missed me?
“Mom, dad?”
The call went silent–only the buzzing of the phone could be heard.
A muffled static sound which could only be assumed as a breath was heard through the device. The muffled sound grew until it became clear that it was his mother crying.
“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” could be heard repeated in a soft voice over and over again. “Henry,” she wailed, “I love you. Thank goodness you called! They told us you would as soon as you could.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Your dad and I waited so long," she cried. “You know,” she continued, “I–I mean we–never stopped putting up posters. Your dad! He-he told me to stop, I’m so glad I didn’t! And I–Linda! S-she thought I was crazy, too! But you’re back!”
“I am, Mom. I’m back,” the son replied in a reassuring tone filled with nostalgia.
“You-you know, they all thought I was crazy mad for for never giving up, just for looking for you! B-but you’re my son! And I–” she paused for a long sigh of relief. “You’re here! Oh, Henry, you’re finally back,” she expressed joyfully, longing to see her son for the first time in seven years.
“I am, Mom,” her son replied. “I’ll be arriving soon–”
“Oh please do!” she interrupted, overwhelming in a joy indescribable.
The call ended, and police proceeded to escort the young man back to the home he grew up in. A brief but silent ride ensued. The joy pumping through Henry’s heart could not be spoken in words, and the relief of the cops was equally overflowing.
The woman came running out of the house still in her night gown and barefoot to welcome her son in a tight hug. Her dark brown hair, complimented by streaks of white, flew down to her shoulders as her arms surrounded her child in a warm embrace. Years of grief, stress, and frustration were wiped away by her son’s finger than ran gently below her eyes, where her face was engraved with the marks of age and worry.
“You look so skinny,” the mother noticed solemnly. “You’ve gotten paler.” She looked at her son sadly, unable to imagine what kind of trauma he must have endured over the seven years of his kidnapping.
“I know, Mom.”
“Your hair has gotten darker, too,” she said in a soft voice, brushing her hand through his black hair.
“Mom… You haven’t seen me in seven years. I-I know I’ve changed a little,” he replied in a wavering voice.
No more words were required. They could catch up later. Nothing mattered most in that present moment than having both of them in their house, sitting on the couch in the living room that had been thoroughly cleaned for Henry’s arrival.
After sharing short exchanges of I love you’s, the mother could now finally drift into a peaceful sleep knowing her son was home safe for the first time in seven, long years.
Henry gazed down at the woman who had been worn down by years of sorrow. He smiled, thankful that he accomplished his job. He was able to finally bring calm into this woman’s life after seven torturous years.
After all, ignorance is bliss.
All the prompts are super creative @Abinaya!
This is my favorite out of the two I wrote. 