Leah's arm wraps around my waist supporting all of my weight as we walk up my driveway. My body isn't a body, the pain so heavy it's replaced everything with a sinking weight. How can I feel so much yet so empty at the same time?
It's been exactly seven hours since my mom left this word, seven hours that I wasn't there, seven hours since I missed my goodbye.
I didn't want to leave the hospital, couldn't leave, wouldn't leave...how could I leave her there? How could I abandon her?
My dad and Jake have already gone inside, we've exhausted our tears our words our emotions for one night. All of us silently gaping at the new hole that has transfixed itself into our lives.
The house that is no longer a home, the remnants of chaos left behind scattered everywhere we look. Leah helps me up the stairs and into my room, I fall onto my bed and curl myself into the smallest tightest ball I can manage. If I squeeze so tight so tight so tight maybe it won't hurt as much.
But it does, over and over and over it hurts so bad. She crawls into my bed and hugs me, I cry deeply into my pillow, and she wraps me tighter. I cry until I'm dizzy with delirium, until I am sure I'm dreaming. Until I'm sure I'll soon wake up and none of it will have been true.
***
The days that follow my mom's death blur from one to the next, wake sleep cry repeat. Three zombies passing each other in the hallway, resigned to our rooms, to our privacy where we can crumble and give up without prying eyes. Until today when I wake up and hear signs of life downstairs in the kitchen. The delicious smell of coffee fills the air, and my body betrays me acknowledging its withdrawal from the sweet caffeine. The sun filters through the small space beside my curtain and I suddenly crave to feel it. I pry my sticky sickly body from bed and pull open the curtains. The sun beams into my eyes causing me to squint away, momentarily blacking out from standing up too fast, but then the suns warm touch caresses my cheek. I open my window and breathe deeply the smell of life.
Wobbling my way downstairs I find Jake in the kitchen, he's fiddling with the coffee maker, "You drink coffee now?" I ask surprised.
He doesn't say anything but keeps pressing buttons, "No, but I figure it would get you and Dad out of bed."
My heart sinks. I chose to be alone, but maybe he didn't.
I grab a mug, "You want to try some?"
He shrugs, "Why not," I pour him half a cup and he brings it to his mouth, blowing first then takes a sip and nearly chokes on it, "what the heck is this garbage?"
I try not to laugh, "Well normally you add cream and sugar..."
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sticks out his tongue, "You think you might have mentioned that sooner."
I can't help but smile, I missed his silly face.
My dad shuffles into the kitchen and sits at the table, his hair a mess the stubble on his chin speckled with grey flecks. It's not often we see our dad unkept. I pour him a heaping cup of coffee and place it in front of him.
His eyes find mine and he smiles gently, "Thanks."
The three of us sit around the kitchen table. A quiet hovers about save the sound of my dad and I aggressively sipping our much-needed coffee.
"I miss her too much," Jake whispers, the pain in his voice echoes my own and it's hard to see him suffer.
My dad leans forward across the table and grabs our hands, "Me too Jake...I miss her so unbelievably much." His eyes fill with tears, but he doesn't hide his pain from us, he doesn't try to shield us.
We hold hands and cry together, we miss her together, we grieve together, and I realize this is what I need, who I need. I need my family.
"Do you think..." Jake sniffles, "do you think you could figure out how to make mom's pancakes Katy?"
I squeeze his hand, "I can try."
In the pantry I pull out her recipe book, its old pages wrinkle with wear and stains, I flip it open to the pancake recipe. My fingers trace her delicate handwriting, and I breathe deeply. If I close my eyes I can picture here right here, standing where I stand, her messy apron on, flour on her cheek, hair tossed into a butterfly clip. She always let Jake lick the batter of the mixing spoon.
Her apron hangs on the inside of the door, I reach for it and pull it over my head tying it at the back. Fits me perfectly, like a hug and I know she's here with me.
My dad looks at me with admiration, "Looks good on you."
Jake sits at the table watching as I pour and measure waiting patiently for his favorite breakfast, "Hey, are you gonna help?"
He jumps up immediately, "You want my help?"
"Well yeah, who's going to lick the batter off the spoon silly?" he grins and just like that life goes on, we live, we move, we breath and eat and learn new things. Time flows and goes and all the while, she isn't here.
After breakfast I retreat to my room with the intention of making my bed and actually showering.
The breeze flutters ruffling my curtains and clearing the air of its stuffiness. I put on some music and get lost in the therapeutic feeling of routine. My phone pings alerting me I have a new email.
I take a break, sitting on my bed I open it and immediately see its from St. Mary's, from our new coach welcoming all of us to the team. There's a short paragraph introducing herself, which I already know everything about her because I've followed her for years. I know she was an Olympian, I know four girls she's trained over her career have qualified for the Olympics, I know she's dedicated her life to running, to inspiring young runners and I know she picked me. She picked me out of hundreds.
She's attached a summer conditioning schedule with various workouts, speed training, how many kilometers she expects us to be running weekly. Just reading over the list feels daunting, feels suffocating and without warning my heart begins thumping heavy and fast. How can I do this, how am I going to do this? I haven't run since...and I don't ever want to run again. I can't, I can't do the one thing that kept me from being there, from seeing her, hugging her, holding her hand and telling her I love her. The words blur into each other, and my breath comes ragged, a prickly heat creeps along the base of my neck reaching around my throat its choking me. I can't breathe, and I don't feel good, I don't feel right. This isn't right, none of it is right. A burning sob bubbles up my throat and explodes from me. My body shakes in a way that feels like it won't ever stop, and I know in this moment it's over. I know I can't go, and so I hit reply, reply to the school of my dreams, the coach of my dreams, reply to my dreams and type with trembling fingers:
Dear Coach Pearce,
Thank you for this opportunity, as grateful as I am to have been chosen to run for your team, I can no longer accept this position. I can no longer accept this scholarship or attend St. Mary's in the Fall. Tears fall from my eyes landing on my hands, on my phone as I type the last few words that end my future and hit send.
Copyright© 2024 Alana Avellino. All rights reserved.
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Before, After & In-between
Teen FictionSeventeen-year-old Katy Stevens eats, sleeps and breathes running. From hobby to high school track star, all of her hard work and training is about to pay off. In only a few short months the scholarship of her dreams awaits her, all she just has to...
