savior

fifty one

DAY THIRTY; ONE DAY TO GO

After shoving the note in my pocket—and hiding the blades, cigarettes, and lighter—I took another look around the apartment and left.

As I expected, no one was around when I came home. The apartment was silent and cold, and I could feel the goosebumps rising on my skin. It felt as if no one had occupied the space in so long, although my family and I had been living here since Kaitlynn and I were young.

I took a few more steps in, making my way towards my bedroom. As soon as I put the note somewhere, I could see if my mom was home and maybe catch up with her. I didn't want our mother-daughter relationship to be one where the two didn't care about each other until one was on her death-bed. So I found a place in my closet, which happened to be a small box containing old home video tapes that I hadn't seen in years, hidden under a pile of clothing I hadn't bothered to hang up, then found myself standing in front of my mother's bedroom door, contemplating whether or not I should knock.

After seconds of creating scenarios in my head, I felt my knuckles pounding against the wooden door. It was opened. Behind it was my mother, with her dark hair nicely groomed and put up in a nice ponytail.

"Hi, sweetie. How are you?" she asked me, opening her door enough so I could walk in.

I didn't know what to say. For the past few weeks I had been wondering what it would take to get my mom to open up to me again, and all it took was a simple knock? And what confused me more was that my mom was actually smiling at me. She hadn't done that in so long. I was beginning to miss it.

Plus her room was tidy and clean. It was way different than it had been a few days ago, and even before the day we had discovered that my baby brother was gone. Her appearance was something new to me also. A few days ago, she didn't care about her hair being combed, or taking a shower, or changing her dirty clothes.

But now she stood before me, a fresh flowery scent drifting from her body to my nose, with a clean, well dusted backdrop behind her.

Finally I managed to respond to her. "Oh, uh, I'm—I'm good, thanks," I replied, my eyes drifting to the ground. In my view, I noticed a new pair of heels on my mother's feet.

"That's great." She smeared a small amount of lip gloss to her lips and smacked them together. "Hey, do you mind handing me my purse? I think I dropped my mascara in there."

"Oh. Um, sure," I said quickly, turning my head as I searched for the purse. I wasn't sure which one she was using, because she had collected so many over the years, but eventually I found one sitting at the edge of her bed. So I grabbed it and handed it to her.

Mom thanked me and stole the mascara from her bag. She applied the make up to her eyelashes, careful not to move her hand the wrong way and get any in her eyes. I sat there awkwardly at the edge of her bed where I had found her purse.

For the next few minutes, I watched my mother enter one room and exit another, over and over. After each time, she'd check her reflection in the mirror and adjust a piece of clothing or remove a tag that she had forgotten was still hanging from her clothes. My head was rested on my hand.

Without looking at me, my mother asked, "So, what made you finally talk to me again? You've been avoiding me for a while now."

"I thought you were avoiding me," I said, utterly confused. For the past few days, my mom had wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. She hadn't bothered to say hi to me when I sat at the table with her, or tell me to have a great day at school before I left everyday, or even look at me when I needed to ask her something.