Take Care, Sara

whoever was just talking to me, please don’t let that all be in my head. We were talking on the phone and the phone disconnected and I sat down to wait for you to call again.
    “Hello?”
    “Mrs. Walker?”
    Sara squeezed her eyes shut and mutely shook her head. You‘re not who I wanted to be calling me; who my sanity needs to be calling me.
    “Hi,” she managed to get out. She sank into a chair at the kitchen table.
    “Is everything okay?”
    “Of course.”
    “You haven’t visited in a long time.”
    “I’ve…I’ve been busy,” she lied, holding the phone so tight against her ear it hurt.
    “You missed your last two appointments.”
    “Yeah, sorry, I was working.”
    A pause. “On your artwork?”
    “Yes.” Sara’s eyes slid to the right. There was a door there, and beyond that door, was her career, dusty with disuse. She hurriedly looked away, as if by looking in that direction she was announcing the massive untruth.
    “And how is it coming along?”
    “Great.”
    “What are you working on?”
    Her leg shook a frenzied beat as her teeth gnawed on the skin around her thumb. “Uh…listen, Doc, I gotta go.”
    “Can we set up a time to meet?”
    “I don’t—”
    “It’s imperative that I see you. You have to know this.”
    Her shoulders slumped. A whispered, “I know,” left her.
    “How’s Tuesday, the 29th? At ten in the morning.”
    Tuesday, when was it Tuesday the 29? What day was today? Sara massaged a circle into the middle of her forehead. Tuesday the 29th. Only a little over three weeks away. It was too soon. Panic seized ahold of her. That Tuesday was too soon.
    “Sara?”
    “Yes?”
    “Great. See you then.”
    No! Sara’s mouth opened, but there was no point in arguing when all that would hear her was a dial tone. She hung up the phone. She’d been acknowledging that she was listening, not that she was agreeing to see him, and she knew he knew that.
    She lurched to her feet. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t go there, couldn’t see him, couldn’t talk to him. Sara couldn’t even look at him. No. She’d been putting it off for so long and he knew it. But it was too soon. She wasn’t ready. Sara would never be ready.
    ***
    Sara had been an only child. She’d grown up in a big house in Iowa with a loving mother and father who both passed away far too soon from this world. They’d tried for years to conceive and had given up when Sara came into the picture. Older than they’d thought they’d be as first time parents, they’d done all the activities parents decades younger than them would have and more. They didn’t want Sara to miss out on anything. They didn’t want her childhood to be lacking in any way. Her throat tightened and Sara leaned back on the couch, rubbing her face, wiping her stinging eyes.
    Her mother was a kindergarten teacher and her father an electrician. Jim Cunningham had a heart attack at the age of sixty-one; one he didn’t recover from. Darcy Cunningham died not long after; months only, at the age of fifty-nine. The doctors said she had a stroke, but Sara knew what she’d really died from; a broken heart. They were both seemingly healthy, both taken from Sara when she was only twenty.
    It had been hard to accept one of their deaths, but both of them had been smothering. She literally hadn’t been able to breathe for short amounts of time for weeks after her mother’s passing. Sara had had to force air into her lungs when all she’d wanted to do was not breathe. Breathing had hurt. Breathing had meant she’d lived while her parents no longer did. It was like her body had wanted to stop living because it couldn’t deal with the pain of losing them.
    Sara had thrown herself into her schooling and her artwork and lived, but not like before, never the same as she’d lived before their deaths. She’d existed in a numb state for months. Sara closed her eyes. It was nothing like what she felt now. It hurt whether she breathed or not. And the one thing that stung the most was knowing her parents’ love had been so true and pure that one had not been able to live without the other, and yet, here she sat, without her love, still living, still breathing.
    Though she’d kept to herself after her parents died, scared to give her heart to someone who could leave her as they had; scared to love; scared to be happy, he had pushed past her fears and into her heart and she hadn’t had a chance to be scared before he’d already owned her.