Ocean and Atlantic

My mother walks into my makeshift bedroom for the time being. It’s the guest room stowed neatly away at the back of the house by the laundry room. The walls are painted lavender, and the frilly white curtains frame the window the overlooks the backyard swimming pool.

I can hear the hum of the pump late at night. It keeps me awake most hours of the night, allowing me to replay everything that lead up the moment of our jump – to the moment of Nova’s death.

I’ve memorized every detail that I can recall.

I miss my bed. I miss the familiarity of my room, but the wheelchair I’m being forced to use due to the lucky combination of injuries I’ve acquired confines me to the first floor of my house.

She taps two knuckles to the doorframe before stepping inside.

“Are you excited about tomorrow?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

I glance away from the window to her before returning my gaze to the ripples crossing the pool’s surface.

I have to go to school tomorrow.

I think, not really.

I don’t want to see everyone and know that they know what happened. I don’t want to see my teachers or resume my typical school day because it won’t be a typical school day.

I’ll be stared at, I’ll be given sympathy, and most importantly of all, Nova won’t be there.

Nothing is going to be the same, and I’m scared.

I nod grimly.

A moment of silence passes over the two of us before I hear her house shoes quietly click as she walks across the hardwood. I can hear her sit on the edge of the bed.

“It’ll be okay,” she says encouragingly.

I only nod again.

I can sense that she wants to reach out and smooth my hair, to touch me, to make sure that I’m still there, still real and alive and that I didn’t die like my best friend did.

I suck in a deep breath. It hurts, and I clench my fists, burying my nails in the palm of my hand.

“If it’s too much, you can always call me. I’ll come and get you…”

I nod again, blinking quickly.

She’s about to say something more but the phone rings from the depths of our house and she has to go answer it. It could be someone important.

She stands, hesitantly runs her hands down the sides of my hair and places a kiss on the back of my head before rushing to get the call before it goes to the machine.

I feel my hands unclench. The bones hurt and red crescent-shaped marks line my palm.