Release (Release #1)

by Aly Martinez

I crossed my legs at the ankle and leaned back against the tree. This should have been easier. She’d been sick for so long. We’d spent months preparing for this day. Or at least my father had. I’d spent months pretending it wasn’t happening.

Fifty-eight minutes. Well, less the three minutes it took for me to sprint over there after the hospice nurse had announced that my mother “had passed.” The word passed implied that there was somewhere else she was going. When in reality, the cancer had finally devoured her from the inside out until her lungs filled with fluid and she’d drown lying in bed. Fifty-nine minutes.

“It wasn’t like I was spying on you or anything,” he defended. “I was going to say something earlier, but then I got curious about what the heck you were doing.” What was I doing? Hiding? Avoiding? Clinging to the theory that ignorance was bliss? Knowing she was dead was one thing. After I’d listened for days to her gasp and gurgle, it was honestly a relief. But seeing them wheel her out of our house on a stretcher much like the first time she’d collapsed after chemo had been more than I could take. This time, there was no hope left to cling to. When she left that day, she was never coming back. I just had to wait. Soon, it would be over. Soon, her hospital bed in our living room would be empty for the first time in three months. Soon, she would be gone. Only then would I go home.

What kind of creeper hid in a tree and watched a person at the bottom for… I looked at my watch. Sixty minutes. One hour. I could finally stop counting the minutes and move on to counting the hours. Those were longer. There were only twenty-four in a day and I could sleep through at least eight of them. Then there would be days. Months. Years. Before I knew it, I’d barely remember her at all. Those were the days I longed for. I loved my mother. I didn’t want her to be dead. I just wanted to stop hurting. One hour and one minute. I wondered if my dad had noticed I’d taken off yet or if he was still doubled over her bed, holding her as if he could bring her back. Secretly, I was glad he couldn’t. “Oh, good. You’re thinking,” he prodded when I didn’t reply. I should have left. Leaving the peeping Tom hung out to dry. But where would I have gone? My mother was dead, my father was destroyed, and the world kept turning as people continued on with their lives as if nothing had happened at all. Well, everyone except for that boy in the tree. Because, in a different way, he was just as stuck as I was.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed, pushing off me faster than I’d ever seen a person move. “Are you okay?” I wasn’t. Not in any way, shape, or form. My mother was dead. My father was destroyed. And my leg was broken. Of course it was. Because when I’d assumed that day couldn’t possibly get any worse, God had clearly seen that as a personal challenge rather than a plea for help.

I listened to his feet crunching in the grass as he sprinted away, and then I lay there staring up at the sky, wishing it would swallow me up. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Everything hurt. But through it all, I never cried. What was the point?

With a heaving chest, I stared at the wet tracks streaking his hollow cheeks. I wanted to feel bad. He was a shattered man, and I was all but pouring salt in his wounds. But I couldn’t stop myself. I hated him. Everything about him. But only because I couldn’t make him love me the way I needed him to.

My heart shattered as understanding suddenly dawned on me. Tragedy and crap parents weren’t isolated to me.

A chill went down my spine as his gaze dipped to my mouth. “Swear to me.” “I swear. It’s me and you forever, Ramsey.” “I swear too.” His voice only became more urgent. “I can’t do this without you.” “Do what?” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Breathe.”