Sad day
The shrill sound of my phone breaking the silence makes my chest tighten. I glance at the screen—it's my mom. I press the green button, trying to steady my breath as the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something feels off, but I can't quite place it.
"Hey, Mom," I answer, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears. Too tight. Too forced.
"Ethan… honey…" Her voice cracks, like she's been holding back something for a while, and it sends a chill through me.
"Mom, what's wrong?" I ask, my stomach sinking. The worry in her tone is enough to send a wave of panic through me.
"James… He's… He's gone."
For a moment, everything goes still. I can't process what she's saying. My best friend. James. Gone?
"What do you mean gone? What happened?" I demand, but my voice sounds distant, muffled. I can barely hear myself over the pounding in my ears.
"He… he was in a car accident, Ethan. He didn't make it. He passed away."
I feel like I've been punched in the gut. My world tilts, and for a long, terrible moment, I can't breathe. I stagger back against the wall, trying to make sense of the words, but it's like trying to grasp smoke. James. My best friend. Dead.
"No… no, this isn't right," I mutter under my breath. "This has to be a mistake."
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," my mom continues, her voice low, almost drowned in her own grief. "We're making arrangements for the funeral. We'll need you here soon."
I don't know how long I stand there, the phone pressed to my ear, as the weight of her words sinks in. James is gone. My mind can't catch up with the reality of it. I can't think of anything except the hollow ache in my chest.
The funeral arrangements are made, but I barely hear them. I barely hear anything as I hang up, numb. My thoughts swirl, fragmented and directionless. I need to be there. I need to see James one last time, to hold onto whatever pieces of reality I can.
I sink onto the edge of my bed, my hands shaking as I unlock my phone again. The screen blurs, and for a second, I can't remember what I'm even looking for. Then it clicks—I need a flight. Now.
I open the airline app, my fingers fumbling over the screen. My breath comes in short, shallow bursts. The flight listings swim before me, a chaotic jumble of numbers and times. I don't care about the cost, the time, or the layovers—I just need to get home.
"Next available flight," I whisper, as if saying it aloud will make it real, will make it happen faster. I scroll through the options, my vision narrowing until I finally see it: a flight leaving in a few hours.
I press Book without hesitation. A notification pops up, confirming the purchase. A hollow sense of relief fills me. It's done. The plane is waiting. A way back to everything I've lost.
I stuff the phone in my pocket, my heart pounding in my ears. I run a hand through my hair, trying to steady the storm raging inside me. The ache doesn't lessen—it's sharp, relentless—but now there's a destination. A place to anchor this grief.
I close my eyes, sucking in a shaky breath. "Hold on, James. I'm coming."
I grab my bag and throw a few essentials into it. My mind barely registers what I'm packing—a change of clothes, my wallet, my passport. The motions are mechanical, automatic. I'm a machine, functioning on some primal need to get home, to make sense of the senseless.
I slam the bag shut and head for the door, my feet moving on instinct. The sky outside is a cold, endless gray, matching the emptiness inside me.
The rest of the world fades to static as I move. The flight is booked. I'm going home. The answers—the confusion—they can all wait. Right now, I need to be where James is, even if it means facing the unbearable.