Bad News (Narrative)
(Based on true events. Written August 2017: Bevill State, revised July 2018)
It was August 3rd 2012 at 11:06pm. The clock creeped towards the deadline of my online class, while I sat in the Flowers Hospital’s waiting area on the 3rd floor. My family and I waited on my mother to finally meet Jesus. My mom was lost in her coma due to a car crash months prior while I attended college. My instructor, sympathetic to my situation, promised me an extension anytime I needed it. Amidst group projects, papers and reports, my mother, my best supporter and friend, was slipping away for me.
The only warmth in the tiny room was from my school laptop resting on my lap. My Aunt and older sister sat on either side of me in the device’s heat until they received the unwanted news. I, too, waited with them and on my instructor to message me back. My screen displayed my classroom chat messages; the message I sent last week asking for my guaranteed extension was the last thing I’d written. My eyes were locked on the blinking text cursor, but it just winked at me.
The wall clock lingered on: the only thing to let me know time hadn’t stopped yet. Finally, I heard that “Ping” from the computer and then I jumped. I scrolled to the live message chat and read.
It was August 3rd 2012 at 11:06pm. The clock creeped towards the deadline of my online class, while I sat in the Flowers Hospital’s waiting area on the 3rd floor. My family and I waited on my mother to finally meet Jesus. My mom was lost in her coma due to a car crash months prior while I attended college. My instructor, sympathetic to my situation, promised me an extension anytime I needed it. Amidst group projects, papers and reports, my mother, my best supporter and friend, was slipping away for me.
The only warmth in the tiny room was from my school laptop resting on my lap. My Aunt and older sister sat on either side of me in the device’s heat until they received the unwanted news. I, too, waited with them and on my instructor to message me back. My screen displayed my classroom chat messages; the message I sent last week asking for my guaranteed extension was the last thing I’d written. My eyes were locked on the blinking text cursor, but it just winked at me.
The wall clock lingered on: the only thing to let me know time hadn’t stopped yet. Finally, I heard that “Ping” from the computer and then I jumped. I scrolled to the live message chat and read.
“Jennifer, this is the last day of class. No, you may not have an extension. I expect your paper to be turned in and emailed before 11:59pm. Thank you and have a wonderful day.”
I felt my chest go tightten as the words have have wonderful day burned from the screen. My fingers found the keys as I pressed them down to answer,
“Mr. Frederick, I’m in the hospital as we speak. We turned off my mother’s life support just this morning and my dad is saying his goodbyes. I thought you said at the start of this class I could have an extension. I have not asked for one until now and I sent you the message a week ago. Will you please reconsider?”
I pushed down the send button… and waited again.
“Tick… tick… tick.” The clock screeched, penetrating the silence. I didn’t know how much time had passed. Feeling movement on each side of me, I tore my eyes away from the screen. My aunt and sister stood up as my father rolled to us in his wheelchair. His face was twisted in pain and his mouth open in a silent scream as he cried. My sister wailed and threw herself at his feet. My Aunt bawled. That’s when I knew my mother was gone. I faintly heard the chat notification over the moans and sobs of despair.
“Ping.”
I looked down and my eyes dully read the word,
There were more words my teacher typed to justify his actions, but the laptop screen blurred and I became blinded by wet drops falling. I let go of the laptop and let it crash on the floor as I went to comfort my remaining parent.
I later complained to my student adviser armed with the chat messages, but nothing was done. My family and I buried my mother and I was forced to leave the school. The last class I had taken was “Leadership.”
“Tick… tick… tick.” The clock screeched, penetrating the silence. I didn’t know how much time had passed. Feeling movement on each side of me, I tore my eyes away from the screen. My aunt and sister stood up as my father rolled to us in his wheelchair. His face was twisted in pain and his mouth open in a silent scream as he cried. My sister wailed and threw herself at his feet. My Aunt bawled. That’s when I knew my mother was gone. I faintly heard the chat notification over the moans and sobs of despair.
“Ping.”
I looked down and my eyes dully read the word,
“No.”
I later complained to my student adviser armed with the chat messages, but nothing was done. My family and I buried my mother and I was forced to leave the school. The last class I had taken was “Leadership.”
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