Mom

The phone rang in the kitchen, filled with secrets, gossip, good news, and bad news. The once forest-green device was now weathered and faded from years of use. At first glance, you might not see it, but if you look closely at the handle, you'll notice the discoloration in the shape of a handprint embedded in it. I walked into the room where the smell of every meal had stained the once vibrant wallpaper; now, it was dull and lifeless. I picked up the phone, and I could smell the lavender shampoo she had used for as long as I could remember. "Hello?" I answered; on the other end, my sister spoke up, "Hey, you need to come back quickly. She's saying goodbye."

"Mom."

The device fell from my ear, swinging like the tire swing we used to play on when we were little; my mother loved pushing us on it. As the phone swung, the cord connecting it to the world became unplugged, and the lifeline to the world ended.

Out the door to my rusted '67 Mustang was barely holding on; inside the machine, the rain tapping ticked away on the metal roof like a clock as I raced to start it. Twisting the key, the vehicle stuttered as I brought it to life, begging that it would wake out of its sleep. It roared to life as if it could feel my pain and worry, wailing in a desperate cry. The pistons pumped like the beating heart inside the engine, giving it life with every ounce of energy it could muster.

"Mom"

Gears shifted with a trembling hand; the tires screeched in desperation, the rubber-like fingers gripping the asphalt. I shifted the gears to propel the car forward faster; pistons howled, firing in frantic rhythm with my racing heartbeat as if they were in sync. My machine challenged and pushed itself to the limits, teasing the redline before I allowed it to change gears. As the streetlights passed over me, I saw my reflection in the windshield, and I couldn't tell the difference between my tears or the rain rolling on the glass.

"Mom"

Horns blared as I dove through intersections, but they were just a distant echo in my mind as I needled my way through the oncoming cars. My body and vehicle reacted, moving fluidly as we raced toward the hospital. Jerking the wheel to the left, my hand slipped from the sweaty palms as my heart raced. Either by my guardian angel or by pure luck, my hands gripped the wheel after it slipped, narrowly missing another car. The rubber burned into the pavement, leaving scars of my flight to beat time, a time that was a relentless adversary, mocking me as I pushed the vehicle harder. Why didn't I stay? Why did I leave? I should have stayed. "Mom."

The one who brought me into this world, the one who cared for me, will I even reach her before she exhales her final breath? How cruel is it that we must watch our loved ones exhale their last breath when, just yesterday, they watched us inhale our first?

My body and machine were on autopilot. I snapped back into reality as a vehicle pulled out in front of me. Like second nature, I pulled my handbrake and jerked my wheel to prevent a collision. Smoke spewed as the tires skidded across the wet ground. My brake pads turned white hot and they screamed as I pulled into the hospital. The tires melted with the unforgiving pavement as I came to a halt. My rubber soles carried me toward the woman who had loved me from the day I was born. I ran straight to her room; I could hear the heart monitor slowing down. The closer I got, the slower it became. Hospital rooms flashed by as I grew closer. When I reached her room, I came to a halt.

My sister sat beside her with tear-stained cheeks, but nothing fell from my eyes.

"Mom?" I whispered, hoping she would wake up.
There was silence as the curtain closed.