Phone Call

It was another one of those nights where I kept myself locked up in my room, away from the rest of the world. I was around twelve at the time, too young to understand death, but old enough to feel despair. My uncle was drunk, and I had no intention of going anywhere near him. This was happening a lot, so I was used to it. All I had to do was just make it through another night of screaming gibberish that even the neighbors weren’t too happy about. I would turn the TV on as loud as possible or play some music; sleeping wasn’t an option. At around 9 or so I heard the phone ring. My uncle didn’t answer it, because he was in no condition to hold a conversation. I didn’t answer it because if it was for him, what would I say? My uncle stood by the answering machine and listened; while I hid in the other room listening as well. I heard a familiar voice in complete panic. “Something’s wrong! She’s not moving. I don’t know what to do!” It was my stepfather. It was almost hard to believe it was him, having never heard him sound like this before. I was confused. My hands started shaking uncontrollably. Not because I was nervous, but because I didn’t know what to think. “Did something bad happen? Am I even awake, or is this a dream? Why is this happening now?” I left the room and acted like nothing happened; as if I never heard the call. I went to sleep that night totally in disbelief. I continued my thoughts and questions. “It never happened on TV like this, so it couldn’t be what I think it is. Everything was fine the last time we met. Do I even remember the last thing I said?” Somehow I managed to sleep that night. The next morning, I didn’t want to get out of bed, not because I was tired but because I didn’t want to know. “Maybe I was just overreacting”, I thought. When I went downstairs and into the kitchen the blank atmosphere struck my body automatically. I didn’t move. My uncle looked at me. “Your mom passed away last night,” he said.