Page 47 of Deeper

I can’t listen to her placating voice.

A piece of paper near Mom’s feet catches my attention. My hands tremble as I walk toward Mom to pick it up. The paper is folded with my name written on the outside, but my hands won’t work. I can’t bring myself to unfold it in order to see what her last words are to me. I sink to the floor, holding the paper in my hands, and stare at the messy scribbled handwriting.

The police come and usher me out of the room. A woman officer takes the note from my hand and urges me to call an adult.

Adults have failed me. The adults in my life are why I am in this situation in the first place.

I put my phone up to my ear. I don’t consider what time it is or that she’s probably in the middle of getting her picture taken. I should be there with her.

“Aria, I need you.”

No questions asked, she responds, “I’ll be right there.”

Aria can handle my bad situations. She can give me what I need from her for strength. She knows how to be there for me when I need to fall apart.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table when Aria gets there. She makes coffee and sits by my side.

“She was sick, Rylan,” Aria says.

“But am I the one who made her sick?” I can’t look at my friend when I ask the question.

“Are you kidding? You can’t really believe that. No one made her sick. She just was. This isn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

“Maybe.”

“No, Rylan. This. Isn’t. Your. Fault.”

“Why wasn’t I enough? Why couldn’t she love me more than the alcohol or her depression? Could I have done something to save her?”

“Your mom was battling demons for a long time. Those demons, this decision—they had nothing to do with you. She loved you, Rylan.”

Did she? How could she? Leaving me like that for me to find…

I’m not sure you can love anyone else when you don’t love yourself. I believe that was Mom’s real truth. She couldn’t love because she wasn’t capable. Her addiction made sure of that.

The woman officer walks by the kitchen table and heads for the door.

“Excuse me?” I call for her attention. “Can I have that note back, please?”

She gives me a sympathetic grimace. “It’s evidence.”

“May I see it before you go?” I need to know what Mom wanted to tell me.

“I think it’s better if you don’t see her last words.”

The officer takes a step back from me, and Aria takes my hand.

“Who are you to make that choice for me?” I scream, finally feeling something other than numbness. Blinding hot rage.

I move to stand, wanting nothing more than to snatch that letter from her, but Aria wraps her fingers around my elbow. It’s her quiet calm that keeps me sitting.

“Did you read it?” Aria’s voice is soft, almost apologetic.

“I did,” the officer responds.

“Okay. Thank you.”

I’m not even sure what Aria is thanking her for.

Was Mom apologetic? Did she blame me for her final decision? Was she manic and incomprehensible?

I’ll never know, but the fact that the officer doesn’t think I should read her thoughts from her final moments makes me think it wasn’t an apology. The note will sit, unread, in some evidence storage place, never having delivered its message to the person it was addressed to.

I never end up getting my senior pictures taken.

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