It Calles To Me

It Calls to Me

Fuck my life, was all that was running though Elsa’s mind on the stormy Sunday afternoon that was her birthday. It was bad enough to spend your birthday alone on a plane but even worse knowing that no one is thinking, ‘gosh, I hope Elsa is having a wonderful birthday.’ And the biggest worst thing to know on your birthday is… (Drum roll) knowing no one loves you.

The reason, you may ask, is somewhat of a tragedy. I suppose it depends on the way you look at it.

At the moment, Elsa was sitting listening to her IPod, on the verge of tears. She had purposefully made a playlist full of sad songs. Elsa thought it would be better to stay sad. If she became happy again, she would forget. The spot where the memories of her mother would be filled with new memories, and she would never let that happen.

Elsa began to drift, and even though she put up resistance, she couldn’t stay awake.

“Mom!” She exclaimed as she entered the hospital room on the third floor, room 316.

“Elsa.” Her mother said as if her name was a fact. She looked like sleep. She had no life in her eyes, no shine and no hope. No smile. Her face was tinted red, and sparkly, as her mother would put it, from sweat.

“Mom… Wha-“She didn’t know what to say. The sudden illness of her mother was a surprise. Her mother did get sick a lot, but she never looked like this. All other days were simply colds or flu’s; at least that was what she told Elsa.

“Elsa, listen to me. I want you to know, no matter what, never forget it. Never forget, that just because your father didn’t love me, does not mean he doesn’t love you. He left because of me. He had to give up his greatest love on earth to support his country, you.” Who knew words so deep could come from a sick woman, in the hospital, speaking to her daughter as if she were to die.

Elsa wanted to say something. Anything to make herself feel better and her mother to rise from this hole she was in. She could not find the words. Instead she ran to her mother’s side, and plopped on the floor next to her right hand, which was resting on the bed. She didn’t care if the nurses had to step over her, or complain and ask her to move. She would never leave her mother’s side. No matter what.

Elsa stayed there. Her bottom was in pain, her arm was tired, but she couldn’t feel it. She was just focusing on the soft touch of her mother’s skin. The slight blonde hairs on her knuckles, that Elsa had inherited. Elsa sat there, holding up her mother’s hand, and listening to her mother’s deep, agonizing breaths.

After three hours, her mother’s breaths because smaller, and were no longer loud. “I love you” She said. And her mother’s hand went limp in hers.