"Mama, why are you at the hospital?"
The sound of a cough filtered through the receiver. "I am ill, Charlie."
"With what, Mama? You sound terrible."
Another cough—heavier this time. "Oh, I don't know, Charlie. They said I might have a tumor growing in my lungs, but I don't think these doctors know what they are doing. I was sure it was just a cold, but after what happened to your papa, I came right in to make sure it wasn't influenza, which it is not. They can only assume the worst."
"Mama," I exhaled with pain. "What are they going to do to help you?"
Mama sighed. "They're not. They said they could not do much for me. I could die in a few months or a few years. It's hard to tell, but it is important that I tell you, sohn."
I began wrapping the cord of the telephone around my neck, feeling the coils cut off some of my circulation. "Mama, I am sending for you. The doctors in New York will be better. We can see about getting you care here."
"I simply can't put you through that, Charlie."
"Mama, it is my turn to care for you. Do you understand?"
I heard a sniffle followed by, "Charlie, I don't know what I did to deserve you as a sohn. I am truly blessed. I am also very scared right now." I could hear the cries hitching in her throat. She didn't have to tell me she was scared. I knew the sound of her voice well. "I will acquire you a green card. I need you to stay strong, Mama, but I will get you here safely, ja?"
"Ich liebe dich, Charlie," she uttered with a sigh.
"I love you too, Mama."
As the call disconnected and I unwound the cord from around my neck, I dropped down into my leather chair, staring over at the other chair—Amelia's chair.
"I should have been a better son, Amelia. Mama, she's terrified, and I'm over here in America chasing a dream, while she's alone in a German hospital. Shame on me. Just shame."
I closed my eyes, imagining what Amelia would say in return.
Maybe she would say something philosophical that would erase the selfish thoughts I felt, but I couldn't imagine what those words might be. I couldn't hear Amelia's voice at that moment. I couldn't hear anything more than my inner cries.
The process of helping Mama emigrate took longer than I would have liked, but I knew it would not be a simple task. I was thankful that through the months that had passed, Mama was still alive. She was becoming weaker but doing what she could to get by.
I arranged for air transportation. It was Mama's first time flying, and I imagine she must have been quite nervous, but knowing she would be here in the end got us both through the tough time. Her flight was due to arrive within the next couple of hours, and I spent that time pacing the airport, people watching as I enjoyed doing.
I planned to find a seat near the terminal Mama would fly up to, but there were large crowds of people that day, so I took my spot in between a payphone and a water fountain, watching the hustle and bustle.
I had been standing in one place for about an hour when something caught my eye. Across the way, there was a forest green leather padded bench where a woman sat patiently with a magazine in hand. Two young girls sat on the ground in front of her playing hand-clapping games. The family was a picture of pure happiness.
It had been years since I promised myself I would stop assuming every beguiling woman with dark hair and a little girl was Amelia. It took me a while to break my habit, but I knew I needed to stop looking for the purpose of my well-being.
However, the woman just across the way looks just how I imagined Amelia would look in her early thirties. Her auburn hair is in large barrel curls with fancy pins holding up the sides. She was wearing a green and white tweed day dress with matching heels. Pearls decorated her ears and neck, and her lips were the color of cherries. She was beautiful. More than beautiful—she was stunning. I was sure it was not her, however.
"Mama, could we go into the store for some candy?" one of the young girls asked the woman.
"It's up to your father," she replied. "He's coming back from the restroom right now." The woman pointed to a well-dressed man who was heading toward them.
"Daddy, could we please buy some candy," the girls continued. "Please, Daddy."
The man looked at the woman and smiled teasingly. "Amelia, darling, why are you always putting me up against these girls and their long batting eyelashes. You know I can't possibly say no."
Amelia.
It could be a coincidence, just as it was at that time in the jazz lounge. Amelia was a popular name.
The man reached into his pocket and retrieved some change for the girls. One of the daughters had long, blonde wavy hair, and the other had long dark curls. They were both adorable, but looked entirely different from one another.
I knew I should stop speculating.
