Who needs Love?

courir

I lay face up in the dark beside my bed, a comfy mattress waiting for me, but I don't deserve it. Instead I let the pain in my back fill up inside of me from the wooden floor beneath me, hopefully it numbs the ache. The ache that comes and goes inside my chest causing it to rise and fall in raggedy breathes. I stare at the white stark ceiling examining the smallest chips in the paint, but not enough to stop my mind from hurting.

My fingers slowly lift to my olive cheeks, swabbing and swiping away the droplets of water that dash to reach my ears. I don't let them go further than a few centimetres, constantly fluttering my eyes closed and tightening them until I get too terrified of letting the dark consume me and my thoughts take over.

The phone in my left hand doesn't vibrate, it doesn't ring it's blissful melody or provide me comfort in this lonely space. It lays dormant and slumbers for almost a millennia. It's blank, tempting screen begs me to click the button, dares me to hope. It challenges me well, because even though I know there will be nothing waiting for me there I still click it. I let the cold light beam onto my face, and nothing. No calls, no texts, no whispers of a maybe.

I let my arm fall back to my side where I discard my phone and aim to wrap my arms around my shoulders pulling myself together, closer. I do this, because I know that no one will do it for me. No one will do it enough to care about me.

I shift onto my side letting the planks dig into my shoulder. I glance at the trinkets in my room: the mirror that peeks out from above my dresser, the yellow curtains that sway ever so slightly, and the frame. I do a double take, the small white picture frame hangs above my desk. I tilt my head to get a better angle.

Five individuals stand straight, in a line their faces beaming brightly at me. Two of them hold hands lovingly, a male and a female. They seem to be in their twenties and the man is holding a little being in his hands. A baby girl, her black hair peeking out from her little beanie. Me, in my fathers arms, and next to my parents are two others who both clasp their hands around the boy in front of them. He looks to be around ten, he has brown floppy hair with a pair of blue rimmed glasses. You can see a chipped tooth as he almost growls at the camera with his teeth but with the energy of the sun as his eyes gleam with joy. My god-parents, and their son.

I don't remember them, and they are too far away for me to ever visit. Across the globe, in another place, another country, miles away from all...this.

My thoughts cause my eyebrows to furrow, I wonder how everyone would react if I left? How would he react? Would he dare to wonder although he chooses to leave my phone silent and my heart broken? My lips lift at the ends a little. That would certainly be something...

Europe....halfway around the globe. No one would ever see it coming. I'd joke, but they'd never expect me to actually do it. I scramble up from my pity party and pad my bare feet over to the desk. I tug open the drawers and scrounge around bits and pieces of paper. A neon green post-it note clashes with all the subtle yellows and whites. I snatch it and unfold it smoothing down the creases.

I recall my parents story...

The brown haired boy rests on his tippy toes as he looks at the little baby held out to him. It sleeps peacefully, with soft features breathing in and out without a care in the world other than for it's nap. People mill in and out of the white building behind the baby and planes fly overhead.

A hand comes to rest on the boys shoulder, "I think it's time we let them go."

The boy's head whips like a cannon and his eyes shine with tears, "Wait wait wait!"

He pleads and turns back to the baby, he reaches out his pudgy hand placing the green post-it note in the confines of the blanket wrapped around the sleeping girl. He pats it down softly, sliding his hands over the blanket in belief that it will keep the note safe.

"What is that?" The man holding the baby says.

"A note," he says not revealing any details, "For Echo."

"Echo?" The man chuckles.

The boy nods with his hands behind his back and slinks back onto the balls of his feet, "At night she cries, and it echoes all throughout the house."

"Yes, she does," the man confirms, "She is a baby, that's what they do."

The boys eyebrows furrow sadly and he shakes his head, "no, it was like she was calling out for help."

The boy adds, "Crying out for someone to love her."

"People do love her," the man says but the boy doesn't believe it.

The other man places a hand back onto the boy's shoulder, "Now let's leave them to settle in before their flight."

The boy nods this time, hesitant, but leans back towards the baby's creamy face.

He whispers into her tiny ears, "Run," he continues, "Run...and come find me."

Running his hand over her beanie capped head, he smiles leaning back. He places a gentle kiss on the baby's temple before pulling away.

The couple and their baby drift away into the crowd, leaving the little boy and his parents behind.

I read over the number written terribly across the note. I take it down, again and again. Then glance over to my phone still on the floor. I look at the note and back to my phone, deciding. Whether to make a life altering decision or continue to live in this terrible ache, day in and day out; ground hog day.

I pad back to my phone crouching to pick it up, note in the palm of my hand. I click it on, and tap the tips of my fingers to the screen entering the passcode. I enter my contacts and swipe left making a white background with set numbers appear before me. I rest back onto my bed, the back of my knees locking to the edge of the blankets. I look at the note one last time and I start to feel the warmth build inside my chest. That overpowering warmth when you know you are doing something scary it almost feels like someone is shoving you into a furnace. I tuck my right hand underneath my thighs...and dial the number with my left.