This is a coming-out story. Not mine, but one told to me on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I hope you enjoy the read.
I was always told when you got a phone call in the middle of the night, it brought bad news. So it was when I vaguely heard my phone buzzing on our bedside table. I grunted and swore. My hand went fishing around for it in the dark. Amanda mumbled and grunted telling me to answer the fucking phone.
It rang out and I thought I would wring their fucking neck, no matter who it was. I found the phone as it started to ring again. It was my eldest brother, the only one in my family who knew where I was. He is in New York and I am in Adelaide. I can tell you this, at 2:17 AM in Adelaide it is lunchtime the day before in NY or thereabouts.
Suddenly I was wide awake, as if someone had thrown a bucket of freezing cold water over me. "What's the matter," I asked urgently.
He took his time to answer. I could tell he was distressed. "It's Mum, she's had a stroke, and you should get here as soon as you can,"
I stopped breathing, I am sure of it. My hand reached out for Amanda and I started shaking her. "What's the matter?" She asked knowing when I was not kidding around.
"It's my Mum she has had a stroke or something, I need to get to home, as in San Diego," I told her while still talking to my brother Ken.
And just as suddenly Amanda was also wide awake, putting her arm around me and her ear to the phone, she listened in to the call. I told Ken I was putting it on speaker so Mandy could listen in.
"Hi Mandy," Was his first response, he and she always got on well. Unlike my mother or the rest of my family.
"Hi, sweetie," came her reply.