Page 94 of Lie With Me
The mortician senses my uncertainty and flashes me a look of understanding. “No need to make the decision now. We’ll keep in touch during the process, and you can decide then if you’d like.”
Numbly, I nod. We don’t say much else as I follow him into a room that looks like one you’d see on TV—with lockers where they store bodies and shiny steel tables where they do autopsies. He leads me over to a locker and opens it without hesitation.
“I’ll give you your privacy. When you’re done, I’ll be up at the front,” he tells me before leaving the room.
I thought I was prepared. But nothing truly prepares you for seeing your parent like this.
Momma’s skin is ashy, but she looks more filled out since the last time I saw her. Her dark hair hangs limp and frizzy around her face. Gently, I reach up to brush a stray strand that’s clinging to her cracked lips, silent tears streaming down my cheeks. “Hey, Momma. It’s me.”
There’s no sign that she can hear me, not that I expect there to be. I don’t really believe in a god, but sometimes I think that the universe sends us signs thatsomeoneis listening.
“I’m sorry that I kept ignoring you. And that I never came to visit.” I grip her arm, my face twistingas a sob wrenches past my lips. “I’m sorry that you died alone.”
All I can do is stare down at the mother who never wanted me. Who never cared for me. It should be so easy to feel relief that she’s finally gone, but all I feel ispain. As if it’s become something tangible, spreading throughout my entire body, gripping every organ—every cell—in its cold, barbed hands.
The little girl I once was stares at Momma from the other side of the support tray, still wrapped in that fucking purple robe.
We’re free now. So why are you sad?
Hallucinating her question only makes me cry harder.
My fingers dig into Momma’s arm through the sheet over her body as I squat down, head hanging between my shoulders as I scream my despair viscerally. I scream for the little girl whose childhood was stolen from her, and for the woman I had to become. And for my momma, who might have finally started getting better if her body hadn’t quit on her.
Anguished cries leave my throat with harsh, ragged breaths as I let her go and slam my fists against the other lockers over and over again. When I’ve exhausted myself, I turn and sit against the lockers, threading my hands through my hair while the last remnants of my tears dry on my face.
The little girl stands before me, clinging to her ratty old teddy bear.
It’s time to let go now.
“I don’t think I can,” I whisper raggedly, fully aware that I’m talking to a child that only exists in my mind.
I’m going to go.
Raising my head, I stare at her. “Where are you going to go?”
She smiles, and it fills a small crack in my chest. She seems brighter. Happier.
I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to swim.
Then she’s gone.
Suddenly, I feel lighter, like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Goodbye, my little valentine.
I’m not sure why I decide to headhome. Call it my last bit of closure, but I find myself on the freeway headed to the trailer court just outside Chester, where I grew up.
My phone rings again; the battery is nearly dead, and I make a mental note to grab a car charger when I stop for gas. Assuming it’s Tripp, I answer—still angry with him, but knowing he deserves an explanation for where I am.
“Hey, Jackson told me what happened. Are you okay?” Carmela’s voice sounds on the other end of the line.
Maybe it’s the fact that she asked if I’m okay that has me breaking down in tears all over again.
She makes a cooing sound as she says, “Len, what happened?”
“My mom died. I’m at home,” I tell her between sniffs. Everything that happened with Neil doesn’t register high on my list of concerns at the moment.
Carmela is the only person who knows the full extent of what happened to me when I was a kid. I hear her sharp intake of breath as her pitch heightens. “Oh my god, Valentina, I’m so sorry. Do you need anything?”