The phone rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Then hung up.
I dialed again and listened to the ringing. “Max, don’t do this to me.” I wasn’t sure who I was talking to.
After two rings, she picked up the phone, with a heavy raging breath, she shouted, “I don’t want to talk to you!”
“Max, please, you’re overreacting!”
“I’m overreacting? Who’s the one who’s always in the limelight?” She argued, “I don’t even know you anymore.”
“But I didn’t change!” I yelled over the phone, “If you can only reason with me…”
“Reason with you?” She snapped, and laughed out loud, “You don’t know what I was going through. You’ve been like this since your mother…”
There’s was a nausea in my stomach when I heard her say that, “Since my mother what? Say it!” I shouted.
“See? It’s always my fault! Our fault!” She said, and hung up on me.
I threw the phone over my bed with rage. I had so much anger, so I fell on my bed, and sobbed. How could all those things happen simultaneously in my life? I didn’t deserve to be punished. I knew I was a good girl, doing the best I could, being the best friend, sister, mother, girlfriend.
I heard knocks on my bedroom door, and heard Dad asking behind the door, “Everything okay? I heard you yelling?”
I sniffed, and kept quiet.
“Celia?” He called.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I refused.
“Okay, but do you want me to bring you dinner?” he calmly asked.
“Not now,” I said with fading voice.
I heard his footsteps go away from my door, and I laid my cheek on the pillow, staring at my phone, and thinking about who to call. I picked up my phone again and wiped the tears from my eyes, and dialed his number. The only person I needed at that time. I was comfortable talking to him, and telling him about my struggles. My pain led me to press the number, and he picked his phone.
He heard me crying over the phone, “Boo? What’s the matter?”
“We need to talk,” I said.
“Can we talk tomorrow? I’m kinda busy right now,” said Kent.
“Okay, let’s meet up and talk,” I suggested.
“Okay, boo, tomorrow,” Kent said.
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, Dad and I took Mom to her doctor’s appointment a few weeks later. They did some texts on her to check if her body was reacting to certain medications and if they had any side effects. When the sunlight penetrated through the doctor’s office window, I felt a sense of calmness and at peace knowing that not every day is dark and depressing. And there were people who had beautiful lives beyond those walls. Probably normal families, with pets and a few kids playing in a park. I always had this beautiful image in my mind when we were on vacation together, and Mom was okay. That picture was placed on the kitchen counter, and was never moved.
The framed picture was there, reminding us where we came from and how we got here.
The here, I don’t like it.
I took a deep breath and started paying attention to the doctor’s words.
“Her condition looks stable, though she needs to continue with her medications, and her text results are good. Nothing to worry about,” he said and looked at the papers on his desk.
“Good?” Dad started, “You consider this…good?”
“Dad,” I called to calm him down and get him back to his senses.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Williams, but for a condition like hers, it’s a rare thing to see no progress with the brain shrinking,” the doctor said, “We can schedule another appointment next week to see how things go with her.”
Dad bit his lower lip, and sighed, “Okay,”
“As for you, you seem stressed, do you sleep and eat well?” the doctor asked, “I can prescribe you pills if otherwise.”
“No, I’m fine,” Dad refused, “I just want my wife cured, okay?”
The doctor hesitated with his words, and said, “Let’s hope for the best.”
We got up and Dad pushed Mom’s wheelchair to the exit.
****************************************
We got home, and my siblings were sitting in the living room, arguing about nonsense again. Dad stopped pushing the wheelchair, and took Mom upstairs. It was her medication time anyway. I walked in the living room and I was surprised when both Adam and Amelia stood up and came up to me with almost teary eyes. How could I tell them that there was no signs of Mom’s condition reversing?
Amalia tugged my shirt, “Is she better now?”
I averted my eyes, and shook my head slightly, “She’s…”
Amelia’s eyes teared, and hugged my torso, and sobbed into my shirt, “When is she coming back?”
I rubbed the back of her head, “I’m sorry, Mimi, but she might not.”
She hugged me tighter.
Adam stared at us, and for a moment, I thought he was about to punch me with his balled fist, but he stomped all the way to the stairs, and up to his bedroom.
I stepped back, and cupped her face, “You need a life. Don’t worry about us, okay?”
She nodded, and sniffed.
“Okay, go play upstairs.”
I heard her footsteps going up stairs.
Then I heard it.
The scream.
I felt my blood rushing through my veins, and my heart racing like a rat’s heart.
The voice was recognizable.
It was Mom’s.
I ran upstairs with shaky legs, and fear of what I’d find there.
And I found them.
Mom hysterically screamed and threw pillows and bedroom items at Dad. He dodged most of them, but the rest hit his body, face and head. Dad was bleeding, and I couldn’t scream when I saw the blood, because I had to stop the madness. I had to do something. I had to stop Mom.
I sprinted towards Mom,
