Sure enough when I lift up the carpet, there they are. The prescription drugs, the bags of white powder and leaves. It broke my heart. To think I thought she was actually getting better. I turn, get out of her car and shake my head in tears.
“You are nothing to me” I say to her.
Then I walk to my car, grab my phone, dial 911 behind the steering wheel without her seeing. She stands there infuriated, not knowing what to do. Not knowing what will be coming within minutes.
“911 what’s your emergency?”
I pretend I dropped something and dip down below the steering wheel.
“A woman is at my house, she has drugs on her and I don’t know what to do other than report her” I say.
I barely hear the rest of the conversation between us. Me giving the address and then, minutes later, I hear the sirens. Judy Marshall runs to her car, I sneer, I used to call that woman mom. I get out of my truck quickly.
“Oh no you don’t!” I scream at her.
I sprint to her and pull her out of her drivers seat. Blood fills my nose and I feel like I’m drowning, but I don’t give up despite the metallic smell flooding my nose and filling my mouth. I take her down to the ground. She’s weak, but not as weak as I thought. She can definitely still throw a punch. My heart pounds, she stays on the ground, pinned down. The police run over, I explain that I know her, that she’s my birth mother. I explain everything I know. They take it from there. Hours later, they’re gone. Judy’s car is gone, she’s also out of my life now. Hopefully she won’t be able to bother me any more. I walk inside to our home. Pictures hang on the wall. Pictures of him.
Its then the tears flood back into my eyes because of all the memories associated with the photos. I make a horrible choking sound. Who cares any more? No one will see me cry here I remind myself. And so, I fall to the hard wooden floor. A thin layer of dust covers it. I’ve obviously not mopped in a while. There is screaming and tears.
“Why? WHY!?!?!?!” I scream up toward the sky.
My hands fly up toward my face. I get on my knees, tears continue to stream down my pale face. I loved him. Correction, I love him. I hold my stomach, I’ve been crying so hard that it hurts. I can barely walk, I stumble repeatedly until I make it into our room. I can’t help but think, I’m all alone now.
I’m not as strong as I seem to others. In reality I’m just a woman, who lost her very best friend and love. Anger overwhelms me. Why was he taken from me? I empty the soothing bath salts into my hot bath and step in the porcelain tub. I lay in there and drift off.
He sneers at me, his brown eyes show his feelings, complete and utter disgust. I thought he loved me, but he doesn’t. There are few things worse than that feeling of complete and utter rejection. Rejection of the person who supposedly loved you for years. I never loved you he says. Soon I’m in the battle field with him, he tells shows the man a picture of his fiance. Its not me. Horror takes over me. I scream for him, he’s distracted by my scream. Next we’re at the lake and he takes another girl’s hand. He kisses her.
And then I wake up from my nightmare. I scream. It may not seem horrible, but the feeling of him not loving me like I did him was horrible for me. For the next week nightmares continue. None like the one where he hated me though. I just watched him get killed. Twice in hand to hand combat, three times I dreampt he was shot and then the other two times he was blown up. The ones where he was blown up were the worst. Body parts being flung everywhere. After that week of nightmares I realize that the reason I might be having those dreams, is because I didn’t know how he died. Maybe it was my mind sorting through all the possibilities.
My hand dips into the soapy water, I stare blankly while moving the sponge in circles on the already clean plate. Nothing is the same anymore. Everything has changed. One of the worst parts of someone being gone, is the reminder of it. Well at least for me anyways. Everywhere I look in my home, I see the photos of us, and I’m reminded of the fact that he’s gone. He’s gone forever. Its never ending. I stopped answering the phone. Why? Because everytime I pick it up I hear about how great of a man he is. Its then I cry because I KNOW. He was a great man. He was so kind. WHY? Now I have to use past tense. Why did he die? There are so many others, ones that probably deserve death, but it seems every time someone dies, its a good person. A person who did extraordinary things. Then there are those people, the murderers who kill just for fun. That is what angers me. Its not what angers me the most but its something I think about often.