Page 54 of I Hear You

Well, that’s helpful.

After I find her room, I stand outside the closed door for a few minutes. Preparing myself to see Mom for the first time in months. I’m trying not to have any expectations. I can’t help but let my mind wonder about a few things. Will she be nice to me? Is she sober? I stop trying to guess and push the door open.

Mom is sitting up in her big hospital bed. She looks thinner than I remember her last. Her skin is a funny color and there are heavy dark circles under eyes. Tubes and wires are attached to her arms and chest, connecting to big machines that are rhythmically beeping. The cadence reminds me of an Elvis Presley song. There’s a man sitting in a chair in the corner I don’t recognize. He’s wearing an old pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, even though it’s probably ninety degrees outside. Neither of them have noticed I entered the room, their attention on the television hanging from the wall.

I clear my throat.

“Hey baby, you came,” my mom says, her smile wide.

The man in the corner sits up in his chair staring at me, but doesn’t introduce himself. I slowly move closer to my mom’s bed. Cautious though, like she’s a wild animal who might attack at any moment. She doesn’t look great, but she also doesn’t look like she’s dying.

“Someone called, told me you were here, but nothing else,” I say, my voice lilting at the end of the sentence like it’s a question.

I have questions, lots of them. I can’t get my brain to function well enough to ask any of them. I’m still so overwhelmed.

“Oh, it was Gary, my boyfriend,” she says, pointing at the man in the corner and looking at me like I should know who he is.

I don’t. I have never seen this man in my life. I blink rapidly at them, trying to gain some composure.

“Are you okay? Why are you here? What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

All the questions start coming out at once in a pile of word vomit. Mom just stares at me for a few minutes, then makes room for me to sit on the edge of her bed and pats the blankets of the now open space.

I sit.

“Well sweetie, I was having a hard time breathing and my stomach hurt something fierce. Thought I was having a heart attack. So Gary called an ambulance, and they brought me in.”

“You had a heart attack?” I ask.

“No, no. But, they had to do some blood work and other stuff. Turns out I had an enlarged gallbladder, so they just took the thing out.”

I stare at her dumbfounded, replaying her words in my head, trying to find the part where she told me she had cancer, a tumor or some other serious disease.

“Wait, so you’re gonna be fine?”

“Well, yes, but I could have had a heart attack or died in surgery,” she says, defiantly.

I jump to my feet and start pacing back and forth, running my hands down my face. I stop and face her, arms crossed over my chest.

“When did you have this guy call me? Before or after you knew you were going to be fine?”

“What do you mean?” she responds, not quite meeting my eyes.

I exhale slowly, trying to keep the anger bubbling up in check. It doesn’t help.

I stare at her, biting out every word. “When did you have him call me, before or after you knew you were going to be fine? Answer the question!”

“Well, we didn’t have a chance to call until–”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I stomp my foot like a child, because I’m frustrated and feel like I’m dealing with a child. In reality, I’m dealing with my own mother. A grown woman, who is being incredibly childish and selfish. Does she have any idea how worried I was, what it took to get here?

“I jumped on a plane and flew all the way here, and you’re fine? When are you getting released?” I question.

“Tomorrow,” She starts, “but since you seem to be doing so well you can afford a last minute plane ticket. Can I borrow a few hundred dollars? I’ll pay you back.”

She’s kidding, right? She is not asking her eighteen-year-old daughter for money after she just flew all the way across the country for no damn reason. I don’t even bother answering her. I clench my fists at my side, dig my nails into my skin and squeeze my eyes shut.

“Fine,” Mom says, “But if you want any of your shit, you should probably go get it out of my storage unit. They’re locking me out of it tomorrow and I don’t have the money to pay for it.”

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