Page 63 of Cougar

“I needed to come see you. I had to know you’d be okay,” she tells me vaguely. Her grip on my hand tightens as she looks away, whipping the tears from her eyes. She knows something.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?” I ask her. I try to pull my hand back, but she doesn’t let me.

“It will all make sense soon, honey. I promise.”

I shake my head, “This doesn’t make sense. Why doesn’t this make sense? What happened?” I feel like I’m about to snap. The pain in my head and my shoulder are starting to intensify. I stare at the woman who missed out on my life. I can’t believe she’s here because she shouldn’t be here. What happened that made her come now? After everything. Why now?

“Mom….”

“Shhh,” she continues again, rubbing my head and not letting go of my hand. “You’re gonna be okay. That woman you have, she’s a fine one. I’ve missed you so much, but I’ve loved watching you grow. You’ve become such an amazing man. I’m so proud of you.”

She’s watched me grow? How? If she’s been watching me, why wasn’t she with me? And my woman? What woman? Why can’t I remember? She bends down and kisses my forehead. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it feels like she’s passing all the missed years worth of love through the kiss.

“I’ve missed you,” I tell her with tears streaming down my face.

When she stands back up, she takes both of my hands into hers, “I know. I’m sorry, but I have to go now.” With a final squeeze, she turns toward the door.

“Please don’t go, stay.”

“I can’t, honey.”

“Then let me come with you.”

“Oh, honey,” she sighs as she wipes the tears from under her eyes, “you can’t. It’s not your time to come with me. It’s someone else’s.”

What the hell does that mean? “Mom, please don’t go.”

“We’ll see each other again. I love you,” she tells me and turns away. I can’t watch her leave me again. It’s already too painful. How can she leave me so easily?

I close my eyes and cry. Everything hurts. My body, my soul, and my heart. I’ve been shattered all over again. My world feels as if it’s crumbling, and I can’t get away. I’m crashing from the weight of the pain of her leaving my life again.

I don’t know how long I lie there crying before I open my eyes. I didn’t need to, but I give a small search of the room to confirm she’s gone. I didn’t hear a thing. I don’t know if I would have been able to over the sobs that racked my body, but I know I didn’t even hear the sound of the door closing to indicate she’d be gone forever. I look from one corner of the room to the other, willing her to come back, but it’s useless.

There’s nothing else I can do but give up.

I close my eyes. If I can’t see her with me, maybe I can picture her. As I attempt to dream her back into my life, faint, far-away tears start to call to me. I can feel a dip near my side, but nothing is there when I look. Something grabs my hands when I close my eyes. I attempt to ignore it, but that’s proving to be ineffective.

The pressure on my hands becomes too much, even though nothing is there. I don’t have to open my eyes to know I’m alone. Yet something squeezes me. Like a jolt of electricity, it all comes back to me.

The shock, the darkness, the bang, the pain.

I understand now.

She wasn’t here. Not really.

Neither am I.

I’ve become accustomed to this game of opening and closing my eyes. For what I hope is the second to last time, I open them to an empty room. It’s different now, though. Shadows that weren’t here before cover areas of the room. Next to me, the air is pulsating—as if it calls to me.

“Please wake up,” I hear a soft voice cry. The voice I’ve come to love. “Please wake up.”

With one last look around the room, I settle into the bed and close my eyes for the final time. Once I hear her call to me again, I follow her. I’m tired of the game I’ve been playing with myself here. I’m making sure the next time my eyes open, I see her. But no matter what, I know I’m not prepared for the news that’s sure to be awaiting my return.

Because it isn’t my time, it’s someone else’s.

Twenty Eight

Nameless

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