CHAPTER TWELVE Mike
Before closing the book, I reread the final paragraph for at least the tenth time. The outrageous theories began speaking to me. Perhaps Mom had known they would.
Are we, as humans, so arrogant to believe that we are alone in the vast universe?
That only we have been given the opportunity for life.
Does humanity selfishly believe that everything is and ends with us?
Those are dangerously na?ve assertions for mankind to make considering we can barely see past our own galaxy and have very little true understanding of how time or the universe works.
Perhaps we aren’t surrounded by what our eyes see.
What if everything is an illusion and we’re playing a part for a very clever magician?
Shouldn’t you dare to look behind the curtain?
The guest bedroom was at the back of the house and down the hall from my parent’s room.
I’d moved from my upstairs childhood bedroom after being home for a few days so I could be closer to Mom in case she needed my help during the night.
On Saturday, I peeked into her room thinking she’d be asleep at two in the morning, but she wasn’t.
“Mom?”
She turned to me and it took her a moment to associate my voice with my presence outside her door.
“It’s Mike. Are you okay?” I asked, moving through the open door.
“Your father told me you’re reading that book,” she stated. “He says you think it’s weird.”
My father definitely would have used the word weird when describing how I would’ve felt about the book and its contents, but I don’t know how he would have told her considering he died eleven years ago.
He and I shared a loving understanding of the most important woman in our lives, and we did use words like weird to describe a potion or an idea of hers behind her back.
Not to hurt her or make fun, but to share an understanding we had about our wonderful life with an intriguing woman living under the same roof with us.
“Sounds like Dad,” I answered. “Where is he?”
She touched her head and smiled. “In here,” she said. “I bet you thought I’d say in the garden or under the bed, didn’t you?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” I admitted. “Tell him I miss him, and the next time he’s spying on me, tell him to say hi,” I joked, almost believing his and Mom’s latest communication.
I grabbed her water cup and went to the master bathroom to refill it.
I stared at myself in the mirror as the cool water filled the cup, wondering how close she was to dying.
A strange thought for sure, but one that had been occupying my mind ever since Tuesday.
Mom was coherent and still as nimble in her mind and clarity as she ever was.
It was only her body that revealed she was losing the physical war she was waging.
“Would you like a sip?” I asked, returning to her bedside.
“Get us a popsicle instead, would you?”
“You sure?” I asked. “It’s two in the morning, Mom.”
“When is it not popsicle time?” she answered. “Orange this time if we have one.”
I came back to her room and opened the wrapper before placing a paper towel around the frozen concoction. “Can you hold it?” I asked, placing the wrapped wooden stick in her frail hand.
She grabbed it, ignoring my question and pointed at the chair beside her bed.
“Are you sure you’re not tired?” I asked, sliding into the comfortable chair I’d dragged from the living room.
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” she quipped. “Or I won’t, you never know.”
“Gross,” I replied, curling my lip and frowning. “I’d appreciate a more positive outlook if you don’t mind, missy.”
We were silent as we each enjoyed our frozen treat, Mom vacantly staring into space while occasionally making sounds of delight at her orange dessert.
Her conversational transition was abrupt.
“Would you be willing to share the letter that Cooper wrote to you?” she asked out of the blue.
“I mean, if you feel okay about me knowing.”
“Where did that come from and what makes you think I’d even have the letter with me?” I asked, still stunned she’d brought the note up, let alone be curious about the contents.
“You wouldn’t come home without it, Michael. That letter is too important to you.”
“I just told you the letter existed the other day,” I defended. “Why do you want to see it?”
“For the sake of honesty, dear, I’ve seen the letter.
Of course, I never read it because that would have violated your right to privacy, but you kept that piece of notebook paper near you for several months after Cooper died.
I’ve seen you read it many times when you thought no one was around, so I guess I’m curious. ”
I was embarrassed by her disclosure and felt the heat rising up on my face. The room was dim and only lit by a nightlight so I knew I was safe from her seeing my deep blush. “The letter was personal, Mom. I feel like I’d be violating his trust.”
“Can I ask something, honey?” she began, dragging the cold dessert across her lips.
She licked the syrup and grinned at me. “Yummy,” she giggled, reminding me of the girl who was still inside the worn out physical being.
She waited as I hesitated to respond. Maybe the wait was too much for a person that was counting down the minutes of their life.
“Cooper was in love with you, wasn’t he?
” she asked, practically telling me he’d been.
I could have denied her question, maybe told her she was losing it.
But at that point, reality was what it was and I was done hiding from the fact that I had also been in love with him.
“He told me the night before he died,” I confessed.
“The letter was just letting me know that if I couldn’t love him that way, that he’d be okay with my decision,” I added for clarification.
“You didn’t know how he felt before?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“And you didn’t feel the same?”
“I kissed him the night before he died, Mom,” I confessed, choking up. “But I was too afraid to admit to myself what I was feeling for him. My feelings for him developed during our junior year but I hid it from him and from Jennifer.”
“Was it because of Dad and me, honey?” she asked. “We wouldn’t have been upset with your choices. I probably shouldn’t share this, but I secretly wished you two were a couple.”
“To be honest, I was afraid. I never recognized that the love I felt for him was more than my best friend. I didn’t understand how things would’ve worked for that kind of thing.”
“So, you never told him how you felt?”
I bit the inside of my cheek and thought of an answer that would make sense and explain my confusion. “Stupidly, I told him that night that I might feel the same way,” I began. “I actually said might, Mom. I couldn’t commit to the fact that I already knew how I felt about him.”
“Oh, honey,” she said, reaching for my hand. “I’m sorry.”
I released a stifled sob before continuing. “He never knew, Mom. I didn’t have the strength to tell him I loved him too. I can’t tell you how long I’ve suffered over that night. I miss him and . . . and . . . I sometimes wished I’d died too.”
I was shocked I’d admitted the truth to her.
Three weeks of counseling had finally gotten me to share the fact with my therapist, but this was my mother.
I’d never revealed that I felt like every choice I’d made after Cooper’s death meant nothing to me.
I was simply biding time and numbly living my life.
“Do you feel that way now?” she asked. “Because I’d worry for your safety if you did, Michael.”
“I’m not gonna lie, Mom. My life sucks right now, but I’m working hard on my feelings and I want you to know that you and Dad were the best parents to me.
I never doubted you both loved me, but I’m battling a huge fear of being alone,” I admitted.
“But no, I wouldn’t harm myself if that’s your worry. And I’m in therapy too.”
“Thank you, honey,” she whispered, focusing on me. “What if I had a solution?” she asked.
I laughed even though it may have seemed morbid considering her current state of health. “Does your solution include you sticking around? Because I could go for that big time, Mom,” I quipped.
“I’m going to swap,” she announced. “Dad and me for Cooper. How about that?”
I leaned closer and waved in her face. “Mom, are you in there?” I whispered.
“Stop it,” she shushed, batting at my hand. “I’m lucid. This is not the ranting of a dying woman,” she declared.
“You do realize that you sound like you’ve lost a marble or two?”
“What if I haven’t? What if I could make something fantastic happen? Would you listen?”
My shoulders sagged and I exhaled slowly. She’d lost it and didn’t know she’d lost it.
She sensed my resistance to her madness. “I’m not crazy, Michael. This is your mother and I am well aware of what I am talking about. End of discussion about my sanity,” she stated. “I need to know if you’re willing to listen to my plan?”
“What if I am?” I asked. “Would it make you happy?”
“Only if you can look me straight in the eye and tell me that you’ll listen with an open heart and mind.”
“Okay,” I yielded, widening my eyes, so she could see my intent, staring back at her. “I’m willing to listen, Mom.”
She studied my face in the dim room, making sure I wasn’t just pacifying a dying woman’s wish. Once convinced, she began. “It all started when I met Druzella.”
“And who is Druzella?” I asked, trying my darndest not to give into my pre-programmed cynical self.
“Madame Druzella is a medium I met at a spiritual retreat last year,” she announced.
“You’re joking,” I half gasped.
“Not in the least,” she confirmed.
Of course she wasn’t.