Waiting For Mum

• Grace Hargreaves, Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2011

A blue car drives past. Then a red one. Where’s Mum? She’s never been this late before, not ever. Maybe I should call Grandma? Better give it another half hour or so. She would have called if she’d expected to be this late. Maybe her boss gave her extra paperwork? It’ll be all right. The rain on the streets is just adding to my worries. What if she’s had an accident? No, stay focused. She’ll come. You’re worrying about nothing. You have emergency contacts. The doors and windows are locked. It’s not totally dark yet. Chill. You’ll feel better if you watch some TV. I turn it on. News. Golf. Nothing good’s on. I go to the computer instead. I check my emails, type out my English assignment, surf the net. It’s been an hour. I’ll call Grandma. I reach for the phone and dial Grandma’s number. No answer. I leave a message.
“Hi Grandma, Claire here. Obviously you’re not home so I guess I should just say I’m home alone and it’s nearly six-thirty. Mum’s not home yet and I’m really worried. Call me back as soon as you can please.”
She’s not home! Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. I go to the window to check who it is. It’s the police! Calm down and answer the door. I shuffle over and open it. They’ve got their caps in their hands. That doesn’t mean anything. Does it?
“Miss Erins?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Constable John and this is Officer Campbells. Can we come in please?” asks the first policeman. I open the door wider and they come in. They stand inside and wait for me to close the door.
“Miss Erins, there’s been an accident. Your mother had a car crash.” The words go up my spine and I freeze.
“I’m sorry, but she, she’s dead.” A cold, hard hand clutches at my chest and I sink to the floor. The grey light comes through the windows. The whole room darkens. Dead? My whole body feels cold and I want to cry. But no tears will come. So this is what grief feels like.
“Miss Erins?” Constable John asks softly but his words fade away. And now, so has my family. I feel as if everything to live for has vanished. Disappeared. Slipped through my fingers. Finally, a hot tear escapes my eye and slides down my cheek. The house feels empty – just like me. All I can think about, all I can see, all I can picture, is my mother’s face being swallowed up by darkness.
The house feels old, sad. Grandma closes the door then folds me in a warm hug. I can smell her perfume. Her soft, woollen jumper feels safe. We aren’t here for long. We’re getting some clothes and stuff for me then we’re going to Grandma’s place. I’m staying with her until everything is sorted. I wish time would stop so I could take in everything that’s happened. I want my mum.