still unnamed

Jun 11, 2008 - 23:04 PM PST

It began with a photograph. She sank to the floor, her protruding spinal bones scraping against the dresser handles. She stared intently at the crinkled eyes and the shining white teeth of the couple laughing out to her. Tears began to sting at her eyes. Years of doubt and wonder rushed back to her; this time coupled with a quiet confidence, an almost whispered certainty. It was him. This time she was sure of it.

Growing up, Ames had never wished for a father. She hadn’t felt that her life was missing some personage who would prove to be critical to her development. Instead in envying her friends and their having parents in the plural form, she tended towards pitying them, knowing they would never have the bond with either of their parents that she shared with her mother. This attitude stayed with her all through her school years and she only felt it beginning to waver, during that final stepping stone of the primary education world. She watched her fellow students celebrate that magical day with both father and mother, heard them shriek excitedly about the trips they would be off to in the following weeks and the universities that would later prepare them to enter the world of adulthood. Only then did she feel the slight twinge in her chest, a slight gnawing that told her that could she have had this complete parental unit, she too would be joining the masses in the quest for higher education and greater accomplishments. Desperate to rid herself of these insecurities, Ames turned her back on her adolescent memories alone; choosing to watch her mother work instead of joining the celebrations of her old time friends.

Ames walked across the scorched lawn and through the trees into the parking lot. Slumping into the hot cloth seats, she drew short sharp breaths of the hot, stale air. Second later the cool breeze whipped through the open windows as she glided down the town’s empty streets. Most everyone else was still at the ceremony. A left turn at the town square and the shops small sign came into view. A feeling of ease immediately overtook her. Never had any place felt more like home than her mother’s art shop.

Walking in, she was greeted by a huge banner of painted canvas reading “congratulations!” in large looping purple letters—her mother’s writing. A smile swept over her face, “Mom! Hey, I’m back! Where are you?”

Silence.

“Mom? Hello?”

Nothing.

Ames moved through the rooms of the shop, finding no sign of her mother anywhere. She walked up the stairs to their apartment. “Mom, are you up here?” Still no answer. “She told me she would be waiting when I got back” Ames thought. Spotting the blinking red lights on the phone, she crossed over to the desk to check the messages. One from a telemarketer selling a free trip to the Bahamas, another from a wrong number, several calls from various relatives calling in their congratulations and advice for the coming years, and finally, the last message, the one that in 73 seconds would change her life in ways that she could have never imagined. She sat numbly stiff, unable to move. Pure disbelief caused her to play it over… and over. No, she had to have hallucinated the horror that kept playing in her head. Yet, every time, the same irritatingly peppy voice repeated the same news:
“Hi, this is Mary Winter calling from St. Regis Hospital. I am calling for Ms. Ames Gregory. Ms. Gregory, I am contacting you with regard to your mother. She is currently admitted in our intensive care unit. Please the hospital immediately. You are listed as her emergency contact and we need to discuss some options with you.”

Was it possible that in these past few moments, as she sat listening to that repeated recording, that the world now spinning around her had increased to dangerously fast speeds, while she had mysteriously slowed in motion? The floor seemed to be moving below her, as if she were standing atop the waters in the middle of the pacific. She barely felt her knees slam against the hard wood floors and felt the ensuing pain even less.

Dazed, Ames fumbled her way down the stairs, into the beating heat. With numb fingers she worked the keys into the ignition and turned the engine over. Mercifully, the streets were still deserted, but this time, the feeling rejoicing was replaced by the eeriness of a ghost town.