Message in a Bottle

Chapter Seventeen
The sun shone down on me through the skylight above my bed. I pulled the covers over my head and sighed sleepily as I began drifting back to sleep.
Then I bolted upright from my bed, looking at the clock. It was nearly noon! I looked at my phone. No missed calls, no unread text messages. I got dressed in a hurry and ran down the stairs. But then the odd silence caught me. There was no sound of Benjamin getting breakfast in the kitchen or him playing the guitar in his living room. When I knocked the door to his room gently, it swung open in a creaking sound. His bed was empty, his sheets, pillow, and broken lamp on the floor.
The piece of paper taped over the red button caught my eye.

We’re at the hospital. Mom.

“Where is he?” I called to the receptionist as I ran down the hall of the hospital. “Benjamin Clarke. Where is he?!”
“Morgan, honey.”
I turned my head to find my mother sitting alone in the waiting area, her eyes red and hair pulled back in a sloppy pony tail at the nape of her neck. Also, she was still in her pajamas which was pretty odd because she’d never step out of the house if she wasn’t dressed up or had on her make-up.
“What’s wrong with Ben?” I asked, my voice unsteady as I walked over to her.
She patted the chair beside her. “Let’s talk.”
I took the chair across from her and sat down.
“Morgan… Benjamin doesn’t have very long left.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” I hissed harshly.
She shook her head, the tears beginning to start again. “He hardly has a month,” she whispered, covering her face in her hands, sobbing.
And for some reason I wanted to comfort her to get up, sit next to her and put my arms around her and cry with her. But I couldn’t because I was too frozen to even blink. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to comprehend the new information.
Mom inhaled a sharp breath, looking back up at me, her face wet with tears. “He said he wanted to see you.”
I stood up robotically and walked to Ben’s room. I looked through the window and Ben was lying on the bed with his lavender eyelids shut and sick pale skin.
“Morgan,” he whispered, cracking his eyes open.
“Ben,” I cried, running over to him, taking his hand. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come earlier. I’m-”
“It’s fine,” he mumbled, taking a deep breath. “Mom handled it…. You know, she told me she loved me.”
“Mom has said all kinds of crazy things,” I laughed.
“It was different this time,” he mumbled with his eyes barely open. “It sounded sincere. Like she really meant it from her heart and soul.”
“You’re sick Ben. You couldn’t possibly know-”
“Morgan, stop. All we’ve ever wanted was for mom to realize what we’re going through, how we feel without her or dad around…. But not once did we consider what she’s going through. She’s having as rough of a time as we are. Me with cancer and you with your feelings and emotions.” He took a deep breath, coughed, then wheezed.
“Okay, okay. Stop talking,” I said, patting his hand.
“I’m fine,” he said and coughed.
“You’re a cancer patient in the hospital with less than a month to live. You are not fine.”
He sighed, giving up.
“What did the doctors say? Can you come home?”
“You told me to stop talking,” he whispered.
“Oh, right.”
“No, I can’t. Not yet at least.”
I nodded my head. “Well get some rest, all right? I’ll be right here just in case you need anything.”
“Go get something to eat, Morgan,” he insisted.
“I will later. Now sleep.”
He shut his eyes and gradually drifted to sleep. Once I was sure he was asleep, I began crying. I didn’t want him to see me this way, not when he only has a couple days left. I let go of his hand and got out of the chair, stepping back with my hand over my mouth. I didn’t want to wake him up with my crying so I stepped out of the room and stood in front of the window, watching him which only made me cry harder. I hated seeing him like this. I hated it so much.
I don’t know where she came from or why she had the nerve to comfort me but out of nowhere, my moms arms were around me and I buried my face into her chest, crying. In that instant, I almost felt like a little girl again, crying in my moms chest, her comforting me as she stroked my hair. It was like my grandmothers funeral….
For the first time in a long time, I felt a strong bonding between my mother and I.