The Phone Call
He won’t remember our farewell, but I took a picture of him, so he could remember how he looked. He was unrecognizable. I kissed him and held him one last time, but the Xanax and alcohol prevented him from being in the reality of that moment.
I spent the first night without him dressed in his clothes, clinging to his pillow, with swollen eyes and and aching chest. I found out that day he was leaving, but hadn’t processed what that meant. I just knew he had to go.
I don’t know if I slept but I opened my eyes to my phone ringing. It was 6am. Private Caller. Boiling panic pierced my chest. “Hello?” I answered quickly. “He’s gone,” the voice on the other line said.
I feared this day would come. I have played it through my head many times. I had his baby picture in my wallet and would pray for him every single morning. I wasn’t close to religion but prayer was all I had left.
“He has ran away, we don’t know where he is. The RCMP are looking for him”. The voice kept talking. It was -25° Celsius. I imagined him waking up in an unfamiliar place, not remembering the hours leading up to that moment. Panicking. Running. I thought he was finally safe. “Please find him,” I begged to the voice, heart and hope sinking.
Please be safe, I thought, Please.
I pressed his photo between my praying hands. All I could do now was wait.
