17. Della #2
“Mom… mom,” I said, my fingers dancing over her face, trying to figure out where the cut came from.
It wasn’t big, so that was a relief, but she was out cold.
What the fuck happened? I called 9-1-1 and thankfully was close enough to see street signs to give them my location, then went back to my mom.
I kept calling her name, too scared to shake her, because I knew you’re not supposed to jostle hurt people; at least that’s what they said on TV.
But she riled, looked at me, and reached up.
“Del,” she said.
“Mom! God, what happened? Help is on the way. Are you okay?” I cried out with emotion. Thank God she woke up.
“Yes, baby, I’m fine,” she said, trying to sit up. But it was clunky, and she couldn’t do it, so she fell back to the pavement. “I need a minute.”
“What happened, Mom? Where’s the car?”
“They… took it,” she whispered.
“What?” I said, eyes darting around, tracking every shadow.
“Three men. They had guns pointed at me,” her breath hitched. “I didn’t know what to do. They said they wouldn’t hurt me if I got out of the car.” Her eyes watered, and a tear rolled down the side of her cheek.
My mom was fucking carjacked on the way to get me? Jesus. I’d never forgive myself for this one.
We just needed to get home, and I’d figure out how to make it up to her.
Sirens from an ambulance cut through the night. That had to be for us. Thank God. I couldn’t wait for the safety of those four vehicle walls.
“Why are you bleeding?” I asked.
“I got out like they wanted, but then one hit me on the head with his gun. Gosh, it hurts.” The rage burned through me. Rage at Selene for taking me there, rage at whoever had the balls to carjack my mother.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I whispered.
“No apology, I will always come for you. Love you, Del.”
But the way she said ‘always come for you’ sounded funny. Almost as if it were slurred.
“Mom, do you hear that? The sirens? They’re coming for you.”
“Della, I don’t feel right.”
“I know, Mom. We will get you fixed up, and then we’ll find the car, but don’t worry, just relax. I’m so sorry for doing this to you.” My own tear cut down my cheek.
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.”
“No way! Are you going to invite me in to see your genius?”
“It’s not even close to that; it was just getting my hand used to the paintbrush again.”
“I know I told you I max out at finger painting, but I have to imagine it feels like getting back on a bike to some degree?”
“It did,” I nod my head. “As soon as the brush set in my hand, it felt like it used to; an extension of me.”
“How did you do?”
“I think it’s fitting,” I smile. “I mean, it’s not my best work or anything, and I could pick apart a lot about it, but it felt good just to do it. Good… and sad. The last day I painted was the day my mom died.”
He rolls his lips into his teeth and nods.
“Well, I’m proud of you, Della. That couldn’t have been easy, but you did it.
Like so many things you’re doing. It’s not easy, but you’re doing it.
Now let me in so I can see. And look,” he says, holding up a styrofoam container and bringing his voice to a whisper, “I even stole something for you.”
I open the door further so he can come in. “What’s that?” I whisper back, playing along. Without even trying, he’s pulled me into his world.
“Well, the seasonal bakers arrived this week, and they needed some taste testers for a couple of new recipes. I had my sample, but snuck some in a doggy bag. I remember you saying you had some insane rules before your wedding, and I thought you might not remember what good cake tastes like. Divine, by the way. It tastes divine. I’m not even going to ask what flavor is your favorite because I already know your answer will be all of these. ”
He saunters into the living room, puts the cake box down, and leans on the counter, crossing his arms with a grin, challenging me to tell him he’s wrong. I’m not sure what I needed after this emotional first painting, but Jaxon flirting and cake seem like a pretty great start.