We're Not Strangers Anymore

Chapter Thirty Two - A Sad Night On Brookfield Avenue

Irene Broomer was dead, and by the looks of things she had been that way for several hours; this wasn't the most recent of passings, nor the most comfortable position. On the pillow next to her lifeless body was an empty bottle of pills. Charlie knew from the label on the bottle that these must have been her anti-depressants, although he had had no idea that she was depressed. In fact, at Uncle David's funeral she had specifically told him that she wasn't depressed. Why did she do that?
Charlie sprinted down the stairs as fast as he could. On the bottom step he tripped up, falling flat onto his face. Nevertheless he got up, wiped away the fresh tears that crawled down his face, and reached out for the telephone. He had practically pulled the phone off of it's cord and away from it's holder, and whilst there, he dialled 999.
Shouting at a young emergency service operator was not what he had planned to do with his evening, but then again, he hadn't planned that he was going to find his dear old mother in such a state.
The young girl on the other end of the line had told Charlie to stay calm. He shouted some more, asking her how he could possibly stay calm and relaxed in a situation like this. The ambulance was on its way, apparently, and would therefore take up to ten minutes to reach his house on Brookfield Avenue. In this time, Charlie didn't leave his mother's side, not once.
Why has she done this? I hope she wakes up.
His legs were shaking uncontrollably, a build-up of thick sweat drenching his palms. Charlie glanced over at his Mum's face, which was white as a sheet and totally devoid of colour.
After finding out that Charlie was only fourteen years old, the operator politely asked him to stay on the line, which he was happy to oblige to.
What else am I meant to do, hang up and just wait?
After ten dragging minutes had passed by, Charlie stood up and watched as the ambulance turned a corner and pulled onto Brookfield Avenue.
Thinking that this was the last moment he was ever going to have alone with his Mum, Charlie took off his shoes, climbed carefully into the frail bed, switched off the old lamp, and curled up next to her. If this truly was the last moment he was ever going to share with his mother, he wasn't about to let it slip through his fingers. As the paramedic team knocked on the front door, Charlie kissed his mother's forehead gently, gripping her hand tighter than he had ever done before.
'I'm going to let them in now, Mum,' he whispered gently, keeping a tight hold of her veiny hand. 'You'll be okay in a minute or two.'