by B.R. Paulson
Chapter 16
Someone shook my shoulder. My head flopped to the side and my chin connected with my chest. I jerked myself upright, eyes open but quickly shutting again. I hadn’t slept long enough.
“Kelly, wake up, please, wake up.” Mom’s thready whisper broke through the haze of my sleepiness.
My eyes opened and this time they didn’t slip down. Alarmed, I reached for her outstretched hand. “Mom? Are you okay?” I shifted myself to a fuller sitting position. She had somehow fallen from the slightly raised platform where I had made her a bed. I pushed myself to her side and pulled her seemingly frail body onto my lap.
Pale skin, palest I’d ever seen on her, enunciated the shadows of her eyes. I never noticed the strands of gray in her hair so distinctly before. “Mom?” I wiped a stray chunk of hair from her forehead, a cool clamminess meeting my touch. “You’re colder. Hold on, I’ll get you covered up…” But her hand on mine stilled me.
“No. I don’t need…” She swallowed, visibly aching even to talk. A fresh, bright red spread across her shirt, slowly but with intent. “Let’s pray, Kelly. Would you?” Her voice faded and she lifted her hands to her chest, like in a prayer position, but loose.
Anger welled inside me and I pushed her hands from her chest, mindful of her pain but oddly apathetic toward it. “No, I’m not praying with you anymore. This is ridiculous. We’ve prayed for food, water, medicine, for your wound to get better, you name it, we’ve prayed for it. I’m done. It’s gotten us nothing. Less than nothing. We’ve been chewing on jerky. I can’t.” I couldn’t even continue with my rant, my heart rate sped up and the fact I was yelling at my injured mother finally kicked in and I bit my tongue. Dang it. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, but come on.
We sat together in silence for a second, Mom staring at me with eyes wide in disbelief.
My throat tightened. She might be gone soon. Her wounds could prevent her from bugging me anymore. The injustice of our situation slammed home. Why would she have so much faith in anyone or anything with all the destruction and pain around us – in us? I blinked back frustrated tears. “Do you really think there’s a God?” My husky question didn’t hesitate to be insecure, but the honesty left me drained as the truth of my doubt revealed itself.
Suddenly her eyes narrowed and she struggled to lift herself. Even though she didn’t move much, she appeared to have grown larger, stronger, defiant in seconds. She coughed, gripping at her side. “I don’t think – I know – there’s a God. There’s a Heaven where your dad and brother are waiting for us.”
“Let them wait. We’re not ready. We aren’t going anywhere.” I growled. What was she saying? Heaven? Who mentioned Heaven? What was going on?
“Stop.” She pierced me with her gaze, sharp and deceptively strong in a body worn down with a gunshot injury. “I only have my faith and I can’t give that to you. And you’re going to be mad at me and God and that’s okay. Just know…” She captured my hand in hers and pressed my fingers tight to her chest, tears welling in her eyes.
I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t. Yet, my love for her dripped down my face.
“Know that we both love you and we’re always here.” She closed her eyes and shook, a shiver spasming through her body. She reopened her eyes and focused on me. She forcefully swallowed. “Remember the rules, Kelly. Trust no one. Pray. And please, please, stay alive.” She pressed her hand to just over my heart, tears streaming back over her temples and into her hair.
I sniffed, shaking my head to cut her off. “Mom.”
“Kelly, stay alive. Please. I’m always here.” She tapped one finger on my chest, but her hand dropped to her side and her face fell slack. Slowly her head turned toward my arm and her chest lowered with her last exhale.
Disbelief jerked me from the surreal pain and thrust me into the moment hard. “Mom? Mommy, no. Mom! No!” I shook her softly at first, then with more force. Tears? There was no term strong enough for the torrent soaking my skin and dripping onto her face. “Mom, please. Don’t leave me.”
She wasn’t always here. She wasn’t with me anymore. She’d just gone and left. Gone. Like everyone else.
Mom, where are you? I need you. Please. I watched her, but she didn’t move. Nothing moved on her. We were attached but she’d left me. I didn’t even get to tell her how much I loved her, needed her.
“I love you, Mom. I’m sorry. Please, come back.” I sobbed, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her to my chest. Please. Oh, Lord, please.
I was alone. And there was nothing I could do about it.
The pain built and built until I couldn’t take the pressure anymore – I screamed.
