During my childhood, there was always one woman that captivated me; the way she could fix a car in minutes, how she could calm down my mother with a few soft words and touches, the way she seemed to know the answer to questions that didn’t have an answer. “How many stars are in the sky?” I asked her once, after learning the vastness of the universe. I knew I’d get her this time. We were sitting outside, gazing up at the sky, which was the clearest I’d ever seen it. But she just replied, “Millions of billions of gazillions,” with that small, unfathomable smile. Her name was Jayne. She was ineffable, she was the scent of petrichor; she was a denouement. I still remember the day it occurred to me: the fleetingly fragile mortality of humans.
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The day seemed entirely normal. Until my phone rang. I almost didn’t pick up. Now I nearly wish I hadn’t. My mother‘s voice was cheerful and bubble-gum sweet, absolutely nothing like normal, which immediately set me on edge when I answered. She simply wanted to know what I was doing after shopping, she said. Sirens blared in my subconscious. I replied warily, just telling her we were planning on going to lunch afterwards. And soon enough, there it was. A tell-tale crack in her façade. I asked her what was going on, heart in my throat. My mind jumped to the worst-case scenarios, every prediction I had worse than the next.
“Oh, honey,” she finally said. I could hear it now: the ripped-rawness of someone who’s spent the past hour crying. There was only one thing that could make my mom sound like that. “It’s Jayne.” I still remember the looks on my friends’ faces as my hand flew up to my mouth and I made a small noise in the back of my throat. I remember the glances they exchanged, and the way someone’s foot bumped mine questioningly under the table. I held up a finger to say “gimme a sec”, and in my peripherals I saw their expressions change the slightest
The day seemed entirely normal. Until my phone rang. I almost didn’t pick up. Now I nearly wish I hadn’t. My mother‘s voice was cheerful and bubble-gum sweet, absolutely nothing like normal, which immediately set me on edge when I answered. She simply wanted to know what I was doing after shopping, she said. Sirens blared in my subconscious. I replied warily, just telling her we were planning on going to lunch afterwards. And soon enough, there it was. A tell-tale crack in her façade. I asked her what was going on, heart in my throat. My mind jumped to the worst-case scenarios, every prediction I had worse than the next.
“Oh, honey,” she finally said. I could hear it now: the ripped-rawness of someone who’s spent the past hour crying. There was only one thing that could make my mom sound like that. “It’s Jayne.” I still remember the looks on my friends’ faces as my hand flew up to my mouth and I made a small noise in the back of my throat. I remember the glances they exchanged, and the way someone’s foot bumped mine questioningly under the table. I held up a finger to say “gimme a sec”, and in my peripherals I saw their expressions change the slightest