You call me at midnight. I'm just beginning to doze, but when your familiar ringtone fills my room, I am awake in an instant. Making sure my family is still asleep, I accept the call and retreat to my closet, where no one will hear me.
Your voice is calm when you finally speak. You sound serene, tranquil. Immediately, fear clenches around my heart like a vice. You only ever sound like this when you speak of one thing, and it has been so long since your last episode that I'd begun to think it had all just been a nasty dream. Clearly, I was wrong.
You tell me what you plan to do, how you've already downed a handful of the small white pills meant to cure, not kill. You tell me you wanted to say your last goodbye to me personally. I don't deserve an impersonal note, you declare. I'm too special for that.
If I'm so special, I beg silently but don't voice, why won't you stay behind for me?
I hear the splash of water jostling within a glass, and then you swallow again, and the fear grips me anew. How long until your eyes close, until the phone slips from your grasp and I no longer know how to reach you? I thought my voice had kept you grounded all these years, but perhaps you let me continue believing this because you wanted to spare me the guilt of knowing I hadn't been any help at all. Why? Why couldn't you tell me the truth?
I make you promise not to take any more of the pills while I get dressed and prepare to drive to you. I make you promise you will stay alive to smell the fresh summer air and tell your mother you love her in the morning. You do as I ask, a smile in your voice, and I know you are only humoring me.
I leave the phone on speaker as I pull on my bra and quickly tie up my hair. You are silent. I snatch up the phone and fly through the quiet house, snagging my keys and wallet as I go. I am barefoot but I don't care; I don't have the time to pull on shoes. I ramble to you as I throw the car into reverse and pull out onto the road. You don't respond, and when I glance at my phone, I see that you have already hung up.
Cursing loudly, with tears streaming down my face, I call the police. My hand shakes as it presses the cell phone firmly to my cheek. I try to control the tremor in my voice. A voice filters through the speaker, and I tell it what you've done and where you live. It promises to send an ambulance immediately. I thank the voice, my own so broken as to be nearly unintelligible. Rather than attempting to speak again, I swallow and hang up.
Time stretches out like the empty road before me. I can almost see the future laid out in front of me, filled with black dresses and tears and consolation. I accelerate wildly, trying to dispel the images by simply driving through them.
When I reach your home, the ambulance has already arrived, and I see your still body being loaded into the back of it. Your mother climbs in behind you, the doors slam shut, and the vehicle speeds off.
I idle in your driveway a minute longer, wondering if I was in time. The tears stopped several minutes ago, but I can still feel the tracks they made upon my cheeks. I sniffle quietly, choking back an anguished scream.
I see a star twinkle high above me. Remembering an old nursery rhyme, I send up a silent prayer begging you to survive. I see another star, and I pray again. Another star, and another prayer. And another, and another, and another, and another.
As I search for another twinkling light in the sky, my phone rings, and I pull my gaze from the sky to see that your mother is calling me. I have repeated the same handful of words nineteen times now, and I can only hope it is enough. The number rings through my head as I hold the phone to my ear.
Nineteen desperate pleas for help. Nineteen broken wishes.
Nineteen stars.481Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxnfdvXjry2
