With You

Marianna Page

The news anchor’s voice was a blur of panic and utter disbelief as Marisol stared wide-eyed at the screen, thumb hovering over the phone, wondering if it was too late to call.

“I have some... devastating news to report. The US Department of Defense has confirmed that the NORAD detection of foreign military missiles is heading our way to the southern region of the United States, more specifically, Texas and bordering New Mexico. The President has issued the order of immediate evacuations of every living person in Texas and New Mexico, with evacuation procedures going underway as we speak...”

Marisol’s eyes traveled down to the bottom corner of the TV screen. Though small, the weight of the words nearly debilitated her.

“Emergency Alert: Texas Strike Imminent. Time Remaining: 01:00:00.”

“One hour,” she breathed out. That wasn’t enough time. They wouldn’t even be able to evacuate half of Harris County in one hour.

Scrambling to the other end of the table, she fumbled the TV remote in her hands, slipping from her palms like a hot glass plate from the microwave. Once in her grasp, she flipped through all the channels she was paying for—FOX News, STARZ ON DEMAND, Cinemax, Disney Channel—all of them repeated the same exact thing. The government had taken over every single channel for the national security warning.

Marisol’s phone felt like it was scorching her palms. She peeked down at the contact she was considering. Despite blocking the number over five years ago, she always still saved it just in case.

It could have been for anything—just in case mom’s unmanaged diabetes finally caught up to her, just in case aunt Sage popped back into their lives and demanded she be the new victim to surf on her couch, just in case Marisol was stuck in a well and had exhausted every single option she had on her contact list of 300 people—friend, associate, or workday foe. Marisol saved it, just in case.

“I have to call her,” she mumbled aloud to herself, her words hanging in the air like a crystal chandelier. “I have to... I have to call her.”

Five years flashed in her mind. What right did she have to call her estranged sister after five years? They were nothing to each other at this point. Marisol wasn’t even sure if she’d recognize Jamara after all this time. Last time she heard (back in 2018), she cut and dyed her hair blonde after her divorce from Sarah. Marisol had blocked her two months before shit hit the fan.

Marisol’s heart skipped a beat when her eyes focused back on the clock. “Time Remaining: 00:57:00.”

She felt each part of herself tearing into two—on one hand, she didn’t want to care about the past and the hurt. Her sister was there, alone, back in Austin with no way out as far as she knew. She needed to hear Jamara’s voice, that aggravating sweet voice that gave all the people who were obsessed with her a sugar rush, while it made her sick, probably for the last time. But on the other hand, she didn’t think she’d be able to stand all that fake sweetness when she knew the aftertaste was bland and bitter.

Marisol spent the last five years hating Jamara, for all the things she did and hating herself for what they did to each other. She had removed the red tethered strings from her heart and took a monumental step forward from the trauma and generational curses that had held their family back since it began. Calling her would regress all the progress. And worst of all, calling her would tether her heart to her sister’s once more.

“But you don’t have long,” the rational side of her echoed in her head. “You’d want someone to do the same for you.”

The emergency broadcast flashed over and over, the words repeating in her brain like a broken record. Texas, the place she once called home, was about to be erased. And yet, here she was, frozen, stuck in a sea of painful memories with the person that was supposed to be the closest to her.

Marisol’s heart matched the pace of her breathing. Fifty-two minutes—she had less than an hour to make a decision that could haunt her for the rest of her life. She still wanted to hear Jamara’s voice. But more than that, she still wanted to know if Jamara was a person she could still turn to, even in a time like this.

A quick breath. Marisol pressed the call button. Each passing second felt like an eternity. If only they really had that much time. She waited, the jacuzzi in her stomach bubbling with unease.

After the 5th ring, the call went to voicemail.

Of course it would, she thought to herself. Jamara and Marisol were strangers now. You don’t typically pick up calls from strangers, do you?

Marisol set her phone away. She rubbed her bronze, trembling hands down her face until the heat from them made her cheeks blush. “Jamara is okay. She travels all the time. She’s probably somewhere in Bali, or the Islands. She’s fine, just like always.”

For the next half hour, as the clock ticked down, this is what Marisol told herself. But when the time winded down to ten minutes, she heard her phone ring.

Jamara was calling her.

770-310-3070. It rang like a jingle.

Marisol picked up immediately. For a few moments, all they could hear from the other was each other’s breathing. She heard her sister’s sniffles and Marisol’s heart sank. Jamara was still in Texas. She wasn’t able to leave.

Marisol spoke first. “Jama—” She paused. “Nini,” she whispered affectionately.

“Hey,” Jamara said back. “You called?”

“I did.”

“It’s nice to hear from you. I... didn’t think I would.”

“Mhm.” Was all that Marisol responded with, despite having so much to say. ‘I’m sorry,’ ‘I hate you,’ ‘Please don’t leave me.’ But when Marisol noticed the clock wind down to eight minutes, she understood finally that now was not the time for any of that.

Just like the butterflies they had released together as children, with the help of their parents, she let it go.

She smiled through her tears. "You know... I started reading this new book last week. It actually reminded me of you. The main character loved to cook, and they made the same lemon pie you always do."

Jamara hesitated, but after a moment, she understood. She chuckled, “Really? Who was the author?”

“Vivian Monroe.”

“I love her.”

“I know. Have you read anything lately?”

“Hm, I’ve dabbled in some of John Carol’s essays on the liberation of minorities, but nothing besides that.”

“I see... Hey, you still taking those swim lessons?”

“If I still suck at swimming after five years of lessons, I think at that point I need to stay out of the water!”

Marisol and Jamara giggled to each other. And that’s what they did with the rest of the time they had left: laughing and teasing, a lost art they had rediscovered once more.

When their time had reached its end, Marisol heard a rumbling in the background. Her panic flared up.

“Jamara! It’s gonna be okay, I promise. You hear me? You’re going to be—”

“Marisol,” Jamara whispered. As big-spirited as Jamara was, Marisol had never heard her voice be so small.

“Mari,” she repeated, quieter. “You’ll always be with me, right?”

Marisol felt her heart break. “Yes. I’m with you.”

Jamara sniffled, “Good. I’m with you, too... Always.”

The last thing Marisol ever heard from her sister was a short, panicked cry just as the missile reached Texas, and the line went dead.

Marisol was left alone with only the haunting sound of silence in her ear, and the forever empty hole in her heart.

Published in Issue No. 4, Musa et Verbum, January 1st, 2025.

Marianna Page is a 23-year-old writer from the gloomy cornfields of the Midwest. She began writing poetry in middle school on her iPhone 5s notes app, battling the highs and lows of middle school angst and grief. Transitioning from poetry to prose, she found her groove. Marianna writes works filled with angst, humor, love, and longing, aiming to connect her heartbeat to readers who have good enough headphones to listen.