Five Months

It has been five months, two days, six hours, and thirty-four minutes since we got the phone call.

In that time, my mother has become a ghost of her previous self. Bags perpetually color the space under her eyes. Her hair is so tangled a bird could’ve made a nest in it and no one would know the difference. Her once immaculately painted nails have chipped and broken, imperfect in so many ways she wouldn’t have allowed before. But “before” will never be the same as “now.” Not since Jordyn left.

I know what she’s been thinking all this time. There’s nothing she does to hide it. Sometimes, with no warning, she turns and stares at me with those empty eyes. A shadow of a smile will appear on her face; she'll shout, "Jordyn!" and hug me fiercely. She thinks he came back. That he miraculously survived. But sooner or later, she breaks the hug and looks at me--really looks at me--and disappointment cascades down her face and rips away her smile.

I don’t want to see that disappointment anymore.

…

My mother comes in.

She's toying with the fuzzy ties of her bathrobe, holding a newspaper with brown stains decorating the text. Her eyes slide to my face and she brightens, dropping the newspaper in excitement. “Jordyn, honey, I thought you were--"

And then she stops, peering at me as she reaches for the coffee pot. One close look and her face sours. “Oh. James, there’s toast in the fridge.” Without another word, she pours coffee into her mug, watching the bitter liquid trickle in.

“Mom, when are you ever going to learn that I’m not Jordyn?”

She slowly turns--cup in one hand, coffee pot in the other. The liquid sloshes around and almost drips onto the floor. “James, I don't need this right now. Eat your toast."

"No."

"James--"

I bolt from my chair. "Don't try this again, Mom. It's been enough dodging this topic for half a year, but I can't do it anymore. Answer my question."

I almost back off, seeing the shame in her face, but I can't turn away now. I try to ignore the sweat beading on the palm of my hands. Our old blue clock ticks in the background, counting the seconds that we stand in a silent face-off.

Finally, she looks away, setting her mug down on the counter. “It’s just—he looks so much like you, James, I can’t help but make that mistake. And—” She purses her lips, picking the lint off of her robe. “—he wasn’t my favorite, he just made me happy, and now that he’s gone…”

“You’re not happy anymore? Am I not enough to take his place? Face it, Mom, you wish that I went on that errand instead of him. I know you would’ve wanted me to get on that train in his place. It would’ve been better than losing your precious little darling.”

“James, stop.” She takes a shaky breath. “I loved you both exactly the same. I don’t know what I can do to prove it to you.”

“I just want to know that you care. You don’t check on me to see how I’m doing. You try not to notice when I cry. You act like you’re the only one who loved Jordyn.” I want to smash our clock against our dish-filled sink. I want to throw her coffee cup down and watch it shatter. I want to do something to show her how angry I am, but something holds me back. It whispers, No. Not right now. Not right now. Not right...

A tear traces its way down her wrinkled face and drips onto the floor, its gentle spatter as it hits the ground sounding much louder than it should. She tries to speak, but her mouth moves without a sound. All she can do is grab her mug and leave.

My anger floods away from me in a sudden rush. I sit down with a heavy thud, mouth open. What I said had shocked me almost as much as her. I hadn’t been that honest in months. But was it wrong to feel good about it? Regret replaces my rage, and I can only think one thing: Maybe she was right to love Jordyn more than me.

…

A sigh escapes my lips as I meticulously smooth out a folded shirt and place it in my suitcase. College is just twenty days away; it wouldn’t really matter if I left now. But I can imagine the look on Mom’s face when she finds out that I escaped early, that I left my bed unmade and clothes all over the floor and that I took the last tube of toothpaste from the bathroom.

I try to shake the thoughts from my mind, but they stay with me as I set the suitcase at the foot of the bed and pull on a dark sweatshirt. I feel a deep pit of guilt at the bottom of my stomach for leaving Mom to mourn alone. I know it was a burden just being in the public eye, listening to phony people wailing “I’m so sorry!” and forcing tissues on us for the thousandth time. We had too many casseroles stuffed in our refrigerator and too many phone calls from distant relatives. It was almost sickening.

Excitement floods through me at the prospect of leaving all the drama behind me. Traveling to Ohio and worrying about nothing but college. A few phone calls being the only contact I have with my mother. It drives me forward and tamps out the second thoughts whispering in my mind.

I grab the handle of my suitcase and lug it out of my room, avoiding the creaky floorboards Jordyn and I marked out so many years ago. Going down the stairs is harder than I thought it would be, but eventually, I make it down to the last step without so much as a peep. I had greased the hinges of the door the night before, and with a careful click the door is unlocked and I step out into the cool night air.

Looking back at my house, I feel the tiniest pang of regret, but I push it down and shut the door softly. The main challenge is making sure that I’m not reported missing by my mother. I plan to call her as soon as soon as my first bus arrives. After that, I take three more buses to get to my destination: Ohio State University.

I amble toward the bus stop, pulling my luggage behind me. A slight wind whistles past my ear and sends a few leaves tumbling into my vision. The moon winks down at me, no more than a thin crescent-shaped slit in the inky fabric of the sky.

When I reach the stop, I park myself on one of the benches and pull out my phone. I turn my phone on vibrate and make to stuff it in my pocket again, but something stops me. I look at the screen, the harsh light making my vision swim. My finger moves almost on its own, opening up the My Photos app.

My breath leaves my body in a sudden whoosh.

There’s me and Jordyn, high-fiving after finishing another level of a difficult video game. Our mother talking to us at Miyo’s as we dig into identical plates of sweet and sour chicken. I wince as I glance at each picture. I can feel each scab on my brain being ripped away, revealing a raw memory that tugs at my heartstrings.

Enough. I firmly press the power button and stick the phone in my pocket, closing my eyes against the sudden darkness. No use turning back now.

By this time the bus has pulled up with a nauseating belch of gas. The doors flap open, emitting a screeching noise, and I lurch forward, digging some coins out of my sweatshirt pockets to pay the fare. I keep my head down and my hood up, trying to avoid the stares from strangers.

…

It’s hours before the driver calls out my stop in a hoarse voice. I stand up and roll my suitcase out the doors, watching as they swing shut behind me. It’s my first stop. It’s time to call. I can’t make myself pull out my phone. Instead, I watch cars scream by, drunk men stumbling past with bottles in their hand. I watch the flashing lights of buildings and giant billboards displaying cheerful ads. I watch and I calm my thoughts, trying to banish the nervousness from my mind.

Finally, I muster up enough courage to fish out my phone and punch in the numbers of my mom’s cell. And then—I call.

For a few moments, there is nothing but empty ringing. Then a groggy voice, understandable at this time of night: “We’re all out of room for casseroles in our fridge right now, so—”

“Mom.”

I can hear her fumbling with the phone, struggling not to drop it. “Jordyn? Are-are you--"

I try to hide the sarcasm in my voice, but it’s hard not to let it show. “Mom, it's James. I'm in Virginia. Try not to worry about me.”

A pause. “Virginia?”

I force out the words again, tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Virginia. I’m on my way to Ohio. For college.”

A sigh warbles through the phone and into my ear. “James, is this because of yesterday?”

How do I answer this? “No, it’s because of all the days since Jordyn’s been dead. I can’t anymore. I thought you knew that.”

“James, I wanted to tell you. I can’t look at you—can’t be happy around you—because his death was my fault. I took him from me. I sent him on that errand because I didn’t want to go. If I had known—” She makes a choking sound, and my breath catches. “I would have never sent him on that errand, James. I would’ve gone myself. All this time I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“So you thought that isolating me would help,” I manage, but my voice lacks strength. Surprise has stolen all of my resolve. It takes away my anger and replaces it with something fierce that overtakes my heart. Forgiveness. Regret. Sorrow. I can’t tell.

“I tried to make it right, James. I tried.”

Those few words finish the job. The skyscrapers blur and something wet splashes onto my shirt. My foggy mind thinks it’s raining, but only later do I realize it’s tears. I can’t make a sound, but my mouth goes dry.

“You don’t believe me. I don’t blame you. You can—you can go to Ohio. Just remember to—”

“Mom,” I whisper, and she breaks off. It takes a few tries to say the words, but once I say them, I know that they’re true.

“I’m coming home.”