Freedom of Sketch

Colorado

Jenny stands in front of me, her hand pressed over her badge. "Are you sure you're ready to do this, honey?"

I look down at the scrap of paper I tore out of my journal. I wrote my father's number down and labeled it "Colorado" before crossing that out and putting "Dad". I nod. "I'm about ninety percent ready."

"Is 'ninety' going to be enough?"

I pick up the receiver and lean toward it. "If I wait around until I'm a hundred percent ready, I'll die before I call him."

"I admire your courage," Jenny says. "Good luck."

"Thanks." I punch in the numbers, lean back, and wait. The phone rings twice, and then...

"Hello?" says a smooth male voice.

"H-Hi," I stutter, anxiously tapping my feet. "Is this - um - Brandon Mackenzie?" I sound like such a young, vulnerable child.

"Yes it is. Who am I speaking with?"

I swallow hard. "It's me... Shiloh."

"Shiloh!" the man exclaims. "Hi, honey! How are you doing?"

My eyes well up and my face twists into an involuntary grimace. "Not so good, Dad."

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

My chest tightens. I want so badly for him to hold me close, let me cry on his shoulder. His voice is so calm, and soothing. I feel like I can tell him anything, so I do. "Mom had me committed to a mental hospital," I say, trying not to sound distraught.

There's a long pause. "Can you repeat that, Shi?"

"Mom had me committed. To a treatment center," I respond.

There's another long episode of silence. "Shiloh, I'm really sorry, but I have a call coming in from your brother. Can I call you back? I can save this number."

I sniffle. "Uh, sure," I say.

I hang up the phone.

I forgot to say 'I love you'.

Maybe he forgot, too.

"That was a very short call," Jenny comments.

I look up at her with tear-filled eyes, shake my head, and walk away.