Please Come Home

My palms start sweating. The sky gets darker. My knuckles turn white from clutching onto the payphone too hard. I'm running out of quarters. The rain keeps pouring.

I can see my breath in the air. I dial the number. A car speeds by through a puddle, soaking me with rainwater. Each second is feeling longer. Each breath is getting quicker. The familiar sound of the payphone ringing echoes into my ear. It fills me up entirely with emptiness. It rings, and I keep breathing, filling my lungs up with toxic air. I feel a deep, deep pain in my chest. Something explosive. It’s the only thing you left behind with me. Isn’t it funny how something so small can ruin something so big? Something stronger and more important than life itself. Something… endless. Something like love, or hate, or an atomic bomb. Something like what we had, Cole. Strength as strong as the last solid brick in a city of ruins. Or even something like what you took away from me: Strength as strong as what finally shatters that very last brick. Most of all, something like what you left behind: Strength as strong as what made you forget about the city you destroyed. Pain as painful as the fact that maybe you did it all on purpose. Everything is endless until someone ends it, darling.

I rock back and forth in my dark brown sneakers. They were white this morning. I think the phone might snap. I’ve never held onto anything that tight.

And then I hear your voice, and a tear slides down my cheek.

“Hey, it’s Cole!” you say, and the pain in my chest eases. Maybe you can finally come home. Maybe they were wrong.

“Cole! Baby, you’re okay! I have so much to tell-”

“I can’t make it to the phone right now, leave a message after the beep!” you answer before I can finish my sentence. I hear a long beep, and then silence. You’re so funny Cole, but why do you always hang up so quickly? The bomb in my chest reappears. I exhale deeply as I insert another quarter into the payphone. I redial your number, waiting to hear your voice once again. The phone starts ringing. It’s a song I’ve grown used to. It’s the only thing between us, Cole. We’re closer than they say, you know. I hear footsteps behind me, then my doctor's voice.

“Miss Levingston! You scared me! How did you get out all by yourself? Come back inside, dear. We have warm soup all ready for you.”

“No, I’m talking to Cole,” I reply.

My doctor shakes her head and answers, “No, sweetie, Cole is in a better place now, remember?”

She takes my hand, and my quarters fall to the pavement. They roll in all different directions. I pull away from Dr. Wallis and run after them into the street. I hear honking, and a man yelling, and tires screeching. I pick up one quarter, then another. They’re the only things I took with me when I was brought to the hospital, but I’m running out. I chase after another, but before I can pick it up, a hand grabs onto my shoulder and drags me out of the street. I don’t know this man. He has green eyes. He has Cole’s green eyes. I try to get up, but he just tightens his grip on my shoulder. I watch one of my quarters roll into the sewer and I let out a scream. I then stop resisting and begin to cry.

“Mom! What are you doing?” the man yells at me. He sounds angry, but his eyes carry a deep pain. His eyes are full of sadness. He worries me. Eyes like those can’t ever see things clearly.

“I need my quarters to talk to Cole. Please let go of me,” I scream. He bites his bottom lip and whispers something under his breath. Then he looks at me, and his eyes burn holes into mine. They carry a deep pain. Pain like that is more dangerous than anything else in the world.

“Dad’s dead, Mom,” he says. The man squeezes his eyes shut and kneels down onto the sidewalk next to me. “You know that, you do. Just- just go back inside, okay? They’re gonna help you.” His voice cracks. “They’re gonna help us.” He begins to cry, but I don’t want him to be sad.

“I’m sorry sir, but I didn’t know your father,” I say. “Please, have you seen Cole Levingston recently? He works in the fire department just two streets away from here. I haven’t seen him for quite some time.” The man takes my hand and squeezes it.

“He’s gone, Mom,” the man tells me. “Cole, he’s not coming back. Do you understand? Cole is dead.”

And then the bomb in my chest explodes. Just like it does every time someone says your name in that tone.