Black Sheep

The night was black, lost.

His mother was sitting in his apartment, faded into the dark oak and heavy furniture, stuck in the chair. When Frank closed his eyes and opened them again she had become unstuck. No longer solid, moving like wisps of smoke. No one had ever appeared to him like that before; a movie ghost, see-through and saint-like.

“This is no place for a woman.” Her voice was fainter than it’d been even just two weeks before.

“Ma, I can’t hear you. Can you speak up?”

She shook her head. Frank felt his heart race but he wasn’t sure why. Everything became too small. He wanted to move and he couldn’t.

“I need you to find a woman.”

“What?”

“Its time. I watch this woman Laura. I watch her often. I want you with her.”

There was a silence between his lungs, no steady beats.

“You want to be with her, too.” Her voice wheezed.

“Ma, why are you so quiet?”

She smiled; slight, sad, scared. Frank sensed something was changing. He said a silent prayer that this was not goodbye.

“Please. Go to Laura.”

His mother moved backwards. The lines in her face danced and she faded into the walls. Frank could feel her disappearing.

“Don’t go.”

“I love you, my terror.”

“Say you’ll be back.”

She smiled once more and put her hand to her heart.

“Don’t go. I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done. Don't go,” he said.

She turned around. Frank closed his eyes, hoping that if he glued them shut this moment would have no end. When he opened them, she was gone.

Goodbyes are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like splits in the skin. They never heal because there was never enough material.