A Second Call by Julia Schmitt-Palumbo

You stand, legs shakier than expected. A sudden rush floods your body – almost like you stood up too fast, except this one doesn’t fade away. Your ears are ringing and you make to say something to your instructor, maybe ask to leave, but nothing comes out. He shoos you out anyway, so you grab your bag and walk as quickly as you can into the hallway, eyes on your back.

Once the door slams closed behind you, you fall back against the lockers and let your bag drop to the floor. Your eyes fall shut to get a break from the relentlessly pounding headache and you’re thrown back into memories.

You’re alone in your childhood bedroom, backed into a corner, facing the room. You’re terrified. The same ringing fills the room. You’re being Called for your first and, as far as anybody could guess, only time. You’re only six, younger than anyone you knew was when they were Called, if they even had been. Hot tears flood your water line, threatening to spill forth, a wail building in your throat. You didn’t know it would be this loud. Didn’t know how the ringing would bounce around the walls and attack your eardrums. It feels like there’s an orchestra in your ears, the rings each clamoring for attention, drowning you. You’re frozen in place, tears that finally broke free racing down your cheeks and dripping from your chin, staining patches on your shirt.

Maybe you cried out, maybe that wail escaped, or maybe the rings were just loud enough that someone heard and your bedroom door bursts open. Your mother stands in the door, eyes wild and afraid, hair mussed and clothes frumpy. She had been sleeping. Maybe you cried out after all.

“Mama!”

She comes rushing to your side, scoops you up, coos in your ear. The ringing takes a backseat to her soothing voice and your tears begin to subside. Fear is slowly replaced by a deep-rooted yearning. You snuggle closer, but something, that ringing, makes you want to get down. The rings, now that they’ve quieted, sound more like singing. High, whimsical singing, twisting into the room and snaking into your ears, looping about your navel and tugging, ever so slightly, pulling you out of your mother’s warm arms. You should stay.

But fairytales and myths are more interesting than the love of your mother now, so you slip down out of her grasp, looking to the window. The singing seems to be coming from outside and the window is the quickest way out. You go to unlock it but you’re too short and you strain for a minute until strong hands hook under your arms and lift you to the lock. In the window, you can see the reflection of your mother, her eyes still afraid but much calmer and overflowing with love, sprinkled with a touch of something sad. She spins you to face her once you’ve pushed the window open.

“You can go, but come home once you have what you’re looking for, okay sweetheart?”

You hadn’t thought to ask, but you’re grateful for the permission and you nod eagerly, straining in her hands to climb out the window. She pulls you back to plant a kiss on your forehead and lets you go and you’re gone.

You were right in thinking the singing was coming from outside as the minute your feet hit the ground, you’re hit with a new wave of sound so hard you stumble. But the more you hear, the more you want to find the source and you break out in a sprint, your spindly legs flying as fast as they can over the grass and dirt, your bare feet barely hitting the ground as the singing wraps around you, urges you onward.

You keep running, don’t stop until your feet hit concrete and you trip, arms outstretched to break your fall. You’re panting. Your short and heavy breaths nearly masking that mystical song. You push yourself to your feet and you’re immediately taken aback by a beautiful building you’ve only seen in pictures stretching up into the sky in front of you. It looks like a temple, made of white marble that turns into brick into smooth concrete and glass walls. It reaches into the sky, way beyond the canopy, scraping the clouds. Looking up at it like this, you could swear it’s swaying, about to topple over on you, and you feel so small.

The singing has faded even more but a faint tendril snakes under the front door of this lovely building, pulling you straight in, up the stairs and through the front door. The singing surges again, white light floods your vision, and when you can finally see again you’re in school, back on the lockers, bag next to you. Your watch says no time at all has passed and you let your head smack against the door of your locker. You stand, the ringing slowly filling your ears again, and you shoulder your bag and head for the door.

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