Letters to Mom

Dear Mom,

When are you coming back?  I know you left last night to go find Dad, but you're not back yet.  I'm scared--not just because I'm alone, but because I have a feeling something bad has happened to you.  Please tell me you're okay.  Tell me you both are okay.  I know you can't because this letter is in my journal, but I just like thinking you can hear me speaking, can read the words I'm writing, can somehow listen to my brain.  Do you ever do that?  Imagine someone can communicate with you just by reading your thoughts?  I do.  It never works, but it's still fun to come up with things that they could be thinking. It's like a little game. I can teach it to you and Dad when you come back for me.

I'm rambling, Mom, and you know I ramble when I'm nervous.  I'm worried about you. I wish you would've let me come with you last night.  You didn't even tell me what was going on.  You just sat me down in this stupid diner, locked the doors and barricaded any type of entrance or exit, and then told me to keep a knife with me.  Why would I need a knife, Mom?  I wanted to ask, but you didn't look well. You looked really tired and scared and almost sick--you're not sick are you, Mom?  Is that why you had to go find Dad yesterday?  Because you needed him to take you to the hospital?  I hope that's the reason because I don't know why else you'd leave me all alone...

I heard awful things last night.  I know you say that sometimes our minds play tricks on us; but these noises were really scary, Mom. They sounded so real.  I don't want to write down what I heard, but you always told me to talk about things to get it off my chest, to make me feel better, and so here is what I kept hearing: guns, lots of guns, horrible screaming, people running, and an awful moaning sound.  I thought maybe people got hurt, or that they were having a nightmare, but something in my belly told me that the ripping groans had nothing to do with bad dreams.  The screaming was the worst, though--I wanted to go out and see what was going on, but the sound of bullets firing and people cussing made me afraid to go near the door.  That's when I began worrying.  I prayed you weren't in the middle of what was going on, that you were somewhere nice and safe with Dad there to protect you.

Mom, something just hit the door....

I know it's not you...you would have shouted at me, yelled my name, asked me to open up...

Mommy, I wish you and Dad were here.  Please come quickly...please, please, please....I'm scared. I know you've always told me not to be afraid, to just think of good memories and pretend I'm someplace else; but I just can't right now, Mom, and I'm sorry I can't and I'm sorry I'm crying and I'm sorry I sound like a baby, but I really want you right now, please...

I still have the knife with me, just like you said.  I haven't unlocked any of the doors or moved any of the barricades by the windows.  All I'm doing is waiting for you to knock on the door so I can let you and Dad in.  I hope it's soon.  I really wish I could read your mind so I'd know where you are, that way I wouldn't have to write all these letters that you'll never read.

The gun noises are back....there's a big explosion....heavy things whack against the outside of the diner...it makes me nauseous because it sounds like chunks of body parts....

I love you, Mom.  I love Dad, too.  

I'll keep writing letters to you until you come back.  I don't care how long it takes; I just hope it's sooner than soon.