“I shot him. He wouldn’t stop, Si.” A sob, a sniffle. “I had to—I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry—I’m sorry.”
I’m jogging for the Broken Arrow area, pounding on my brothers’ doors. “It’s okay, Ma, it’s gonna be okay.”
Sol and Sax huddle near me, listening, asking me what’s wrong with their expressions.
“Ma, listen to me. Call the police, okay? Call 9-1-1. It was self-defense.”
“What the fuck, Si?” Sol demands.
I cover the mouthpiece. “Mom killed Dad.” Back to the phone, to Mom. “Are you hurt?”
“He wouldn’t stop, Si.” She coughs—it’s a wet sound. “I hurt, baby.”
“Hang up with me, call 9-1-1, and then call Robert. Don’t answer any questions the police ask till Robert is there, got it?”
“Si, I…” I hear a shuffling against the mouthpiece on her end, a loud clatter, a faint, distant sob, and then she’s back. “Max, oh god, Max. I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t mean it. Why didn’t you stop? Max, oh god, oh god…”
“Mom?” I can’t swallow. My gut is a void, an empty pit.
I know this feeling. Something bad is about to happen—something worse.
A sob, from Mom. Then, her voice. Faint, quavering—hollow, as if something integral to her being has been sapped away. “Silas?”
“Here, Ma,” I croak. “I’m here.”
“Tell your brothers…” a pause, and a sound as if she’s panting and keening through her teeth. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough. I lost you. Tell your brothers I’m sorry.”
“Ma, hold up. It’s okay. Gimme a few hours and I’ll be there, okay? We’ll all be there, all three of us.”
“It’s too late, baby.”
“Mom, no.”
“I’m sorry, Si. I love you.” A brief, tense moment of silence. “Tell your brothers I loved them.”
“MOM!” I shout it, so loud my throat scrapes raw.
“BLAM!”
Clatter.
Silence.
I hold the phone to my ear. But I know what’s happened. What she did.
The phone slips from my fingers. Hits the floor.
Sax and Sol are staring at me.
“Si?” The question is on Sol’s face. In his voice.
Instead of answering, I spin on my heel and smash my fist into the wall—it goes through the drywall and splinters the wooden stud; I’m roaring, screaming.
Sol pulls me away before I can punch the wall again; I don’t feel pain, even though I can see my fist bleeding, and know I likely broke something.
My pulse hammers in my ears, and I can’t pull a breath into my lungs.
There are no thoughts in my brain.
