The Change

The Call

My phone stopped ringing for all of one moment before it went off again. I took it out, not recognizing the number. My heart raced for some reason. I answered the call without any other thoughts. “Hello?”

A woman’s voice came through, unfamiliar and clear, “Hello. Is this Allison Holt?”

The hair on the back of my neck pricked up, answering in alarm and slight anxiety, “Um, yes? Who… Who are you?” Strangers shouldn’t know my full name. This was beyond weird, and I had an unsettling pit in my stomach.

“This is Veronica Lowry with Child Protection Services. Are you alone?”

Immediate panic flared my lungs, the question implying a thousand different scenarios and reasons for why this woman would want to know if I’m alone. Obviously, I was, but she could mean literally alone, or emotionally alone. Both would be true. I went with what felt less like a loaded question, “I’m in the bathroom by myself.” I whispered to the phone.

For a second, I thought she hung up on me because of how quiet it was. I was half tempted to leave and pretend this never happened. My gut said not to do that. It’s urgent if it dealt with CPS. I sat there, hunched over my cellphone that’s being cradled in my hands. I wanted to go home but my home is not a house I feel safe in.

Suddenly, words that pierced my ears louder than alarm bells came through the phone, “Your mother is dead.” That is when I dropped my phone on the floor. I didn’t pick it up. I didn’t answer the woman. “She was found unconscious outside a popular bar, but she’d been beaten up and was severely inebriated. I’m sorry. The paramedics couldn’t revive her.”

Nothing seemed to work while she continued to talk about what happened. How my mother was… dead. It couldn’t be true, could it? She always comes back after a late night. I interrupted her with a sharp exhale, “She can’t be dead. Are you sure she is? You probably got the wrong person. This isn’t right.”

“It’s her, I wouldn’t be calling you if it wasn’t real. Your mother is gone, dear, due to unfortunate circumstances. I’m going to pick you up from school so you can collect your belongings and say goodbye. Will you be ready in 15 minutes?” I thought her voice was sweet, but now all that I feel is heaviness.

I could barely muster a response as I weakly picked up the phone, “Okay.” I ended the call, slipped my phone in my pocket, and put my head in my hands. I didn’t know how to move on from this. I didn’t know how to get up from the toilet. It’s like my legs were glued to the spot, the spot that turned my life to ruin, that made it impossible to breathe. It’s not right what happened. She shouldn’t have died. She wasn’t that good of a mother, and I still would’ve rather had her than not.

I got up slowly, the weight of the world on my chest, and I made it to the front of the school. I must sign out, so I do. I didn’t care about the other books in my locker. I can get them later. I’ve walked out of school plenty of times, but it felt different now. I let my legs take me where I needed to go. Wherever that is, I don’t know. Not anymore.

In the parking lot, I waited on the perimeter sidewalk for a car I didn’t recognize but would have to learn the appearance of. A white jeep pulled in one of the spaces, but the man walked by me. A blue truck did the same, then went back out and left. I had no idea how I’m going to find the right vehicle when I didn’t know much about cars to begin with.

I looked around the parking lot cluelessly before strolling through it, hoping to find it easily if I walked around because it was a nice sized parking lot. A woman in a black blazer with a white button up shirt, black pants, and black heels waved at me from across the lot in front of a black sedan. She was quite a bit taller than I was. I walked over, insides twisting inside out, and I waved back hesitantly. “Hi.”

“Allison, how are you feeling?” She rubbed my back, and I wanted to pull away because the touch made me tear up.

I shrugged my shoulders, “I’m… I’m okay. Sad but like she wasn’t that great anyways,” I chuckle wetly, the sound not cheerful at all. She smiled sympathetically and opened the door to the passenger side of her car. “She was still your mom. It’s going to hurt regardless.”

I climbed into the seat and placed my bag at my feet, buckling up. I don’t want to talk about this right now. Maybe not ever. Especially not with her. The woman got in the driver’s seat after closing my door, doing the same. She didn’t push and I didn’t talk.