Out of Amber

If you asked me now, I would tell you that the next few days...no, the next few weeks felt like they were covered in amber.
The amber street light outside my bedroom window. The amber street lights around my block where I walked Ripley. The amber lights of the Williamsburg Bridge where I often found myself walking late at night. I was a fly trapped in amber.

The night after the Mormon ended it, I was lying in bed staring blankly at the ceiling. I wasn't moving. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't doing anything. I was staring.

The phone rang and I pushed myself over to look at the caller ID. I was still hoping it would be the Mormon. It was Present Ex. I hadn't told him. I hadn't told him much about the Mormon except that it was serious. I wasn't in the mood to talk about it and at the same time I wanted nothing more than to talk about it. But we were still on tenuous ground when it came to talking about dating and such, Present Ex and I.

I answered, Hello?

There was a lot of street noise and a sound I couldn't make out. I said his name.

"J? J?"

I'm here.

"She's dead." And I realized the sound I heard was the sound of Present Ex crying. He exploded in another round of violent sobs.

What? What? Who's dead?

"My mother. My mother's fucking dead."

And the world started to move again. I had to make my way out of the amber and in to the light. But it wasn't going to be easy.