One Week In November. Sarah Everest

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СКАЧАТЬ looking at her name on the screen.

      "Azrael? Oh sweetie, I'm so glad I finally got ahold of you. Stacey told me you've been busy lately, so I thought I'd call before school time. Do you have a moment to talk to your old Mama?" Her words rushed together so fast that I didn't even have a chance to correct my name. Since the first day of Kindergarten, when I finally had a chance to introduce myself, I have insisted that my name is AJ. I will never understand what possessed my mother to name me Azrael Josephine.

      "Hello, Mother," my voice came out as frigid as my icy feet. I barely refrained from calling her Elizabeth, or digging in deeper and calling her Libby as though we were friends.

      The line went quiet, and I did nothing to alleviate the silence. She was the one who called, it was her job to figure out how to say what she wanted to say. I could have apologized for not returning any of her earlier calls, but it would have been a lie. I was not sorry.

      "So did Stacey..?" her voice broke off. I realized it was deeper than usual, missing some of the typical false cheer that she often put on when she talked to me. She was always trying to make me feel like I was her baby girl, as though I should revert to some childlike state and accept her authority. She breathed heavily into the phone and I kept on waiting.

      "Did Stacey tell you why I've been trying to reach you?"

      "She mentioned that you haven't been feeling well," I admitted. I was ready to finish the conversation. I could hear the shower water running, and I could feel my routine evaporating. I wished I had at least grabbed a cup of coffee before the drama started.

      "It's a bit more than that," my mother mumbled into the phone. "AJ, they say I'm not gonna make it."

      I tried to wrap my mind around the words I had just heard. Point number one: my mother just called me AJ without me pushing her to it. Point number two: it sounded distinctly like she was telling me she was dying.

      "Not gonna make what?" I asked. I wasn't really playing stupid. I just wanted her to tell me something straight for a change. Riddles and condescension have always irritated me.

      My mother sniffled. I felt like I was the parent trying to pry the words out of her. "Just tell me what's going on," I told her, deciding that it would be best to make my point clear, too.

      "I haven't been feeling well for a while now," her words started rushing again, and I clutched the phone tightly, worried it might get washed away in the flow. "I finally went to the doctor, because they weren't going to let me keep my job if I missed any more days without a good excuse. I'll spare you the details, but they said I don't have much time. They basically told me to get my affairs in order. I have maybe six months, and I don't want to leave this place without making things right with my baby girl."

      "Aunt Stacey said we can come see you on Saturday," I said, not wanting her to start up again once she had stopped. "I'll try to get off work." I hung up before she could answer. I told myself she was probably lying. It wouldn't be the first time she came up with something shocking to get my attention. I pushed myself up from the bed and scurried back to the bathroom. When I pulled open the door, light and steam billowed out like the entrance into Heaven. I let myself be enveloped in the blissful glow and entered into the steaming downpour.

      Hot water sizzled on my cold skin and I willed it to wash away everything from my mind. Oblivion sounded divine, and I found myself wondering if that was why my mother had so often turned to alcohol. I didn't want to keep thinking about her, but I couldn't make the memories stop.

      I remembered the time she promised to tell me about my father. I was ten, and had been having a hard time at school. She told me that if I brought home a good report from my teacher all week, she would tell me who my father was. I had been so eager to learn about him at the time, so I worked harder than I ever had in my life to achieve that positive feedback from my teacher. As my body slowly warmed up under the spray of water, I recalled her story about him being a rockstar in a band that was on tour. She said she couldn't remember the name of the band, but she had been at the show, and he had invited her on stage to dance. That pretty much summed up the entirety of their relationship. She went to the after party, and three weeks later realized she was pregnant.

      If I allowed myself the ignorance of being naive, I might still believe that story. Sadly, I know she was lying, and as much as I wanted to believe her, I suspected it even then. I have no real idea who my father is, but I am certain he is not a ne'er do well rockstar. I suppose I should be grateful that she didn't come up with an actual name, giving me a person to speculate about, to scrutinize until building up enough courage to write a letter claiming his patronage, only to be disappointed by the truth. Instead, she gave such a vague account that I became certain he was a total loser. Perhaps he worked as a janitor at a music hall, but there are plenty of other seedy options that are even more likely, and I prefer not to think too deeply on the topic anymore.

      The temperature of the shower water began to cool, and I knew I would not be able to delay the next phase of the morning any longer. I turned the water off and quickly toweled myself dry then got dressed. I left the thick humid air of the bathroom and went in search of the hot coffee I knew Aunt Stacey had left heating in the pot for me. I've gotten used to the added bitterness that comes along with drinking over cooked coffee. I could get up earlier and have it fresh, but I prefer having the extra half hour to sleep, so I just add extra creamer to compensate.

      My favorite mug was waiting for me on the counter. Before becoming a well established career woman, Aunt Stacey did some serious traveling. Throughout most of my early childhood I remember waiting for her visits the way other kids waited for Christmas or birthdays. Everything changed when she arrived. My mother would become giddy with excitement. She let me stay up late with them, and allowed Aunt Stacey to stuff me with exotic chocolates, and give me little gifts that represented the countries she had been experiencing. I dreamed that some day I would go with her on one of these exotic adventures, but by the time I was able to escape from home, she had settled down in the city, three hours away from where my mother lived. I knew she still had dreams of her travels, but work had taken priority for the time being, and I suspected she had promised my mother not to take me out of the country until I was 18. For now, I satisfied my traveling dreams by drinking coffee out of the beautiful butterfly mug she bought in Poland. I imagined a place where tables were set with brightly colored stoneware, and families feasted on cheesy piroshki with sausage. I didn't know what they tasted like, but from Aunt Stacey's descriptions I knew I would love them.

      I spotted a note sitting next to the cup, but waited to read it until my coffee was ready. I breathed deeply as the hot brown liquid mixed with the cold creamer which I had poured in first. I sighed and brought it to my lips. Sipping slowly, so as not to burn off any tastebuds, I picked up the note. I loved Aunt Stacey's loopy cursive handwriting, and wished I could improve my chicken scratch letters. "Fresh doughnuts on the table," the worlds curled around me like a warm hug. Since moving in, I had replaced my rice cake ways with a more balanced diet, which allowed me to enjoy food again. I still felt occasional guilt upon devouring three doughnuts (the optimal mix being an old fashioned sandwiched between chocolate and maple iced rounds) but today I told myself I deserved it.

      It was not going to be possible to avoid seeing my mother. I sugared my nerves, and rinsed them down with coffee. It might not be a great day, but I was determined not to let it be an awful one.

      Joe

      The temperature was dropping. It was undeniable. This meant he was going to have to make a change soon. Already there had been too many days with not enough food, not to mention too much time spent sleeping in a semi seated position. It had not taken him long to realize that, while not being the most comfortable way to sleep, it was the safest.

      The benefits of propped СКАЧАТЬ