shit. I had 50 missed calls and 100 unread messages. All from him. We ended up arguing, something that rarely happened between us, -"Why the fuck did you stayed? You could've picked me up! You knew where I was!"

-"I… I didn't wanted to…"- Dad was speechless, unable to argue back. Then, he started speaking nonsense about an assignment I was doing or something.

That's when Zackly interrupted us and scolded me, -"I thought I made myself quite clear when I said that she should not be left alone."

-"But she wasn't alone!"

He ignored me, -"I left the task to you and you said you would take care of her, no matter how long it will take and yet you go off to some senseless Halloween party to play dress up,"- I wanted to argue back, I wanted to tell him that I wasn't in a party, but he kept speaking, -"Consider this your last warning: I will take her back to the hospital if this continues. I will not leave her in the hands of someone irresponsible, someone who she calls a son."

I bit my lips really hard in order to keep shut. Say something, goddammit!

No, you'll just add more fuel into the fire!

And it really wasn't wise to provoke him. I'll just make the situation worse.

He stared down at me for a few seconds and walked away. Shit, I think I'm bleeding…

When he closed the door, Dad turned to me, -"Why didn't you answer my calls? What were you doing?"

-"I was just… spending time with Marco and his mom, that's all. It wasn't a fucking party or anything."- I was still pissed at Zackly for calling it senseless.

-"Then there's no excuse for not answering my calls."- Dad crossed his arms and tapped his foot.

-"Look, I was distracted, alright? I was watching some movies and…,"- I sighed and decided to call it my fault, not wanting to argue with him, -"I… I'm sorry…"

Dad stooped tapping his foot and sighed too, placing a hand on my shoulder. He seemed to have decided against arguing too, -"I… I'm sorry too, son."

-"No… I should've been more attentive."- Yeah, I knew Mom was in a delicate situation. I should've known he'd message me if something came up. Back at Marco's… I forgot all about it.

He shook his head, -"And I was the one who told you to go. You needed some time for yourself. I should've tried harder…"

-"But what did happen?"- I had a gut feeling Zackly exaggerated a little.

-"She… started acting weird ever since you left. She asked me for some pills and I gave them to her. After a few hours, she started walking around the house, murmuring something –your name, I think. She even wrote it down a lot of times and took the papers with her to watch some novels. Then, she fell asleep and suddenly, she woke up, screaming that she forgot someone important,"- Dad swallowed, probably living the moment in his head right now and from his expression, I could tell it was unpleasant, -"When she remembered, she began crying, saying she didn't wanted to forget you."

I raised my hand and placed it on my forehead. Shit, I should've stayed, I should've known this would happen, I shouldn't have let my desires lure me, I should've…

-"Son… it's not your fault, alright?"- Dad squeezed his grip on my shoulder, -"You needed time for yourself. This stuff happens inevitably. It's normal."

I shook my head stubbornly, unable to accept the truth he spoke of, -"I could have avoided all this if I just stayed…"

Dad took a deep breath, -"Please, son, don't blame yourself,"- He looked down for a few seconds and up at me again, -"I'm to blame; I wasn't there when she needed me."

I looked at him, puzzled.

-"I was… working on some computers, fixing them."- His head dropped, ashamed.

-"Uh, don't…, I mean, you were working. That's okay."- I was rambling, unsure of what to say to cheer him up. I couldn't blame him. He was just doing his work. If it wasn't for him, we'd be living under a bridge.

He smiled, aware of my intentions, -"Thanks, son,"- After one last squeeze, he sighed and glanced at the stairs, -"You should check on her."

I nodded to him and headed upstairs.

The air tensed as I escalated. Was she even awake? How would she react when she sees me after being absent for the whole day? Will she blame me? I stood still in front of her door. I sighed and pondered on whether or not knock. I opened the door slightly and peeked inside; to my relief, she still slept. I was about to close the door and turn around when she spoke, lowly, -"Jean… is that you?"

-"Y-yeah…"- I slowly turned around and peeked inside again.

She was sat up, squinting her eyes at my direction, -"Come in, please."- She said, gesturing me to come forward.

I bit my lip and walked in a bit hesitant, -"Uh… maybe you should rest."

She shook her head and patted her bed beside her, gesturing me to sit there. I did and she quickly took my head and turned it to face hers. She looked at me intensely, -"I can't… not you…"

I placed my hand over hers, worried, -"Mom… what's the matter?"- Was she raving?

-"Anyone but you…"- She spoke, lowering her head.

-"Mom, I'm here. I'm okay,"- I squeezed her hand, -"I was just… with some friend."

She sniffed. Oh no…, is she crying? –"I know…, he, that guy from downstairs, told me."

I'm guessing 'he' was Dad and was having trouble remembering him, -"It's okay. I'm here. Please don't…"

-"Tell me, Jean,"- Her expression suddenly turned serious, -"I'm dying, aren't I?"

My eyes widen. I sat rigid, feeling a cold shiver running down my spine. I felt like time froze around us. I knew she'd ask me sooner or later, I was just…

Shit.

I gulped. Attempting to regain myself was proving harder than I though. She took me by surprise, -"I, uh…,"- Telling her otherwise was futile. She knew, she just wanted someone to ascertain her, -"It's gonna be alright…, I promise."

She started at me blankly for a few seconds, then, she smiled.

A sudden grief took hold of me after that. How does it feel knowing you're soon going to die? That you have –what? Minutes, hours, or even microseconds to live? You can't even know –well, she can't. It could be in a few days, hours, seconds…

Yet, I kept telling myself that no matter how long she had, I'd stay with her. And I did. Another handful of weeks passed, Dad left for work and I stayed home, taking care of her. Her condition deteriorated immensely, to the point where her weight downgraded for like 20 pounds –she ate less and less, just snacks here and there for the pills, her physical appearance changed… dramatically: she was losing hair, her skin turned pale and her eyes had dark circles under them. Her nightmares and hallucination were controlled by the pills –she often asked me for twice the quantity the doctor prescribed and they sometimes worked, not all the time. When they didn't, she woke up screaming and I'd rushed to her and sat with her and rubbed her hair, anything she needed to quell her.

Yet, she tried to stay cheerful –not just for her, for both of us. She knew how all this affected me; she was reaching a breaking point and I was losing my mind. Dad, tangled with work, visited us less and less and Mom reached a point where she didn't know him anymore. He was an unknown person to her. When he did visit, she still smiled and greeted, figuring he was important enough to visit, yet she had no idea who he was. That had my father on his knees. Since then, I've heard nothing of him. He sent money by mail though.

I was opening the mailbox when Mom called me, -"Jean!"

-"Coming!"- I pulled out another letter with money in it and sighed. Another hundred dollar. I retained them in my pocket and headed inside, -"I was…, um…,"- I sighed deeply. Now, I couldn't talk to her about a man she no longer knew and it felt… horrible, -"Never mind."

-"C'mere, c'mere."- She said, patting her side of the couch.

I smiled and sat beside her, not before giving her a kiss on her wrinkled cheek, -"So, how are you feeling today?"

-"As good as I can ever be,"- She smiled and started looking to her sides while toying with her feet, a common action to her near infantile mind, something she tried to control. It was like her mind was split in two: a reasonable one, the one who knew she was sick and soon to die, and the childish one due to the tumor on her brain. It almost, almost, seemed like she had schizophrenia, -"You know what Peggy thinks about this novel?"

I glanced at the TV. It was actually an old novel, one she already watched, -"No, I don't. What does she think?"- Peggy was her imaginary friend. She described it as a woman with no face holding a frying pan. I had a theory she was seeing herself –herself from way back. The reason she was seeing herself with no face was because of her "double" personality, if you'd call it that. She didn't know who she really was: a child or a mother.

-"She thinks-"- She froze, literally. Another catatonic episode. She started having these not so long ago and from the info I dug up from the internet, I can't interact with her until it ends or else she'll break. It usually lasted several seconds, -"- that it's not worth to watch. That that kid who's in love with the main chick dies. She didn't like it."

Mom used to foretell novels and she did predict the guy's death. And no, she didn't liked it, -"I think you already saw this one, mom. They're repeating it."

-"Me?"- She opened her mouth with her hand on her chest, unable to believe what I just said, -"Nu-uh."- She shook her head.

I laughed as I tickled her, -"Yes, you did."

She laughed and started tickling me too, -"Oh, look, look!"- She pulled back a bit and pointed to the TV, -"He's dyin', just like Peggy said."

I looked at the TV again. The novel was reaching its climax. The kid, like 18 years old, had tuberculosis. He was on the floor, coughing blood uncontrollably while his girlfriend cried and called for help –or better yet, his would be girlfriend if the situation was different, but considering both were constantly brawling, they were never officially pairs. After calling the meds, she knelt down and laid him on her lap. When the docs arrived, it was too late: he died on her lap, drowned in his own blood. That's kind of like tasting his own medicine; he did some pretty bad stuff, if I remember correctly. He used to punch new kids on schools who often tasted their blood due to his teeth-breaking. Then he met the girl and they often argued; she said he had to change and he said she had to accept him like that. He changed anyways, but the damage was done. Young love. That's why Mom disliked it.

I heard Mom sob beside me, -"Woah, you're actually crying?"- This was unlike her; she never cried in a novel before. Due to her condition, she was more open to emotions, conscious or not.

Mom had her hands on her face, covering it from me, -"N-no…"

I started to poke her cheek, -"Oh, you are!"

-"Peggy says she hates it and that I shouldn't cry because it's not sad,"- She spoke, glancing at the space in front of the TV, but no at the TV, -"She says they both deserve it for not spending time with each other when they had to. She says that they wasted their time on idle arguing."

I bit my lip and looked away. Well, that's rather familiar. Also, she said that same thing back when she saw it the first time.

I breathed deeply and turned to her, -"Well, you're –she's right,"- I decided to change the subject, -"Uh, do you want something to eat?"

-"Nah."- She shook her head, eyes on the TV.

-"You sure? I'm gonna cook something for me then."- I quickly stood up, kissed her cheek again and walked towards the kitchen. After making a sandwich, I sat beside her again. We watched a few movies afterwards. When nighttime came, I slept with her, worried that she'd wake up. I gave her the pills, but still. It was usual of her to get gloomy at these hours too.

Her "rational" self often emerged during these too, -"Oh, Jean, I'm slowly forgetting."- She spoke, face buried in her pillow.

I glanced at her while working on my mattress. I put up the best smile I could muster, -"It's ok, mom, it's normal."

She shook her head, -"No, it's not. I don't want to forget."

I really didn't liked this topic, but sadly, she kept bringing it up every night, -"Mom…,"- When she started sobbing, I rushed to her side and rubbed her back. I always tried my best to soothe her, -"I'm right here. How can you forget something like this?"- I made a really funny –and stupid, face.

She looked up and smiled a bit, then dropped her head and sobbed more, -"I'm losing, Jean…"

-"What do you…"- I began, but stopped mid-sentence. No, she can't be… She's really dying, isn't she? When she says it like that… then she's really near her end.

-"I'm so sorry…"- Now, she started crying.

I forced myself out of my own shock to comfort her, -"Mom, it's… not your fault, ok? You're just-"

-"I don't want to leave you alone..,"- She sobbed, shaking her head, still buried in her pillow, -"Who's gonna take care of you?"

-"I'm not alone,"- I said, placing my hand on her back, -"You're here now… with me. That's what matters, right?"

She slowly rose her head and looked at me. Her expression changed and she calmed down. After a few minutes of silence, she laid down on her bed and slept while I couldn't sleep shit. I was desperately dialing Dad's number on my phone with Mom's words swirling through my mind.

Come on, Dad, pick up! I shouted within my mind, to avoid waking Mom, after the third attempt.

My mind was reeling. I feel –no, I know Mom will die in a few days, I just know it! It's just a matter of time! She may die tonight while sleeping, she may day tomorrow, she may…!

-"Please leave a message for 800-255-"

-"Dad, please, come home! Just… stop whatever you're doing! You've worked enough! Mom needs you –needs us… she's… she's…"- And somehow, I couldn't spell it out.

Come on, Jean, be rational. You know people are born; they live and they die. It's simple.

If only it were that easy… to let go…

What comes after death? Where would Mom go? To heaven or hell? Or just under the dirt in a nicely decorated coffin?

Rushed, I knelt on the floor and looked up. I figured that if anyone would know, it would be Him, -"Just tell me, if you're even real, where will Mom go? What will become of her? I at least deserve an answer."

Nothing.

Oh, Jean, what were you expecting?

Sweet fuck. Shut up.

I sighed deeply and stood up. I breathed several times before taking my phone and sending Dad a few text messages.

Dad, wherever you are, I just wanted to hear from you. It's been like a month now and you haven't even shown your face. Mom's… really sick. We both wanted to see you before she got any worse. If you read this… please, just say something. Anything. I hope you're not overworking yourself. Take care.

I turned off my phone and laid back on my bed. Slept overtook me after long hours of thinking…