Zoë
Zoë walked into her house to find that it was empty. She suddenly became frightened as she thought of what might be going on.
Her mother, was she in the hospital…or was it worse? She worried.
She dropped her backpack at the door and ran into the kitchen, forgetting to shut the door. She raced into the kitchen and straight to the refrigerator, both anxious and afraid to find out the news. There was a note on the refrigerator,
Gone to the hospital. Don’t worry. Make
your dinner. Be back when I can.
Love Dad
Ps: Don’t wait up.
Zoë angrily crumpled the note and flung it at the refrigerator door, as if to blame it for holding the note. She held back angry tears, because it seemed like she never got to talk to her father anymore, only through little notes stuck to the fridge with a banana magnet.
She looked at the refrigerator door, and decided that she couldn’t eat, even though she was as thin as her mother, who at that moment was lying in the hospital, cancer gnawing away at her string of life.
Zoë looked like a mini of her mother, blond hair with a slight wave, glowing emerald eyes, and sun kissed skin. Wouldn’t it be ironic if she died too, fading out with her look alike?
She didn’t want to wash the dishes or clean, knowing that her mother could be dying right then and there, so she drifted out of the kitchen, unsure of what to do. She walked to the living room and took off her coat, and let it lay on her chair. She was mad at her father for saying that everything was gonna be alright, but it wasn’t, her mother was dying!
She sat at her desk, tapping her fingers, biting her nails, playing with her hair; her hands couldn’t keep still. I should be used to this by now, she told herself. But somehow getting used to lost hope, short hospital visits, and sudden relapses seemed, well, sinful. Unnatural. You can’t let yourself get used to it, because that’s like giving in.
She started walking towards her room, and stopped in the dining room. It was furnished with an antique table and chairs that almost matched, but the walls were a fanfare to her mother’s life. The walls gave a home to all the beautiful pictures that Anne Sutcliffe had painted, pastels, acrylics, watercolors. Pictures swirled with laughing people who leapt, ran, and sang.
How mother used to be. Like, Mom Zoë thought, just like mom used to be. And that’s where they were different. While her mother was very outgoing and loved the sunlight and happiness, Zoe wrote quiet poetry suffused with twilight and questions. I don’t have the talent that she has, I should be the one with cancer, not her…she has so much more to offer. So much life. She told herself.
“You’re a dark one,” her mother used to say with amused wonder, “A mystery.” Zoë ran her fingers over a painting of a family that looked like her own, in happier days. She wished she could be in that painting, stay with her healthy mother forever.
The room was cool and shadowed, and Zoë tried to comfort herself by imagining she was five. Her mother was in the kitchen making an early dinner. They were going out tonight for a party and Joyce was gonna baby-sit, I’ll go and play with my dollhouse soon.
She walked to the living room and sat down, but couldn’t return to her fantasy. She stretched out her arms and felt her fingers brush against a newspaper. It was still spread out on the couch opened to the middle. She glanced at it with little interest, but the headline glared at her, “MOTHER OF TWO FOUND DEAD” she felt her stomach roll. Everyone’s mother found dead. And why not? But Zoë couldn’t help not to read the next few lines…”throat slashed….drained dry of blood…”
“That’s absurd,” she spat. She crumpled the paper and threw it across the room. “What is this, the ‘National Enquirer’?” She stood up and headed towards her room.
But the phone rang before she even reached the stairs. Hoping that it was her father with news about her mother, she darted in quickly and picked up the phone. The voice was familiar, but not her father’s.
“Zoë, it’s horrible!” Lorraine, her best friend, whined across the phone lines with typical drama. It should have been comforting.
“What’s horrible?” Zoë said with a pounding heart. What if the hospital had called Lorraine because Zoë wasn’t home?
“We’re moving.”
“What?” A moment’s confusion.
“Dad got that job in Oregon.”
“Oregon? My God Lorraine, Venus!”
“Almost.”
Zoë sat in a squishy chair next to the phone table. This wasn’t a death call but…”When?”
“Two weeks.”
“So soon?” Zoë asked twisting and untwisting the cord between her fingers. This couldn’t be happening.
“They want him right away. He’s flying out tonight. Can you believe it? He’s going to look for a house when he gets there. I got home and Diane was calling up moving companies.”
“But you said he wasn’t serious.”
“Shows how much he tells me, doesn’t it? Diane knew.”
Zoë searched for something to say…was there nothing to stop this? “Isn’t she freaked at the rush?”
“Oh *she’s* just thrilled, out in the country where she can grow a lot of….zucchini.”
“What about your mom?”
“She wouldn’t care if he moved to Australia, she’s just pissed that he’s bringing me.”
“Can’t you stay with her?” Please, please! Zoë begged.
“Oh, you know that’s a lost battle. Cramp her style.”
“Lorraine! She’s not that bad!”
“She moved out, didn’t she?”
No use fighting that argument again, Zoë thought, “Oregon.” She sighed.
Lorraine groaned. “Yeah! This is hideous. It’s the wilderness or something. I’m not ready for the great trek. I could stay with you.” She said hopefully.
“I’ll ask.” Zoë said, although there wasn’t a chance. They both knew it wouldn’t work right now.
“Nah!”
What will I do? Zoë thought. “You can visit” It seemed a pathetic suggestion.
“Big deal!”
“Yeah.”
“Can you come over?” Lorraine asked.
“No. I better stay here for now.”
“Uh-oh. Something wrong?”
“She’s in the hospital again.”
“Oh, hell.”
This is where Lorraine shuts down, Zoë thought. Why can’t she talk to me about it? Why does she have to back off every time? She’s my best friend, damn it, not like those nerds at school who are too embarrassed to even look at me anymore. She searched for what she wanted to say. Something to keep Lorraine on the line.
There was silence.
“Listen,” said Lorraine, “you don’t really feel like talking now. Call me when you’ve heard, okay?”
No, it’s you who doesn’t want to talk, Zoë thought, but she found herself saying, “Uh-huh.”
“Okay, we’ll talk then.” But she didn’t hang up. “Hey, listen Zoë, I love you and all that mush. Like sister, you know?” It tumbled out fast to cover up the unaccustomed shyness. “Call me.”
“Sure.” Zoë smiled wryly. They wouldn’t talk about it. “Bye.”
“Bye Zo. Hold tight.” Lorraine whispered before she hung up.
She knew that it was probably hard for Lorraine to know what to say, but she was still angry. And now Lorraine was leaving. Who would she talk to? Was her world coming to an end?
All the thoughts made her tired and she went to sleep on the made bed. She didn’t know how long after, but she heard movement in the house and she got up. She went downstairs to find her dad making himself a bowl of cereal. His face was white and he had dark circles under his eyes.
“Dammit Zoë, the front door was open.”
“Sorry dad, I must have forgotten. No one was here. It scared me, I went to find a note.” She explained, silently scolding herself for forgetting the door.
And her dad carried on a long lecture on how doors shouldn’t be left open.
“Didn’t you read the newspaper?”
She remember the gruesome tale and shook it away, still annoyed with her father for not caring.
She told him about Lorraine moving, and he didn’t seem to care, angering her more.
“I’m going out for a walk.” She said.
“Don’t forget your coat.” He called to her. What happened to the newspapers? She wondered madly.
A full moon hung in the sky and a slight breeze tossled Zoë’s hair as she walked. She was headed towards the local park. By now there wouldn’t be anyone there, just a ghost town. There were empty swings, swaying with the breeze and a lone seesaw creaked.
Zoë finally sat down on one of the benches, facing the gazebo. The moon outlined it with silver, but there was a shadow moving inside. She tensed and gripped the edge of the bench. She leaned forward for a closer look in and saw a person.
A figure came from the shadows. Zoë felt her mouth dry out as she remember, mother of two found dead. She thought to run, but couldn’t move. Then she saw his face.
He couldn’t be much older then her, maybe a year or so. He had chocolate brown eyes, and spiked brown hair, handsome features, and a slight build. He was tall. Taller then her when she stood, and he wore a white t-shirt and black pants. As soon as he saw her, he froze. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.
She realized he was beautiful. They stared at each other, and then the boy took off. Zoë put her face in her hands and began to cry for all that was lost.
TBC
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