LITERARY

I Don’t Blame the Sun

BY CJ ARGALLON | NOVEMBER 20, 2023

The first flight of stairs glared back at me as I waited for a response.

A minute passed. Two. Three. Nothing.

"Moooommy!" I tried again, gently shivering from the soaked, little sando I was wearing. "Toweeeeeel!"

She was on the third floor, talking to someone on my phone. But I was already screaming loud, probably loud enough for someone to hear two houses away. I couldn't wait. It felt too cold.

Dripping wet, I held onto the metal railing of the stairs as I slowly made my way up. I knew I was going to get in trouble for making a mess, but I was already shaking uncontrollably.

Once I reached the top, the late morning sun greeted me from the open window facing the stairs. But something was off with its shine, something I couldn't quite put my thoughts into. It seared into me, that soft, biting heat that clung to my shivering skin. It told me to stay a little while and warm up.

My heart decided to pump faster; the heavy beating against my chest getting more perceptible as I stood there in my silent staring contest with the star.

And then, I heard it.

The snore was silent, like a faint murmur. Up until now, I had no idea what possessed my legs to run along the kitchen that fast to the second flight of stairs that led to the third floor.

Taking three steps at a time, I went up with my heart almost at my throat. My stomach grumbled in imaginary disgust, unsure of what it is disgusted from. I felt like throwing up, but I forced the bitter bile down.

The soft snore got louder. Why would she sleep in the middle of the day? Didn't she say she was going to call someone?

"Mommy?" My voice trembled. As I took the last step to the third floor, my heart sank. Why wouldn't she answer? "Ma." My voice cracked.

I turned to face the room and my eyes automatically focused on the cellphone on the floor. My phone.

The call log flashed on the little screen, a finger partially covering it. I was trembling, but not from the cold. Resisting, my gaze wandered from the finger, to the hand, to my mother lying face down. Blood around her mouth. Snoring.

For a moment I wanted to not exist, to not believe that the body on the floor was my mother's. To find her and never leave her side, even when she's just taking a call.

I lost it.

I raced down the stairs, screaming for help and ignoring the slippery steps. My hoarse voice scratched my throat as it echoed around the empty house, calling for someone. Anyone.

Tears poured out of my eyes at once, like a dam breaking, and my body shook violently against the warm glow of the mocking sun.

More than ten years later, I would still stare at the sun and wonder whether our little game was the reason why I was too late to reach her. But if it was, that few seconds changed my life permanently.

Whether for the better or worse, more than a decade later, I'm still figuring it out.