Page 34 of Will to Run

Her hand tried to reach up to her head, but it was moving as if she were drunk.

“I’m tired, and this hurts,” she finally connected her fingers with her temple, but then it was like her entire arm collapsed over her head. It was the strangest thing.

“Mom, it’s getting closer. They’ll be here any minute. Can you believe Selene? I tried to get her to turn around so many times. She lied about what we were doing. It’s the last time that I’ll answer her call. She’s in some crackhouse now,” I said, talking to my mom as if we were in our living room together, gossiping.

“Where’s my keys?” Her slur was much more pronounced, and she just asked about her keys.

“They were taken with the car,” my head tilted as I said it. It didn’t make sense for her to ask that.

“Della, I… what’s that called?” My mind raced trying to figure out what she meant because my mom’s eyes were wide as she tried to figure something out. “Love you, Della Elizabeth.”

Her words were almost unrecognizable, and I was confused, but before I could ask another question, I saw the lights of the ambulance. I stood to flag them as if they didn’t see two people in the street, and they jumped into action.

I gave them the quickest rundown I could, and my mom was loaded onto the gurney. As they were putting her in, I tried to hop in too, but they refused my entry, telling me to follow, instead. When I explained that wasn’t possible, they stuck me in the front of the ambulance, and we took off.

The ride was one I’ll never forget.

I heard the moment they knew things weren’t good.

I heard the moment they furiously tried to save her.

I heard the moment they gave up.

When we arrived at the hospital, I jumped out to rush to the back, but I felt like I was underwater. My entire physical being was detached from reality. No one was rushing, no one was frantic, and I was just as angry at them for not being helpful as I was at Selene and myself. The stretcher came out of the back, and I saw my mother covered with a sheet. The talk between the paramedics and the hospital staff was cold and far too medical.

Trauma… blunt force… assault… pistol… lost pulse… asystole confirmed…

“HELP HER!” I shouted, fed up with everyone just standing around. “SAVE HER. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HURRY! SHE NEEDS HELP! DO WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO!”

A nurse came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged her off and ran to my mother, pulling the sheet off of her.

“Mom, get up!” I screamed. “Get up! You’re fine! You told me you were fine!” Goosebumps exploded on every inch of skin, knowing the reality before I could accept it. There is no air. “MOM!” I shouted again, while shook her body, but there was no response. She was lifeless.

The same nurse came to pull me away.

“HELP HER!” The sound that left me was desperate and broken, as if my agony could reverse this. There was a sea of people who were equal parts staring and uselessly standing there.

“Ma’am, please come with me. I’m so sorry, there’s nothing we could do,” the nurse said calmly, putting her hand on my shoulder again.

The guttural scream that came out of my mouth sounded more animalistic than human, and I dropped to my knees. I threw up in the parking lot of the emergency bay when I accepted that my mother was dead… and it was because of me. Two nurses lifted me to my feet, and I wrapped my arms around the one that I had shrugged off earlier because I needed the anchor. After they brought me in, I started at the icy walls of the hospital, but to this day, I have no idea how much time passed.

When my dad arrived, I stood up to hug him, but he didn’t look at me. It was as if he couldn’t bear to see the reason she was dead. I didn’t blame him. No one could hate me more than myself, but he sure tried. And that was the moment life became hell on earth.

Right after the funeral, he told me he’d never forgive me, and that I had to move out. I had always been closer to my mom, but things were never horrible with my dad. We just kind of existed together, and my mom was the glue. With her gone, and the way she was taken, things fractured immediately.

With nowhere to go, I called my aunt, my mother’s sister, and she offered me a place to live indefinitely.

I went back to school late that year, but I was just going through the motions. My guilt was all-consuming, and I was in a place darker than I ever thought I’d be. But my aunt was my savior, getting me therapy, medication, and supporting me in a way I could never repay her for. When I lost the will to live, Quinn and my aunt kept me afloat.

Popping back into the present, I look at my canvas. I am stroking it with the brush, layer after layer, lost in the therapeutic motion. There is no goal, but stepping back, I can see my emotions clear as day. In front of me are the flatlands I saw when I was driving out here. The brushstrokes are long and repetitive, monotone in nature. Except for the figure I haphazardly outlined in the bottom right, which I have intentionally made to look like it’s running. Well, if that’s not symbolic, I’m not sure what is.

Before I can put it to the side and start another canvas, there’s a knock on my door that makes me jump. Who is that?

I look out the peephole and open the door immediately.

“Tatroe,” Jaxon smiles at me before looking me up and down. “What are you up to?”

I look at him a beat longer than I intend to before I answer because it feels weird and wonderful to admit that I’m enjoying what I was just doing. “Painting. I was so excited the other morning, but kind of chickened out. I did my first canvas today… since… well, in years.”