A Night to Remember - 1. Chapter 1

“Did anyone survive the accident?” The words escaped my lips in a smothered whisper as I leaned against the wall with a loud thud. The music faded away, the lights dimmed, and the fragrant curls of thick smoke froze in eerie shapes before my eyes; the entire world seemed to stop as the answer I was dreading drowned out in the heartbreaking silence on the other end of the line.

“Yes…but they demanded that we get there as…as soon as possible. They don’t know how…how long she…” His voice shattered at this mention. It took him a few seconds to regain the tiniest hint of composure, and when he eventually spoke again, it was in a soft and oddly numb voice. “Listen, just come home, ok? I’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Uh…sure…” was all I could mutter. All I could think of. My heart was pounding fiercely, and the painful knot in my stomach was tight to the point of making me nauseous, but my mind was impassive, unable to process what just hit me. I stood up and started heading toward the door when a hand landed on my shoulder.

“You a’right, dude?” asked Remy, in a voice that sounded so faint, so distant.

“Hmm-hmm.” I nodded slightly, barely looking at him. “Look, I’ve got to run, can I take that?” I asked, grabbing the closest bottle of spirit by the neck.

“Of course, but…dude, what’s wrong? You’re as white as a ghost!” He tried to question me, his face clouding over with genuine concern, but it was hopeless. The worst thoughts were spinning in my head in a dizzy whirl, and his voice was nothing but a mere murmur in the babel of noises.

“Thanks,” I said, managing to give the puzzled boy a feigned smile as I closed the door. As soon as I reached the lift, a vibration snapped me out of my daze.

“Where the hell are you?!! It’s been 5 minutes already!!” – Dad

“Five minutes?!! Fuck! I have to hurry! Why the hell is this thing so slow anyway?!” I threw my fist on the metal wall of the lift out of frustration. The painful thump didn’t make the lift faster, but at least it kept my thoughts off my telephone conversation until I reached the car.

I can’t remember much of the drive home except that I was lucky to keep my license and arrive safe and sound, but the sight of the old man fidgeting at the wheel of the humming car, staring through me with empty eyes, haunted me for weeks after. I could tell by the dazed expression on his face that he hadn’t noticed my presence, so when I knocked on the passenger window, I made sure to be as gentle as I could. Unfortunately, he jumped anyway, painfully crashing back into reality as his head hit the roof, and he gave me a puzzled stare.

“Oh…I didn’t see you…c’mon,” he said softly, with the same kind of feigned, altruistic smile I gave to Remy earlier.

The next few minutes were mournfully silent, only broken by the crackling radio announcing traffic ahead. Neither of us said a word; we were both lost in our own thoughts. I was dying to know more about her condition, but in the back of my mind the fear was growing, and the full extent of the situation was starting to seep in. Though, the fear was soon overshadowed by a rising anger—an anger directed at the slow and slothful drivers, but most of all, it was directed at myself. The last year played in my head, and despite my efforts, I couldn’t find any significant moment spent with her. Not a single real conversation, not a single memory where we’d have spent quality time together. As I was digging in my memory, filled with days where I was too busy spending time with my friends, or locked in my room, giving myself over to the misery of drugs, the painful realization that I knew so little about her overwhelmed me. These thoughts were so hard, so tormenting, that I had only two ways out: either crying my soul out or relieving some steam on the closest unfortunate creature.

I shook my head, hoping that it’d make the dark thoughts disappear, and rolled down the window.

“Are you going to fucking move your piece of junk already?!” I yelled aggressively at the poor soul, staring insanely into her eyes. She gave me a startled face, in which you could discern a hint of dismay mixed with fear, and wisely blinked her way out. Frustrated that she didn’t pick my assault, I turned to my father and took a chance on him. “Can’t you drive faster? This lane’s empty! Look, I take this road every day to school, let me drive, and we’ll be there in no time.”

He looked at me with a slight smile. “You know, if we get arrested or die on our way there, we won’t get to her faster. Just sit down and relax, ok? We’re almost there.”

“Relax?! How do you want me to relax?! She’s lying in a hospital bed, and we’re stuck in this stupid traffic!” I burst in anger.

“I know, I know. But keep in mind that it’s always better to be late than to never have arrived.”

I spent an interminable quarter of an hour muttering to myself and throwing killer glares to almost everyone on the road. Thankfully, we eventually arrived at the hospital. I’ve never liked hospitals, and standing at the foot of those colossal high-rise blocks, where people come to die and families come to cry, I felt my knees grow weak. Discreetly, as he was heading toward the doors, I grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured half of it down my throat. By the second sip, my throat was burning and tears welled in my eyes. I threw the bottle back in the car as a violent coughing spell took over me, and I stumbled my way to my dad, who was watching me with a sorrowful look on his face. He didn’t say a word, he never did. He threw his arm across my shoulders, gently kissed my forehead, and helped the shameful boy that I was into the hospital.

“Hi…We’re here to see Mrs Fontaine. The doctors summoned us,” he said to the nurse in a sad voice, his grasp tightening tenderly as he mentioned her.

“Oh…” she said, giving me a compassionate look auguring no good. I usually despised this kind of fake, useless, and pathetic display of empathy, but the alcohol and the dread kept me quiet. “Please follow me.”

We followed her through the maze of corridors, not even sharing a glance. I knew too well what the expression she wore meant, and given my dad’s silence, he probably wasn’t oblivious either. She stopped in the doorway of a bright, large room in which was an only bed, and turned to us.

“Listen, I have to tell you that you probably won’t like what you’ll find in this room and—”

“Enough! Let us in already!” I cut her short, irritated by all the fuss she was making, and pushed her out of the way.

She was right. Whatever sights I imagined I’d have to face, none came close to the harsh reality. My heart sank when I saw her wrapped up in a stained white sheet, lying unconscious in what was probably her last bed. A doctor was leaning over her, adjusting the surgical tubing filled with a crimson-black fluid which was running up her arms, her face, and her chest, in a horrific picture.

A gasp escaped my lips, and I felt the vibration of a quiet sob travel up my shoulder as my father tightened his grip. The doctor, who hadn’t realized our presence yet, turned to face us with a solemn expression.

“Hi, thanks for coming so fast. Unfortunately, I don’t have good news for you. Although she’s not suffering from external lesions, her organs were damaged during the accident, and we can’t do much about this. She lost consciousness a few minutes ago.”

A single tear rolled down my cheek, heralding the torrent that was welling in my eyes, as my world collapsed. I asked in a shaky voice, “Will…will she wake up?”

He stepped closer and placed his hand on my arm, squeezing it gently.

“I’m sorry.” was all he said. That’s all it took to tear my soul apart; tears began to flow uncontrollably, the warm droplets leaving a cool trail on my cheeks and a salty taste on my lips as the room suddenly filled with sobs.

I stared at my dad, imploring him through my blurred eyes to contradict it, to tell me that she was going to wake up, to tell me that the doctor was no good, to tell me that the whole thing was a prank, but it was hopeless. He looked even more devastated than I was, and although he probably wished it wasn’t true as much as I did, it was all too real. He landed a peck on my forehead and stepped slowly toward the bed, almost reluctantly, in the unique walk of prisoners heading to the scaffold.

“If you need anything, the nurses are there for you.” The doctor made an effort to assure me, trying helplessly to make this moment as bearable as possible, and added sadly, “Good luck.”

Good luck. The words echoed in my mind for a few minutes, as I was left standing aimlessly in the middle of the room watching the heartbreakingly sight of my father, flesh of my flesh, sobbing his heart out at her bedside.

Luck can go fuck itself!

I was boiling inside, my fists clenched so tight that my nails were starting to dig their way inside my palms, but when I took the first step, this very first step on what felt like a death row, I mellowed. I kneeled next to her and took a cautious hold of her hand. Her face was oddly calm, and her breathing was soft; she seemed to be at peace, if it weren’t for the distressing death rattles escaping her throat every now and then and the grimaces she’d make regularly.

As minutes and tears flew by, the heavy atmosphere was getting impossible to withstand. I softly brushed her hand one last time before letting it go and gently wiped the salty drops of sadness off her forearm.

“I’m going to give you some time alone, Dad. And I think…I think I will call him,” I said, hugging him tight from behind and brushing my head against his. “Can I take the car keys?”

He stood up without a word, picked the keys from his coat pocket and handed them to me. When my gaze met his swollen and bloodshot eyes and I felt that stinging sensation between my eyes, just above my nose, I rushed out of the room. I had to be strong for him; I couldn’t let him see me break down. My walk to the parking lot was riddled with compassionate and feigned smiles, looks and glances from those people who think that your world is suddenly going to brighten up thanks to their hypocritical attentions. The only thing I wanted in this situation was ignorance, maybe some understanding but definitely not a hundred pairs of eyes watching your every reaction.

I grabbed the bottle of vodka from the front seat, slammed the door, and slid down the side of the car until I was sitting on the bare ground with my head leaning against the door. I thought the cold air would do me good, but all it did was make me shiver. With a shaky hand, I picked a cigarette from my pocket and lit it. The first puff felt so good and relieving that I almost moaned. I really needed that and the vodka, plus this alone time; it was the only form of comfort I had at the moment to make this call, but I couldn’t do it. I let my finger hover over the call icon for a few minutes, unable to press it.

What am I going to tell him? How am I going to tell him? The questions kept whirling in my head. He wasn’t really a well-adjusted person, and I was afraid of his reaction; I was afraid he’d do something stupid. I didn’t want to lose someone else, and I wished I didn’t have to make this call. But what I wished didn’t matter, and eventually, after a few minutes the magic potion kicked in, easing my dread enough for my finger to reach the intimidating button.

“Hey, lil’ bro! Wassup, dude?” he answered with an inebriated and cheerful voice. He obviously was having a good time; I could hear music playing and his friends laughing in the background. “We’re partying on the beach; I wish you were here!”

“Hi…look, I have something to tell you—” I started, but I was cut short.

“Wait, Arek wants to talk to you!”

Before I could protest, I heard his laughter getting more distant, and a new voice, even more intoxicated, burst on the phone, “Heeeeeeyyyy, Thooommaaaasssss! How is you doing?! I is having fun with tonton on the beach, when you visiting?!” My brother’s Polish partner in pain, always kind, cheerful, and drunk, was usually fun to talk with but not today.

“Listen, Arek, I’m sorry, but I really need to talk to my brother, can you give him back the phone? It’s important.” He didn’t answer, probably too drunk to even care, and complied.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” His voice still sounded boozy, but cheerfulness had been replaced by genuine concern.

I was fidgeting, stuttering nonsense through my grinding teeth. “It’s…you know…her…it…a bit earlier…”

“Wait, calm down and take a breath. What’s up?” he asked, anxiety growing in his voice.

“It’s…Mom…” I said in a whisper, tears starting to flow again.

“Yeah, so what? What’s wrong with Mom? Spit it out already!” He was obviously irritated by my babbling.

“She was…she’ll…she’s…” I started sputtering before stopping to take a deep breath and resumed, more intelligibly this time. “There was an accident and…she’s in the hospital…I’m here with Dad…”

“What?” he burst out, “is she okay?”

“No…not really…I think…I don’t think she’s gonna make it,” I blurted sadly, feeling a heavy burden fall off my shoulder. I waited for his reaction, fearing the worst. And waited. And waited. It was only after a solid minute, the longest and worst sixty seconds of my life, that I broke the silence. “Antoine, are you okay?”

A long and heartrending rale came out of the phone, straight from the depths of his heart, and transformed into a raucous wail that made me shiver. “Whyyyyyyyyy?” he sobbed repeatedly, “Whyyyyyy?”

“I’m sorry…” I started, but I heard another yell, a cry of rage, followed by the unique noise of knuckles crashing against a wall. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

“I…I’ll take the next train,” he said before abruptly hanging up.

Well, it went better than I expected. I sighed and headed back to the hospital.

As I reached the room, I heard a second voice coming from inside. I froze at the door and pricked up my ears. The voice was distant, unreal, but familiar. It was my other brother’s.

“I’m so sorry…Mom…I wish I could be here…” The voice stammered through sobs and gasps. “I…I…fuck! Why did I have to leave for the US?! I’m so sorry…”

I quietly peeked through the open door and saw my father, holding his cell phone near my mother’s ears. He was still dazed, the same devastated expression on his face as he was forced to hear his son’s last words to his mother, forced to sound strong on the phone, forced to helplessly witness his boy’s world collapse. I’ve never been close to my brother; we had our issues like all siblings have, but for this one particular moment I wished he didn’t have to go through all of this. I couldn’t even imagine how upsetting it was for him, stuck thousands of miles away while his mother lay dying.

I didn’t want to make this moment even more difficult than it already was, so I waited for the phone call to end, pacing up and down the corridor, before stepping back in the room.

“Did…did she wake up?” I asked my dad, who shook his head sadly. “Can I stay alone with her for a bit? Please?”

He nodded and gave me a pat on the shoulder, his hand lingering for a few seconds before letting it go with a squeeze. I closed the door and sat next to her bed on an old hospital chair, taking her hand gingerly and readjusting the sheet with a sorrowful smile. I brushed away a lock of hair that was falling on her face, and I gently left a kiss on her forehead.

“Is everything ok in here? The door was closed.” I didn’t hear the door open; I didn’t even hear the nurse come in.

“Yeah. I just wanted some time alone,” I said. She nodded and was about to leave when I stopped her, “Tell me…can she…can she hear me?” I looked up at her with hope in my eyes.

“We’re not sure,” she answered softly, “…but what we do know is that it can’t do any harm talking to her.”

Once I was alone again, I talked to her. I told her how beautiful she was, how kind she was, how smart she was. I replayed out loud some of our best memories, some of my best memories, and apologized profusely for not having spent as much time with her as I would have wished. I told her about me, about what I like, what I dislike, who I am, and I apologized for my flaws. Sometimes, she’d raise an eyebrow. Some other times, she’d sigh or move a finger. It gave me hope and kept me talking. But deep down, I knew she was already gone. Those were just muscular contractions, and despite what the doctor assured me when he came back in, I could see in his eyes that he was just trying his best to make this boy’s night as bearable as possible.

When my dad came back, there were no tears left in my body. No matter how ravaged I was, no matter how heartbroken I was, I had already cried out all my soul. I was too exhausted to even talk, to even walk, to even think. I gave the chair to my dad and laid on the bare ground, at the end of the bed, like a faithful puppy waiting for his owner to wake up.

A few hours later, I felt someone gently lifting my head to slip a pillow under. I raised my head, my eyes still half-closed, and looked around. My father was asleep in the chair, and it was still dark outside.

“Is she awake?” I mumbled in a croaky voice.

“Shhhh, go back to sleep,” a nurse whispered softly, but I was so emotionally drained and exhausted that I fell back asleep before she could finish her sentence.

Early in the morning, I was woken up by the sound of birds chirping and by my father tenderly shaking my shoulder.

“It’s over,” he said.

It was over. The long, endless night was over. The night where I watched my mother die.

As I was placing a goodbye kiss on her cold forehead, I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. It was a single-line message.

“Happy birthday, Thomas”

If you enjoyed it, feel free to like the story, leave a review, buy me a drink, whatever you want