Anton_L_N: переводы

→Flashes of Michael, his smile, his face, constantly played like a slideshow through my mind. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted him to call me and tell me everything was alright. I wanted him to tell me that this was all a horrible nightmare. I needed desperately to hear his voice again.

→There was a pause. “No, honey. Don’t come down here. There is nothing more they can do. They’re sending us home now. I’m so sorry Lizzy. We’ll call you tomorrow,” she sobbed. She hung up before I could say anything else. I went numb and started feeling woozy again. As I processed the call, my breathing became rapid and shallow and my limbs felt weak. I managed to reach my bedroom and fall onto my bed.

→“Should I come down?” I asked. My voice was still shaky, along with the rest of me.

→That was the same question that was ringing through my mind.

→“They don’t know exactly how it happened. A couple of tourists, who were lost on the road to Hatcher’s Pass, saw his car lights in the river. When they pulled over, they noticed a body in the car, and then they immediately called the police. They said it was most likely an accident. That speed might have been a factor. There was a lot of black ice on the road up there. Michael must have lost control and crashed into the river,” she cried, almost hysterical. “Why was he there? I don’t understand. He said he was leaving to get you. Why? Why?” She wept repeatedly.

→“What happened?” I asked. The news still hadn’t sunk in yet. My mind was still questioning if this was all just a horrible dream.

→“Oh, Lizzy. I’m so sorry we had to tell you like this,” she wept. Michael was their only child. I knew how much they loved him. Their whole world had revolved around him.

→“Yes… I’m here,” I answered almost breathless.

→I could tell she’d been crying. Her voice was soft and weary.

→“Lizzy, are you there?”

→“Lizzy?” This time I knew the voice. It was Mrs. Young. Petite and sweet, Mrs. Young. She had a soft, high-pitched voice that was rarely angered. Her 5’6” frame was slender and she had beautiful light brown hair, like Michael’s, which cascaded like soft silk down her shoulders.

→A shuffling on the other end of the phone temporarily halted my rationalizing.

→I glanced over to the clock. 10:57 P.M. It can’t be this late! This can’t be happening! A sudden wave of horror rushed through my body. I flashed back to the dream I’d just had with Michael. Was it really a dream? It seemed so real. I touched, smelled, and had a detailed conversation him. This had to be the dream. I needed to wake up. I needed to wake up now! I needed to get in touch with Michael!

→I froze. It was as if time had stood still. Every one of my senses became numb. He couldn’t have said what I just heard him say. He’s not dead. Michael can’t be dead. He’s coming to get me.

→“He’s… he’s… dead,” he wailed. “My son is dead!” There was a loud thump as the phone on the other end dropped to the ground.

→There was a long pause, and I couldn’t stand it any longer. Before I could say anything, he cleared his throat.

→“Mr. Young… is Michael alright?” I pleaded for an answer. “Mr. Young?” My heart began to beat hard against my chest, my stomach twisted in knots.

→Mr. Young was a tall, strong, handsome man. He was about 6’3”, medium build, and looked like he could’ve played professional football in his earlier years. He had thick brown hair, and dark brown eyes, like Michael’s. He was a good mixture of Native Alaskan/English from his mother, and German from his father. He was a strict but loving father. One that taught his son that real men never cried; that crying showed weakness. To hear him - sobbing like this - it must have been serious.

→“You need to wake up, sweetheart,” he breathed in my ear. He kissed my cheek, and then held me tight within the safety of his arms. I froze. “Liz… always remember how much I love you.”

→“What?” I pulled back to ask him what he meant by that, but the damn phone rang again. I knew then, everything was wrong. Very wrong.