The Morning of January 11th

A morning I'll never forget.

Please No CSS

Screaming. It was a nightmare, my groggy conscious reasoned. I often had dreams that featured delirious screaming. Nonono! was the mantra. It was the crying of a distressed woman refusing to believe disturbing news she had woken up to. Was it four in the morning? Or three? It might’ve even been five. How the hell would I know, I didn’t have a clock in my room then. But I was awake now, and the screaming was real. It was my mom.

I threw the covers off my warm body, the cold air seeping through the window that my bed was by. Snow blanketed everything in sight; it was beautiful. But I had barely glanced out the window before my mom’s crying again caught my attention. My sudden awakening had woken up Butterbean, who back then was named Mister. It only took a second to get to my mom’s room.

She was sitting up, tears rolling down her cheeks, her breathing raspy as she shook, the phone pressed into her ear. “No!” she kept saying. Bobbie was as confused as I was; looking at me, looking at him, then back to my mom.

Seeing her cry was starting to make me cry. “Mom?” I said feebly; I think that’s the right word. Actually, I don’t think I even said anything. It might’ve been my mind talking.

Mom stood up, racing from the room. Bobbie and I followed. I sat on the ground, pulled myself into a ball, and stared at the ground. Eventually, the phone clicked off, and my mom looked at me. She was still crying.

“John and Carmen are dead.”

And I cried, too.