Hurtful Words

I had only been back to Las Vegas twice after moving to North Carolina; once over my first Christmas break away from home and again that following summer. I pressed my fingertips to the car window as we turned a corner and I slowly began to recognize houses and street names. Another ten minutes and we were pulling into the drive of the house I had grown up in. Even after all of that time had passed, the house looked exactly the same. “Here we are,” my mother beamed, turning off the engine and opening her car door. I put my hand to the window once more, looking up at the house. Even from the car window I could see up into my bedroom. The small maple in the front yard looked as sad and withered as I remembered though the pepper green grass was a little more unkempt. I hesitated before opening the car door and following my mother to the house. “You should get some rest, sweetheart,” my mother suggested, cupping my face in her hands, “you look exhausted. I’ll get the rest of your bags.” I nodded numbly, passing through the front door of what had once been my home.

I stood in the entranceway, clueless. I felt like a stranger in my own house, waiting for someone to show me to the guest room. I jumped as the sound of my mother dropping the last of my bags to the floor echoed throughout the house. “I didn’t mean to surprise you,” my mother said, letting out a small laugh and placing a loving hand on my shoulder.
“You didn’t,” I mumbled quickly, tucking my hair behind my ears.
“Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat if you’d like,” she said, walking past me to the lounge.
“Actually, I’m feeling kind of tired. I might just take a nap,” I replied, not feeling much like talking.
“Oh,” the slight disappointment was evident in her voice, before she turned around and flashed me a smile. “Well, your room’s right where you left it,” she said, sounding a little brighter and walking briskly towards the kitchen. I watched after her before lugging the heavier of my three bags up the stairs, my backpack still on my back.

My mother was right. My room was right where I left it. The clothes I had worn the day before I left for North Carolina still sat in a heap by my closet door, an empty glass remained on my bedside table where I’d been drinking orange juice while my mother helped pack my bags, and a photo frame I had angrily pushed off of my desk was left face down on the floor. I frowned to myself, setting my bags just inside the door, and walked over to the photo frame, picking it up. I wiped the glass clean with the palm of my hand, smiling sadly at the faces in the picture I had once remembered so clearly, but now remained as faded pigment somewhere at the back of my mind. I licked my lips as I felt my chest tighten, letting my finger tips trail across a younger version of myself, my father kneeling beside me with an arm around my waist. The sun was getting in my eyes, my nose scrunched up trying to avoid its glare. To my father’s left stood a thirteen-year-old Dane, his dark hair sitting in that mop of curls my mother loved so much. My father was holding Dane’s hand and, although my brother was laughing wildly, I couldn’t help but notice his large, dark eyes. I drew a ragged breath and set the photo frame back on my desk. I could feel a cool breeze on the back of my neck and turned to find my bedroom window had been pried open, perhaps left that way since I had moved out. I walked towards it and tried to pull it closed. The movement was stiff before it finally closed with a loud clunk. I wiped down the windowsill, thick with dust. If it hadn’t been for that dust that had settled in a fine film over my entire room I would’ve sworn that the day I left, time had stopped in Las Vegas.

“Lindsey!” my mother called from the bottom of the stairs and I walked back out to the landing to meet her. “There you are,” she smiled, “I just have to run down to the store to pick up a few things. I shouldn’t be too long.” I nodded. My mother’s face creased into a frown. “Sweetheart,” she breathed, resting her hand on the banister, “are you alright? You look a little flushed.” I nodded my head again.
“I’m fine, Mom. Just a little tired,” I replied.
“You should take a nap. Do you need anything while I’m out?” she asked, searching through her bag for her keys. I shook my head.
“No,” I answered quietly, “No, I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure…,” my mother trailed off, raising an eyebrow at me. I forced a smile to try and convince her.
“Really, Mom. I just need some sleep,” I assured her, standing on the bottom step while she pecked my cheek.
“I’ll be right back,” she told me seriously, holding my chin in her hand. I rolled my eyes and let out a small laugh. “I love you, Lindsey,” she said, running a slender finger down the side of my face.
“I love you too, Mom,” I replied. And just like that, she was out the door.

I slowly climbed the stairs once more, standing at the doorway to my room, leaning against the doorframe. I half-expected to see a fourteen-year-old version of myself sitting on the bed pushed right up against the wall, reading one of those awful Nancy Drew books, nodding my head lightly to the music my brother would be playing. I could almost hear him coming down the hall. ”Lindsey!” I could hear him say, ”Lindsey, I swear to God, if you’ve lost my Metallica CD…” And there was that younger version of myself, on my knees, looking frantically beneath my bed for that stupid CD of his. I shook my head, his voice lingering as barely a whisper at the back of my memory, walking down the hall to the small bathroom at its end. I turned on the water, letting my hair down as the bathroom began to fill with steam. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t wash these thoughts of Dane away.

I had only been able to stand a few minutes under the deafening, scalding water of the shower and had soon wrapped myself in a towel and dried my hair. I quickly dressed in a pair of old, grey pyjama pants and a worn t-shirt, wiping the fog from the mirror. My mother had always hated it when Dane and I forgot to do that. I went back to my bedroom, throwing my dirty clothes in a basket by my door and climbed into bed. Though my room had barely changed in the three years since I had left it, the sheets had been changed and smelt of warm, dry linen. I felt feverish. My legs tingled with cold and I couldn’t seem to get warm enough, despite the Las Vegas heat. Eventually I fell asleep and sunk into a nightmarish world. Dane was standing at the end of the hall and, no matter how hard I tried, my fingertips would never quite reach him.

When I woke, the sun had sunk below the horizon and a bluish glow was cast over my room. My limbs ached and my eyes were heavy. I managed to drag myself from my bed and down the stairs to the entranceway. I squinted as I entered the kitchen and the light flooded my eyes. “Oh, you’re up,” my mother said, turning the stove off and walking over to me, “how are you feeling?”
“A little feverish,” I replied, leaning against the bench. My mother looked concerned as she pressed the back of hand to my forehead.
“You do feel a little warm,” she concluded, “do you want some aspirin?”
I shook my head; I had always hated swallowing pills. My mother frowned at my answer but didn’t push it. “Would you like some dinner?” she asked, already serving me a bowl of pasta.
“Sure,” I responded, knowing she wouldn’t take no for an answer this time. I sat on a stool by the bench, eating the pasta my mother had made, and answering the questions she asked about my time in Aberdeen.
“Well, what now?” she asked, piling up my plate again as she noticed I had almost finished. I couldn’t tell if she was worried I hadn’t been eating enough or if she was trying to keep me in the kitchen, even if just to speak with me a moment longer.
“I don’t know, Mom,” I shrugged, “I suppose I’ll go to college.” She nodded, satisfied with my response.
“Your grandmother called, by the way,” she said as I got up to pour myself a glass of water. I mentally scolded myself for not remembering to call her when I arrived back in Las Vegas.
“I was supposed to call her,” I informed my mother, who had now take my seat by the bench.
“Yes, she did mention that,” she replied, a faint, playful smile gracing her lips. We talked a little more before I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.
“I think I’m going to go to bed,” I yawned, stretching my arms above my head. My mother looked disappointed but didn’t protest. It didn’t really occur to me before then how lonely she must have been in that house while I was gone and I felt a pang of guilt.
“Okay, sweetheart,” she said as I gave her a quick peck on the cheek. She gathered my plate, taking it to the sink and turned on the tap. I was in the entranceway when I heard her call my name.
“Lindsey, wait,” she said, following after me.
“What is it?” I asked, a look of concern crossing my face. For a second, I thought she might hug me. But instead, she took a step backwards and held both of my hands in hers. I think she sensed I wasn’t quite ready to be held. “Mom, what’s the matter?” She shook her head, looking down at our hands, a sad smile playing on her lips. “I’ve really missed you, Lindsey,” she said, so quietly I could barely hear her, shaking my hands up and down gently.
“I’ve missed you too,” I replied, giving her a lop sided smile and kissing her cheek once more.
“I love you,” she told me, letting go of my hands.
I bit down on my lip gently before responding. “I love you too,” I said before turning and retreating up the stairs. Although I had my back to her, I could feel my mother’s gaze on me until I had disappeared from her sight.

I lay awake in my bed for most of the night; no longer tired after the nap I had taken. I could hear my mother downstairs, messing about in the kitchen still. I couldn’t help but think back to what she had said earlier that night as we stood by the stairs and wondered if, perhaps, a small part of my mother blamed herself for having pushed me away when I needed her. I wondered if, maybe, she blamed herself when I decided to say in Aberdeen. Although I no longer thought so, a very small part of me was still angry with her for sending me away all that time ago. Our relationship had changed; I had noticed the day I returned home for Christmas break. I wasn’t sure what it was that kept me from her, or how long it would take for things to return to how they had been before Dane’s death. That is, if they ever would at all.