Those That Wake 02: What We Become Read Online Free

interview.
    “I’m sorry, honey.”
    “Is that how it is everywhere, Mom? I swear, half my teachers have the same attitude. Is everyone in the world an asshole?”
    “Laura . . .” Her mother’s voice suddenly hushed in a tone of admonishment. She could bear the cursing if they were face-to-face, but somehow on cells it always troubled her, as though they were performing for an unseen audience.
    “Sorry, Mom,” she said by rote. “But I’m finding it really hard to take right now.”
    “I can see that, honey. Are you in your room?”
    “Yeah.” It was a tiny, cramped little place, which Laura loved dearly. Her roommate, absent at the moment, left her side as neat as if a maid came through every day. But it echoed her mother’s obsessions and left Laura with a sense of home. Her own side was filled with pictures of Mookie—leaping up for a Frisbee, peeking out of his dog house—with a framed arrangement of dried flowers and her father’s proud addition to the room, a vintage poster that screamed LET’S GO, METS GO ! to cap it off. All of Laura’s electronics were hidden away, under the bed, in drawers. They might not have even existed.
    “Are you alone?”
    “Yeah, Mom.” She could hear it coming.
    “Well”—her voice went quiet again, as though that would do any good if someone
was
monitoring their cell conversations—“are you having those headaches again?”
    “They weren’t headaches, Mom,” she corrected, already exasperated.
    “Well, the episodes.”
    “They weren’t episodes. It was a transient, self-limited loss of consciousness.” Always a comfort to retreat into the technical, though it turned her mother’s face sour.
    “Well, you know what I’m talking about, anyway. Is that happening again?”
    Laura took a deep breath in and let it out in a not-quite sigh.
    “No,” she said, but had paused too long.
    “Laura, please tell me the truth. Are you having those flashbacks to high school again?”
    “They weren’t flashbacks, Mom. I never had any flashbacks. I was—there was confusion about some things in senior year.”
    “It was more serious than that, Laura. You went to the hospital.”
    “For
observation,
Mom. And they didn’t find anything.”
    “That’s serious. The hospital is serious. You know how your dad and I worry about that.”
    “You
and
Dad, huh? I have the feeling Dad’s managing okay.”
    “You’re changing the subject.”
    “You noticed.”
    Her mother stared back at her, silent, through the miniature screen.
    “No, Mom, that’s not happening again. I’m just, I don’t know . . . feeling uneasy about things.”
    “Like with those episodes.”
    “They
weren’t
episodes. Christ, Mom.”
    “But like with those things.”
    “Yes, a little bit. The uneasiness, but without the panic attacks or syncope.”
    “You speak just like a professional, Laura,” her mother said with equal amounts of frustration and pride. “You should come home until it lets up.”
    “I’m not going to do that.”
    “Laura, what could it hurt? You could get home by dinner. I’ll fix mac and cheese with franks and—”
    “That doesn’t actually have an effect on brain chemistry, Mom.”
    Her mother’s face fell.
    “I’m sorry, Mom. Thank you. I don’t . . .” Because no part of the small dorm room was not visible from any other part, Laura saw a small white fold of paper being slipped beneath her door. “It’s not that serious.” She sat, transfixed by the tiny arrival.
    “You should still think about—”
    “I’m not coming home, Mom. I’m seeing Josh in twenty minutes, and I’ve got a paper due in two days.” Laura rose from her bed but stood in place, looking at the note. Why not a text? It would have scrolled right beneath her mother’s face, assured instant receipt. Who left actual notes anymore?
    “Laura, what’s going on?”
    Laura’s attention snapped back to the cell.
    “Nothing. I’m fine.”
    “Laura. Go see the counselor.