Slingshot by K.L. Savage

Fourteen-Years-Old

Life isn’t what the world advertises it to be. It’s a lie. Everything is hard. Everything blindsides you. The positivity is fake. Happiness? It’s a lie. There is life and death, and everything in between is a fight for survival. Why does living have to be so hard? Why does death seem so much easier right now?

“Do you have any questions for us?” My dad’s voice is rough and raspy as if he’s sick. He isn’t. He’s been crying, and the way he is squeezing her hand, it’s as if he’s afraid to let go.

If he does, maybe she’ll fade away.

And neither of us want that. I don’t want that. This is my mom. She’s my best friend. She’s my cheerleader at the baseball games and a fighter when the referees piss her off. She’s my backbone.

Mom is staring at me with love. Just love. That’s how she always looks at me as if I hung the moon and made the stars.

I lean back against the soft cushion of the couch and cross my arms. “But you’ll get better, right? Everything is going to be okay? You’ll be okay. They have good cancer treatment now.” It isn’t hitting me. This news. It should. Why isn’t it? She’ll be fine.

It’s Mom. She has to be fine.

She leans over from the couch across from me and places her hands on my knees. “My beautiful boy…” she whispers.

Wait a minute.

I sit up and slide my eyes from her to dad, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s crying with his hand covering his mouth. “You only say that when something’s wrong,” I realize, my heart pounding in my chest, racing like it does after I run across the bases on the diamond. “Mom? You’ll be okay, right?” I ask for clarification. She always says how important it is to be clear with your words, so you never leave anyone guessing.

“Noah, there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m dying. I’m going to die. The cancer is too far along.”

“No,” I sneer angrily. “No! They have chemo—” I stand up, ready to fight…something or someone. “No, you’re lying. You’re a liar,” I spew in her face.

But she isn’t lying.

I’m just so mad.

It’s hitting me now. It’s hitting hard. Too hard.

She tugs my hand, and I fall onto the couch again. “I’ve started it already. It isn’t going to heal me, so don’t hope, Noah. Please, don’t. This will give me more time with you until…until it doesn’t.”

Hot tears burn the tops of my cheeks. “So you’re alive on a month-to-month basis? What kind of shit is that?” I yell.

“Noah Daniel Connors! You will not speak to your mother that way. You understand me?”

“It’s fine, John. Let him be angry. He has every right to be.” She sounds exhausted while she speaks.

“Okay, Elaine. Whatever you say. You’re the boss.” Dad bends down and kisses the top of her head.

“You’re going to die?” My lip begins to quiver. “Like the way the neighbor died, and we had to go to a funeral?”

“Just like that, sweetie.” Her cold hands cup my face and the same blue eyes that I have water as they stare at me.

“But I don’t want you to,” I tremble. “Mom, I don’t want you to. There’s a chance, right? A chance?” I ask Dad, sounding way too hopeful like she warned.

“No, buddy. There’s no chance. I don’t know how else to tell you. There isn’t an easy way to say this.” He stressfully runs his fingers through his hair, then down his face. He looks so tired, so sad.

So…

Depressed.

I’ve never seen him depressed.

I turn my eyes to Mom and finally look at her, like really look at her. Not a fleeting stare or anything like that but see her. Her skin is pale, she has dark bags under her eyes, and she looks like she’s lost weight. How have I not noticed?

“How long have you known? How long have you not told me?” I raise my voice when the truth settles in.

“Noah—”

“—How long, Mom?” I scream, the tears hot as fire blazing my face.

“I’ve known I had cancer for a year now. I’ve been going to chemotherapy for six months.” She looks ashamed as she stares at the ground.

“A year,” I choke out the words. “You let me believe…why wouldn’t you…I don’t understand. A whole year you’ve been sick? Why? Why did you let me go out and play with my friends and go to sleepovers? Why did you lead me to believe nothing was wrong?”

“We wanted you to have a normal life until…”

I sob, “But I can’t get that time back. I can’t get that time with Mom. I would have wanted to know, Dad. I will forever regret those stupid sleepovers. I wouldn’t have wanted to go to baseball camp. If Mom is dying, I want time. You took that from me.” I stand up and shove his chest. “You took it! You took the time from me so you could have it all to yourself. I hate you. I hate you!” I roar at him, unable to see him through the tears and the pain inside me.

I run to the door and yank it open. I can’t be here right now.

“Noah, we aren’t done talking yet,” Dad raises his voice and makes his tone stern, so I’ll listen.

Well, forget it. He lied to me. They lied to me. I ignore him and run down the concrete steps while holding onto the black rails.

“Noah!”

“Let him go,” I hear Mom mutter behind me. “It’s okay. Let him go.”

Like they could stop me anyway.

I pick my bike up from the ground and swing my leg over the seat. I settle my foot on the pedal and crank my legs as hard and fast as I can to get away from here. It’s hot out. I’m already beginning to sweat. Maybe it’s tears. I’m not sure. I feel myself crying everywhere.

“Noah! Please, be safe. We love you!” my mom shouts after me, but I don’t bother replying.

They love me?

I have a hard time believing that. If they loved me so much, they would have told me about the cancer sooner, and then I could have had more time.

A car blares its horn at me when I cross the street without looking. I pump back on the pedals, and my tires skid across the pavement. Holding my breath, I wait for the car to hit me and stare wide-eyed at the oncoming front bumper. Their tires skid too, and the rubber burns against the pavement, causing a nasty smell to run through the air.

The chrome of the grill stops just a few inches away from smashing against my leg. I always look both ways. Why didn’t I this time? The driver is older, probably around my dad’s age, and he has both hands on the wheel, gripping hard like my mom does when she almost rear-ends someone. The man’s eyes are wide, and his mouth is open as if he’s trying to catch his breath.

Me too. I’m shaking.

I give him a weak wave with my hand and hurry away, pressing against the pedals and cranking them as my legs move faster. My heart is still racing from the close encounter, and the tears aren’t stopping as I think about my mom.

This isn’t the neighbor. This is my best friend.

I need my mom. There are so many things I can’t talk to Dad about, not like I can with her. My tire hits the curb, and I lift on the handlebars to pick up the bike’s front. When the tire hits the sidewalk, the bicycle chain clinks as I coast without pedaling. When I get to the woods on the right, I turn. There’s a worn path through the trees. It’s dark, cool, and shaded.

I can already hear the frogs croaking, and the green butts of the lightning bugs flash in the distance where the pond is.

It’s my getaway place. The place I come to think. I like being alone. It’s peaceful, but right now, I want to run away. I don’t want to be alone.

I also don’t know where else to be.

I toss my bike down when I get to the dock, not caring how hard it hits or if it breaks. I run down the wooden dock, the clunk of my shoes echoing underneath the planks of wood, and when I get to the end, I fall to my knees.

I pound my fist against the dock, my skin stinging across my knuckles—a loud, lion-like roar bursts from me and echoes across the pond. I sob and catch myself on the post to the left and stare at my reflection in the black water. Tears drop from my cheeks, down my jaw, to the surface of the pond, causing the water to ripple.

The sun finally sets, and the sky is dark. I should be home. I’m always supposed to be home before the streetlights are on.

I don’t want to go home.

Home is temporary now. It won’t exist when Mom dies.

I lay my head on my arms, and my eyes begin to hood. I wipe my nose across the shoulder of my shirt and stare out across the pond. It’s pretty and peaceful, but it doesn’t hold the magic I thought it did. Yesterday was so different.

And now life is just cruel.

A hand lands on my left shoulder, and I gasp, spinning around to see my mom there. “Hey,” she says lamely, taking a seat next to me on the dock. Her feet sway a few inches above the water.

I don’t say anything.

She inhales and exhales, breathing in and out as if it’s her last breath. It’s one of the last times. That I do know.

“You must hate me.” She stares off across the pond and tilts her head. “I can live with that. I could live with the hate if it meant you had a happy childhood, Noah. I never ever wanted to take that from you. You deserved memories. Good ones before the bad were inevitable.”

I turn to face her and wipe my cheeks. “I didn’t want a childhood if it meant losing time with you, Mom. I don’t hate you. I’m mad, and…this sucks.” I’m not allowed to say that word, but everything about this sucks.

She chuckles and opens her arms for me. I swoop in and crash against her, wrapping her in a tight hug and trying to memorize her scent. She always smells like cucumbers and mint. I love it. It’s comforting. “It does suck, doesn’t it?” she jokes. “You’re right. It sucks so much.” Her breath hitched, and I’m not sure how long we hold one another, but I cherish it.

I know I’m fourteen, and I shouldn’t want so much attention because it isn’t ‘cool,’ but I don’t care. I wish all those times she tried to give me a hug in front of my friends, I would have taken it, or the times she didn’t tell me she loved me because I asked her not to when I was in front of my friends. Yeah, I regret all of those decisions.

I shouldn’t have cared so much about my friends. If they made fun of me for loving my mom, then they either don’t love theirs, or they’re idiots, and I don’t need to be friends with them.

“I love you, Mom,” I tell her, soaking her shirt with my tears. “I don’t hate you.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I know you don’t. I know.” She pulls back and cups my face, her blue eyes glassy. “It’s all going to be okay. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but I’ve had the sweetest life. The ride has been kind and full of more than I ever would have hoped. I got you, and you made life worth everything.”

“But I want you around for the bigger things, Mom. You said you’d teach me how to drive a car. What about prom? We were going to go—”

“—Shopping for vintage tuxes. I remember our plans, sweetie. I remember every single one of them.”

“And what about if I get married? What then? I mean not for like a really long time…”

She grins. “I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

“But…” I pinch my brows in thought.

“I’ll always be with you, Noah. There won’t be a day where I’m not.” She taps my head and then my heart. “I’ll be alive right here, and I know it won’t be the same, but don’t you dare go on day to day thinking I didn’t love you. I do and always will. I wish I could go to your prom and teach you to drive…but everything I was supposed to teach you, I have.”

But I didn’t want the lessons to be over.

So I had an idea.

And I hoped Mom would be okay with it.

“Are you sure I don’t look dumb?” My dad straightens my bowtie with a big grin on his face.

“No way. You’re going to blow her mind. You’re such a good kid, Noah.” Dad cups the back of my head, getting emotional again. He’s been doing that a lot.

When I came to him with the idea of doing the things Mom and I had on the ‘Noah’s Life List’ that she made, he was all about it. I can’t get married, but prom? I can do prom. Dad sent her off to get her hair done and to buy a fancy dress, leading her to believe she has a fancy date with him.

Ha. It’s with me instead.

My black hair is slicked back, and when I stare into the mirror, I chuckle. Dad found the perfect powder blue tux. It’s awful but awesome at the same time. “Cool,” I say with a crooked smile.

“Cool, indeed. Now,” Dad claps his hands, then points his index fingers to the ceiling, “a corsage. Your Mom’s is here in this container. And I’ll clip yours on—”

“No, I want Mom to do it. You’ll get pictures, right?” I ask him for the thousandth time. I’ll want to see them on my actual prom day, which I probably won’t go to. Nothing will beat this one.

“Yes, I will. She’ll love that—” A car door shuts in the driveway, and he and I hold our breath while we stare at one another. “Okay, everything is ready and decorated.” He plucks a piece of tissue from my face to stop the bleeding from when I tried to shave without help.

It’s harder than it looks, especially when you don’t yet have hair on your face. I wanted to look nice.

“Does it look bad?” I begin to panic. I’m so dumb for trying to shave.

Dad tilts my head back by keeping a firm grip on my chin. “It’s fine.” He licks his thumb and wipes away the dried blood. “All better.”

“Ew, gross. Dad,” I whine.

“We have to hurry. She’ll be at the door soon.” Dad pushes the corsage and boutonniere in my hands. “Go, go, go.”

I hurry out the door and pause at the front of the steps, take a deep breath, and head down them. Since she loves the ocean so much, the theme is the beach. There are beach balls everywhere, a margarita station, with no alcohol, cause hello, I’m only fourteen, and she’s on too much medication.

Fake palm trees sit in the corners of the living room, and Dad may or may not have filled the room with a bunch of sand that will take forever to get out of the house. Mom will be so pissed, but it’ll be worth it.

We’re going to put our toes in the sand and dance and have fun.

I take the last step to the floor, and my feet sink into the sand to my ankles.

Oh yeah, Mom’s going to be so mad. I can’t wait to see her face.

The doorknob turns, and in this second, I feel so nervous. What if she doesn’t want a prom? Oh man, I’m sweating. This isn’t some girl. This is Mom—the most important girl.

Please, don’t let her be mad about the sand.

“Oh my gosh, you two should have seen the saleswoman trying to help me. She hasn’t seen a woman my age buy a fancy dress in ages.” Mom hasn’t looked up from her purse yet as she digs through it. “I can’t find my phone…”

She looks so pretty. Her hair is in waves, and she’s wearing light makeup with bright red lipstick, which stands out against her long black satin dress. It’s simple, elegant, yet bold.

“You look beautiful, Mom.”

The sound of my voice has her looking up from her purse. When she sees me, she immediately stops her hand from digging around her bag. She steps inside, and the bottom of her dress brushes against the sand. “Oh my goodness, what is this?” she asks, taking her shoes off so she can enjoy the sand. “We’ll talk about the sand later.”

“Will you go to prom with me?” I shove the boxes out in front of me, and she lays a hand over her mouth.

She twists from side to side. “You’re the sweetest boy in the world. Of course, I will.” She drops her purse on the floor along with her shoes and shuts the door.

Dad enters the room with the camera wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. A flash goes off as he takes a picture.

“You thought of everything,” she says, opening the plastic box.

She pulls out the boutonniere and grins when she sees her favorite flower, a simple small bouquet of daisies. She says they’re elegant for any occasion, cute for a first date, and simple enough to make someone smile.

Who am I to argue?

“Now, when you’re eighteen, and you go to your prom with a date, she’s going to be nervous pinning this to your chest. She might poke you, so a tip…” Mom lifts the flap of my jacket and pins it perfectly. “Lift the lapel for her.”

Lapel, not flap. Got it.

“And she’ll know what to do from there.” She pats my chest. Moms ticks her hand out and flips her hair over her shoulder. “My turn.” A chunk of her hair falls to the ground, and the flashing light from the camera stops. Dad’s smile fades.

Mom and I squat down at the same time, but as I reach for it, she reaches for me. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “It’s been happening. It’s just hair, baby. Okay? Just hair. Slide the corsage on my wrist, and let’s go dance to bad 90’s music. And there better be tacos?” She lifts a brow.

I hold back tears and nod. She loves her tacos. “Well…what if before we did anything, we shave our heads while the music is on and Dad makes us drinks.”

“You don’t have to do that. You have beautiful hair, Noah.”

“It’s just hair, Mom. Right?” I help her to her feet. “I want to do this with you.”

She throws herself against me. “I don’t know how I was blessed with such a thoughtful son. But please, let’s do it. I almost had her shave my head today while curling my hair. It’s just falling into thousands of pieces at this point.”

I take her hand and drag her across the makeshift beach to the bathroom where the clippers are. Dad is right behind us with two drinks, and he found time to put sunscreen on his nose. He sits the camera on the counter, and we all huddle up for a before picture.

The flash goes off.

And Mom collapses.

I reach my arms out and catch her just in time before she hits the ground. Her eyes are glazed, but she has a smile on her face.

“Always be kind, baby. Your heart is the most beautiful thing about you.” Her hand touches my face, and her eyes slide away from me, a tear leaking out of the corner, and a rush of breath is expelled from her lungs. “Thank…you,” is barely exhaled.

Her last breath.

“Mom?” I shake her. “Mom?” I yell louder, but I only dislodge a tear from her eye.

My dad calls 9-1-1, and his voice is muted in the background. I can’t hear him. “Mom?” I try again. “No, not yet. Please not yet.” Even though I’m sad, Mom has a gentle smile on her face.

She’s happy, or at least I think she died happily. I didn’t expect it to be so quick. She was there. Happy. Smiling.

And then…not.

The sirens come, and in a haze, I watch them drag a white sheet over my mom’s body as they wheel her away, leaving me.

I know two things right now in my sadness:

I’ll never own white sheets.

And this will be the only prom I’ll ever need.