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By Rianne Moss
Bam!
“Tell your father I love him,” my mother muttered.
She spoke these last words as she fell to the ground and curled up into a foetal position as a pool of blood surrounded her. Her frame went lax and her crystal blue eyes were open wide, but their sparkle had vanished. Her look of disbelief was frozen in my mind. In a matter of seconds, she’d gone from being a vibrant woman to a dull corpse.
The gunshot still rang in my ears as a man bolted for his car. His black cloak swayed behind him, and a navy-blue bandanna covered his face to mask his identity.
I moved away from my mother’s body, staring at her blood seeping into the ridges of the ungraded path. My heartbeat thumped through my chest. The thoughts swarming through my head spun around and around like a race car on the track.
It had happened so fast. The gunshot flew through her, spattering little fragments around. Since he’d vanished before I could blink, I couldn’t even be sure whether the shooter retrieved the shell casing. I stood there like a coward. A power, an internal struggle that was out of my control consumed me. My feet didn’t move. They felt like they were sinking into the earth as if the ground had become quicksand. Why wasn’t I doing anything?
Men and women ran from their homes toward my mother. A priest from the nearby church approached her, clutching a wooden cross, and his eyes narrowed. He knelt in front of her and spoke a prayer.
Joseph, the town’s fire chief, picked up her hand and pressed two fingers to her wrist. “She’s gone,” he whispered as he carefully set her hand on her chest. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, saying a prayer in her honor.
My mother had attended church, and some of her closest supporters were here. Some of them sobbed while others moaned in anguish. Every one of us grieved in our own way.
Blue and red lights surrounded us and lit the area. Police cruisers swarmed around the woman who had given birth to me. Paramedics arrived, followed by the fire volunteers. Joseph joined the rest of his crew as they gathered around, whispering among themselves. The two EMT workers checked my mother again. Did they expect some kind of miracle to happen? With that much blood loss and the grayness in her face, anyone with half a brain could tell she was dead. My insides were shattered into a million pieces, but I was a realist. No amount of praying, hoping, or begging would bring her back.
Joseph lowered his gaze. “I told her over and over again not to wander around outside alone.” There was a hint of dismay in his voice. “I don’t understand what she was looking for.”
My mother was a strange woman. She and my father were inseparable until he started seeing her best friend, Grace. Everyone seemed to know before my mom did.
She had once come home from a late night out. She had on her favorite pair of gauchos and the oversized cardigan I’ve seen in so many photos of her. Her hair was curly and parted, though she normally wore it straight. It was voluminous and glossy from the tons of moose she applied. She looked like a model out of a ‘80s magazine. She had said those were the best times of her life.
Still, after that day she was never the same. She’d always been a vibrant woman, but thereafter all she’d wanted was to be alone and to talk silently to herself about my Dad and me. She’d whisper lullabies to herself like the ones she sang when I was young.
I wandered into the crowd that was being pushed aside by a swarm of detectives and forensic workers. Yellow police tape sectioned off the bloody crime scene. I lingered in the midst of the crowd waiting for someone to acknowledge my presence. I was the invisible kid no one talked too. The elephant in the room. The forgotten box of old records collecting dust in the attic.
A few people started to leave, while others continued to pray. I looked around for my father, Grace, or both; I found neither of them. The group of churchgoers chanted loudly in the streets, “Justice! We want justice!”
Though my mother had become an odd duck, she was still loved, and the town wanted justice for her.
“Has anyone heard from Ronald?” a woman from town said.
Joseph grimaced at the mention of my father’s name.
“What?” she said again.
“No.” He tried to fake a smile, but it came off wrong. He walked away and gazed toward my mother’s corpse.
“Why did you have to go out tonight, my love,” he whispered.
I gulped. Somehow, I heard through the mass of panicked voices around me and made out the two barely spoken words—my love. I tried to juggle my thoughts and make sense of what he’d just said. My love? My mom was only crazy about one man—my father. Her last words to me had been to tell my father she loved him.
I stared at Joseph, who until this moment had been nothing more to me than the fire chief. He wore big yellow outfits and a yellow fire hat. He drove the big, red fire trucks through town, all proud and mighty. He’d saved many burning buildings and helped retrieve animals from trees, especially Mr. Jenkin’s cat. He was a stereotypical fire chief. My image of him suddenly became clouded. He was no longer just a member of society. If he’d had a thing for my mother, what did he feel about my father?
“It’s a crying shame, Joey,” the priest said, walking up behind him. “But at least she’s reunited with her baby.”
I was an only child. Something didn’t add up. Growing up, it was the three of us: my dad, mom, and I. My mom would stay home and tend to the house. She’d be your typical homemaker, baker, cooker, and churchgoer.
My dad was the provider. Your typical head-of-the-household man from the ‘50s. He, like my grandfather and great grandfather, was a hardworking but hard-bitten man. On the surface, my father showed little emotion and was raw and callous. After working a hard day at work, he’d come home to one of my mother’s home-cooked meals. He’d shove the food into his mouth even while talking, gravy drizzling from the sides of his mouth while he chatted about the day’s events.
One time, after one of his more grueling workweeks, he came home, kicked off his toe-steeled boots, and threw his coat over the banister. He walked up the steps to the living room, where he sprawled out on the sofa. My mother was in the kitchen quietly humming to herself and making her third loaf of bread that day. My father turned up the television to full blast. His mouth was twisted into a grimace and his hands were fidgeting. The lines in his forehead had deepened.
He suddenly flew up into sitting position, his face beet red and gritting his teeth. “Is that all you ever do? Bake bread, cook, and clean? I swear you are the most boring, pathetic woman I know.”
My mom said nothing as she kept her focus on mixing the many dry ingredients in the glass bowl.
He growled, “Did you hear me?”
I stood in the corner of the hallway, shaking. My father had never talked to my mom like this before—not that I’d ever heard.
The following day, however, everything was back to normal. At breakfast, he kissed my mother and complimented her on her dress. He smiled and seemed to enjoy the breakfast she had prepared for him.
But that was all just a distant memory. Here I was, standing in front of Joseph and the priest. Did my mother and father have another child I didn’t know about? Did my mom and Joseph have a child? My mind twirled round and round like a spinning top. My father and Grace I could picture. But my mother and Joseph? It couldn’t be. My mother wouldn’t have done that to my father.
“Don’t lie,” I yelled at Joseph. “It’s not true!”
He didn’t make eye contact with me. A burning sensation filled my chest. Why was he ignoring me? Why were they all ignoring me? I circled around the priest and fire chief. The branches of the nearby oak trees trembled in a sudden burst of wind.
“Why, mom, why?” I whispered to myself. I fell to a ground in a puddle of my own self-misery.
As the night swept by, the crowd slowly dwindled. The burnt orange and raspberry red of the coming sunrise were gathering on the horizon. My mother’s body was long gone and still, no one took notice of me.
Joseph sat on the ground, staring. Tears trickled down his cheeks.
“I had no choice,” he whispered. “Ever since Briley passed, you’ve never been the same.”
I stood still, stricken by disbelief. What did he mean I had ‘passed?’
“You kept telling me how you lost everything. Ronald left to find Grace, then you watched Briley die in that accident. You blamed yourself. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I took a step back, staring down at myself. I wore a blue nightgown with no shoes. My hair was halfway down my back. I was back in my twelve-year-old body. A gasped escaped my lips. It couldn’t be. I was a ghost!
I sprinted toward Joseph. I couldn’t accept I wasn’t here. But he passed right through me. That was why no one could hear me! I wasn’t real.
The sun was peeking through, lighting up the once lively field.
“You can finally be free to be with your child,” he whispered, “and I’ll dedicate myself to making sure that Ronald pays for taking your life away.”
He sighed and walked away.
My vision became clouded as my surroundings were sucked away. The church, the graded road, and all traces of Earth vanished. I found myself alone in a white room. Was this eternity?
“Briley?” my mother called. I turned and saw in the distance the vibrant mother I remembered. I ran toward her with open arms and embraced her.
“You’re safe now,” she whispered, “You don’t need to look over me anymore, my sweet, sweet child.”
Then the lights went out. My mission was complete.
