Blog 3 - An unavoidable question

I'm back in my childhood home, the smell of tile cleaner and dog hair floating up around me as I sprawl out in front of the tiny TV. The "living room" was the main room of the trailer, with a small bedroom in the back serving as my mom's room; occasionally mine as well if I woke up from a nightmare. I look over my shoulder to see Elias reading a picture book to my baby brother on the pull-out couch.

I've been here before. 

Not just my home, but this moment.

I maneuver my 10 year old body to a standing position and tell Elias that I want to go check on my mom.

"She's busy now Ren, you know that when she closes the door she needs to be left alone."

I know, but my beating heart reminds me of what lies behind the door, and what I have to do.

While he's distracted, I slowly make my way to the back room of the trailer, and wrap my fingers around the rusty handle.

Turning it and opening the door, the image is solidified forever in my memory. 

My mom on the bed, the voicemail on the machine, the empty bottle in her limp hand, and the note on the dresser. 

Like always, I run to grab the phone. Like always, I can't bring myself to dial the three numbers. 

I stand motionless in the kitchen, fingers wrapped so tightly around the land line that my pudgy knuckles have turned completely white.

I see Elias make his way to the back room, hear his scream, and feel the phone wrenched out of my grasp.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING REN? CALL THE POLICE!", he screams, frantically dialing 9-1-1 "YOU SAW WHAT HAPPENED, YOU COULD'VE HELPED."

Now I'm standing over the casket, except instead of my mother's face, it's Mr. Evans instead.

I sit straight up in bed, sweat covering my upper body, dripping down my neck. Burning tears stream down my face. I've worked so hard to build a new life here, to send money back to my family, to make what friends I could. Until I find out if what I saw that night - walking home from the clinic - was somehow connected to Mr. Evans, these dreams won't stop. When will I bring myself to call the police?

As the sun rises I can hear Christmas music playing through the lobby. I walk out into the cold air. If I can't bring myself to call the police, I need to find the answers myself, and they're in this town somewhere.