Mini Stories and One Shots

K.R. McCray (3): The Phenomenon of Nothingness

Sophie: The Phonemenon of Nothingness

What was the worst day of your life?

When I was at home on Sunday morning, watching Daybreak and eating my cornflakes, I got a call. An actual call. And the first thing I thought was: ‘Whoa. Someone’s calling us – us?’

It was exciting, believe it or not. Because when you’re a speck of dust on the platter of society in all its pretentiousness, and someone calls you... You, the poor girl with the dead dad and the mom that works all the time, things that seem so stupid become exciting.

And so I leaped off of the settee and ran to the phone, because it was ringing. It was playing the tune I got to hear very rarely, and it was ringing. Ringing.

“Hello?” was what I said. I didn’t know what else to say, so I was going basic; classy, maybe. Polite, for sure. But basic.

“Is this Sophie Elaine Morgan?”a lady asked, not saying Hello back, which was kind of strange.

“Daughter of Maxxon Morgan?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, because I was confused. That lady sounded strange but familiar. Familiar in the sense that I’d heard this all before. “Uh-huh. That’s me. Hi?”

“Hi.” Her voice was a whisper, and I had to grab the remote off the settee to turn the sound down low just so I could hear her. “I have some bad news.”

You know that feeling you get somewhere deep inside you; like your stomach was just flipped upside down and inside out? That feeling that makes you feel sick, and all the sound drowns out, and your head feels like it’s going to float away, and you get butterflies... but not that good kind – the bad kind. “W—what kind of bad news?”

There was a long pause that was filled with lip-biting and butterflies and flushed cheeks and the smiling faces of the people on Daybreak. “Your mother is in our hospital.” There was another pause, but shorter this time, “and we would like for you to come down. You know where, don’t you? Ferrer Community Hospital, just beside the post office on Ferrer Street...”

I couldn’t speak, but not because I couldn’t think of anything to say to this lady. I knew exactly what I wanted to say. I just couldn’t get it out. My mouth was open, but the words were stuck.

“... Hello? Hello, Sophie? Are you still here?”

And then my eyes started to water. I felt scared and worried and shocked and more. “I’m here,” I told her. “I’m coming.”I grabbed my coat, my hands shaking. “I’ll be there. I’m coming.”

As soon as I said that, I threw the phone to the side, and I didn’t care if it broke. There were more important things in life than home phones that never ring.

It was raining when I stepped out of the flat block and into the street. Everyone had their umbrellas up. But not me. I didn’t care if I got soaked or splashed by a car. There were more important things in life than wet clothes that will eventually dry.

Then I ran – no, sprinted – as fast as I could, because I didn’t get any change off the kitchen table to take the bus. I couldn’t. It felt like time was running out. It felt like valuable time was running away from me. It felt like I was the one that had to do the running to catch it. Not a bus.

I was cold and wet when I got to the hospital, but I had never felt so scared in my life. It felt like I had aged one hundred years.

Quickly, I rushed into the hospital, and everyone turned to look at me because I had caused quite a scene with my dripping hair and panicked expression. But I didn’t care. The reception office was so close. I ran to it.

“Hi. I’m Sophie Morgan... I’m here to see—I’m here to see my mom. Do you know where she is? Maxxon—Maxxon Morgan? Can you help me?”

She scrutinised me, and then she looked at her computer. “I just need to ask you a few questions first. Okay?”

I answered all of them: age, full name, postcode, flat number. All of that stuff.

Two minutes later, I felt a pat on my shoulder, and I saw a lady wearing a white floral cardigan over a pale peach work-shirt. “Hello, Sophie.” She smiled weakly at me and patted my cheek. “Will you please follow me?”

I nodded, because I had nothing to say. She had her arm wrapped around my shoulders, and she was slowly walking me to a quiet part of one of the endless corridors in the building.

“I have some rather bad news, lovely.”

I sat on the floor, and she crouched down beside me, taking my arm. “Your mother... She... She suffered from a heart attack today.” What? “Had she been feeling sick for the past couple of days? Quite sleepy?”

I barely heard her. I was zoning in and out; focusing and defocusing on the face in front of me. I couldn’t answer and tell her that she was had been sick for the past couple of days, that she had been quite sleepy. A dread I had never known filled me slowly as she searched for the words to tell me, until l was overflowing with anxiety, breathing rapidly and never getting enough air.

Then her eyes filled with tears, and I knew something bad was coming. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. Your mother passed away ten minutes ago.” I was going to be sick. “But you’ve just got to remember the good things. She loved you very much, and she’s in a better place now, and everything is going to be alright.”

I zoned out completely after that. My mom was dead. Mom. My mom was dead. What? The thought was implausible and nothing made sense. She woke me up this morning, gave me a kiss, told me to make my bed before she came home for dinner, and then she left. Only a couple of hours ago. How could she be dead? I couldn’t understand how someone could be there one second and not the next. What?

Everything felt instantly numb around me; a dream so real you wake up with a cold sweat. The pain was too real to be a dream.  I was nervous and sad and angry and everything in between.

Ten minutes. I missed her by ten minutes.

Ten minutes was enough time to run a mile, bake some cookies; sweep a room. Such a small amount of time that I would give up anything for.

“And you mustn’t worry because—”

And then I was crying and sobbing so much that it hurt to breathe. I couldn’t believe it, and I didn’t want to believe it. And I shouldn’t have had to believe it. Because my mother didn’t deserve it, and I didn’t deserve it, and all I could think was: ‘Why, God? If you’re out there? You already took my dad away, now my mom? Tell me, God. If you’re out there.’ I might have screamed it if I wasn’t already lost in a sorrow so deep reality couldn’t take me back.

And as I sat crouched, screaming and sobbing into the lady’s shoulder, I had never felt more alone. Because that’s what I was: alone.

And I didn’t understand.

Actually, I don’t think I’ll ever understand.

And I don’t ever want to understand.

Because some things are best left ununderstood.

But please, God. If you’re out there. Give me some answers one day. If you’re actually out there.