That Thing That Happened To You

That Thing That Happened To You

You went missing on a cold January morning. The winter air whipped through my hair and down my back. The purple and grey jacket mommy bought for me from the Sally Anne store did little to protect me, chills spreading all over my body.

I got lost in a sea of cars, sitting on my bike outside your house. You weren’t in school today. Sadness sat at your desk instead of you. After lunch, our teachers told us you were missing, and that’s when worry forced sadness to move over, sitting down and taking up most of your seat.

I waited outside your house for a very long time. I waited until my cheeks burned, my head hurt, and my fingers felt raw inside my yellow and black knitted mittens that were way too big for my hands.

I left, heading for home. I peddled my bike down your street and turned up the way to my house. I wanted to go home, it was getting late, and I didn’t want anyone to worry. Traveling in a loop, I almost passed your street but found my bike turning down your street again.

For a second time, I sat on my bike outside your house. I wanted, practically needed to see you. I concentrated, squishing my eyes tightly and opening them. I thought I saw you in your driveway and rode closer to get a better look. It was just the wind wrestling with a plastic bag. I looked up and down the street. Every movement I saw, I hoped would belong to you.

In my gut, my feeling was-this was bad. When I heard the words, disappeared, gone, vanished, missing, not looking good, I knew something was not right.

I wanted to knock on your door and ask your parents if you happened to come home from school. If you hadn’t, I wanted to ask why they weren’t out looking for you. I chickened out. Instead, I was determined to find you myself. Starting my bike with a new purpose, I peddled down your street and turned up the next. I was going to check all the back paths and as many streets and places I could think of until it got dark. I chose to ignore how chilly it was. What if you were somewhere close and just couldn’t make it home? What if I could find you before this thing got too bad?

I drove my bike all over the neighborhood until the hurt in my legs nearly matched the hurt in my heart. Finally, giving up for the night, I coasted into my driveway. I promised myself I would look for you every day after school until I found you.

***

I peddled up to your house. It occurred to me you were missing for two days already. The chill of the winter air seemed colder as each day passed. A shiver ran through me as I stopped at the end of your driveway and my feet dragged on the ground, skidding to a stop. I pitched forward with a jerk. Noticing for the first time my shoelace was untied I bent down and tried to reach my foot. The bar on my bike stopped me, and losing my balance, I toppled over, my bike crashing down on top of me.

What if there had been an accident? What if you were alone, cold, scared, and hurt? Maybe you tumbled down the steepest part of the hill by the lake. Were you at the bottom of the hill in a tangled heap, with a broken leg? With an injury like that, would you be able to get up the hill and make your way home? Probably not.

Forgetting to tie my sneaker while I was sprawled on the pavement, I righted my bike and took off for the lake. Passing houses, cars, and cycling past the school, I ignored my surroundings. I made it to the lake in what was probably record time.

I looked down over the hill and confirmed my worst fears. It was steeper than I had remembered. I looked down over the lake, my mind was shouting for me to pay attention to some detail I was overlooking. Getting off my bike, I ignored my inner voice like a pro. I let my bike crash to the ground, snapping twigs in the process.

I tied my shoe and mentally saw myself struggle down the hill. I knew by looking, making it down to the water would be risky, and I promised myself I’d stop if it got the least bit dangerous.

I was creeped out by every noise, big and small. I planned each stop carefully and moved my feet slowly. It wasn’t long before I found the hill was too steep and it was nearly impossible for me to keep going.

No, you could not have come this way. Not without a struggle, not without wanting to turn back. My last sure foot fell in front of me and I stopped. The hill dropped off, just as if someone had hacked away a chunk. I looked down and goosebumps exploded all over my body. A fall from here could be bad, deadly even. I looked around. Nothing. I was relieved you weren’t down there. My foot skidded on a few rocks and moved me closer to the dropoff. Rocks tumbled over the edge. I had to steady my breathing and myself. Knowing you were not here, there was no need for me to stay. That voice inside my head was commanding my attention but I calmly ignored it. I had important things to do. Such as climbing this hill, getting on my bike, and cycling home. I knew I wouldn’t head straight home. I knew I would ride past your house again.

***

I was becoming obsessed with finding you. I couldn’t look for you yesterday because I was home from school sick. It stressed me out when I thought about losing a day of searching. The what-ifs turned over in my mind all day. What if I found you, but a day too late? What if nobody found you? What if I wasn’t supposed to find you? Maybe it was already too late.

Still not feeling right, I forced myself to go to school so I could look for you after. You were now gone for four days, without a sign or trace, without a reason. If you could go missing, any kid could, even me. I sure hoped that if I did, you’d look for me.

After school, I peddled my bike to your house. Not as many cars littered the street and crammed your driveway as before. Were people already giving up? Was I going to have to put more of my efforts into searching for you?

The side door of your house opened, interrupting my thoughts. Your mother ambled out, her hair in disarray. Her eyes were dark, and her movements slow. She looked up at me and I knew you were still out there somewhere.

She practically dared me to keep looking at her. It made me uneasy and I plopped on the seat of my bike and took off. I rode around the neighborhood feeling helpless. What could I do? I was just a kid in grade six. What could any of us do? Damn it, where were you? Angrily, I stomped on my peddle, willing my bike to go faster.

Flakes of snow pelted my face as I found myself riding past your house again. Your mom was still outside, and her stare went through me like an ax digging a fishing hole in the ice.

Runaway.

I took off down the street, my cheeks burning as if Grandma Jones had just pinched them for all she was worth, before telling me how much I’d grown. Did you run away? I mean, could you have? If you did run away, how long had you been planning it? Why? Did your mom’s stare dig holes in you too? Was your dad mean to you? Were you sick of all the rules kids our age have? I guess we have all thought about running away.

A car horn honked, causing me to look up. I had stopped peddling and was standing beside my bike at the school playground.

The last place anyone remembered seeing you, the teacher had said.

Somehow, I felt you just then, saw you even. Though I knew it was impossible, there you were swinging upside down on the monkey bars. I remembered your red shirt and faded blue jeans. I walked toward the bars to get a closer look at you. Freckles splotched your face in a way that was familiar to me. Your blonde hair fell away from your head when you swung upside down. We made eye contact and I opened my mouth to call out your name, ditching my bike and running closer. You ran away as I approached. I reached my hand out to touch the spot where you had been. Cool air spread over my hand and up my arm. My breath caught in a tornado-like spasm of winter air.

I jumped on the monkey bars and spun upside down. I blinked and felt a rush of chilled air surround me. I closed my eyes and felt helpless, scared even. It was as if no one was coming for me, and I might die here. Pain ran up my leg and shot out through my arm. I wanted sleep to take over me. I relaxed my grip a bit. A tingle ran through my toes, which I tried to ignore. The world around me was moving slowly as if it were underwater. I was seeing things through your eyes. It struck me how cold my eyeballs felt, how hot my chest was, and how tight my skin was.

I opened my eyes, not wanting to see and feel those things anymore. I let go of the bars and fell, landing on my feet. My hands were burning. Next time, I’d make sure to wear my mittens. January was too cold to be without winter clothing. I sure hope you were wearing your winter gear when you…otherwise…

I got on my bike, more sure than ever you were alive. I felt you. Why did you have to go? Why did you run away from me just now?

***

The next day I found myself at the playground after school. I waited until the last of the kids had gone home. Something that, for some reason, you hadn’t done, or couldn’t do.

It might be silly, but instead of searching for you straight off, I decided to go back to the last spot anyone had seen you and look for a sign, or a clue.

I played in the gravel beneath the monkey bars, scooping and feeling my way through. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but if you dropped something, I sure as heck wanted to find it. It wasn’t long before I gave up. I mounted the bars and hung upside down; as I’d seen you do so many times.

You needed to show me a sign, anything. I stretched to look at the blue January sky. We’d had flurries on Christmas Eve and a few times since. Now though, not even a centimeter blanketed us in the innocence of snow.

To tell you the truth, I no longer felt innocent. You left without a reason, without a goodbye, and since then you became a mystery, and our lives changed. News cameras, searchers, speculators, parents with their hushed voices, and teachers with their brave faces, stole the rest of our innocence. Wherever you are, I hope you still have yours. That anyone could disappear makes me think it’s a bad world we live in. That you have disappeared confirms it’s a terrible world we live in. A world where kids don’t always go home when it gets dark outside, and a world where parents don’t always get to wrap their arms around their children, is not a world of innocence.

I cried for the first time since you left. I was slowly letting bad thoughts come without stopping them. A chill made of more than the January air spread all over. I closed my eyes.

Open your eyes. (Your voice echoing in my head.)

Tell me where you are. Please.

I opened my eyes. Something shiny caught my attention and I looked down. Something lay buried in the gravel. My digging must have uncovered just enough to catch my attention.

I dropped from the bars and bent down to grab whatever it was. It was buried just enough that I had to wiggle it free.

A broken red wristwatch. I noticed the hands were stuck on the twelve and eight. I turned the watch over. Nothing on the back. Red was your favorite color. I tried to think back to the last time I saw you. The day before you went missing. Were you wearing this?

***

I could see myself walking into the police station and demanding to see the lead investigator on your case. That’s what people on television did. I might say I have what could be key evidence in your disappearance. The cop would throw his head back and laugh, running fingers through an imaginary head of unruly hair.

“You have what you think is key evidence, little girl?” he’d say with a chuckle.

“Please,” I’d nearly beg.

“So what you’re saying is you, and what grade are you in?” he’d ask with a pause.

“Six,” I’d just barely get out, losing my confidence in the jungle of his laughter.

“That makes you, what, twelve?”

“In March,” I’d correct him.

“So, you’re saying a twelve-year-old, oh, correction, not till March. You’re telling me that an eleven-year-old out-investigated the police, uncovering key evidence. Our combined seventy-two years on the force, investigating cases such as this don’t stack up to your eleven years of, let me guess, playing with dollies.”

Reddened in the face, I’d turn to leave.

“Hold up little girl. Show me what you have. What kind of investigator would I be, if I didn’t see your ‘evidence’?” He’d put imaginary quotation marks around that last word.

I’d pull the broken watch, your broken watch, from my pocket, and hand it to the cop.

“That’s all you got, kid?” he’d ask, eyeing the watch and puffing out an exaggerated mouthful of exasperated air.

“Where’d you find this?” he’d ask, faking an interest in it.

“At school, under the...the uh monkey bars.”

“Oh well then, you cracked the case,” he’d say sarcastically.

“How many kids go to your school?” he’d ask.

I’d shrug. I had never counted.

“This could belong to any one of them. Go on, get out of here,” he’d say and motion to the door, leaving me feeling as tiny as a clogged pore on my sister's unwashed and hormonal-filled face.

Though this might be evidence, something the police just might want to get their hands on, I couldn’t just walk into the police station with it.

Did this watch stop when you were taken? Did the strap break when someone grabbed you and did you step on the watch as you tried to get away? The time seemed to fit. I stuffed the watch in my pocket and instead of going home; I walked to your house. I stood in your driveway, waiting because I was too scared to ring your doorbell. I planned to ask the next person who came out or got home if this was your watch. I waited as long as I could before heading home. Nobody came or went.

I didn’t want to worry anyone, knowing the world we lived in wasn’t about flying kites, skipping rope, and blowing bubbles anymore. Now it was about kids who went missing, the teachers who tried to downplay it, and the cops who couldn’t solve it.

***

I slept with your watch under my pillow. I tossed and turned most of the night, feeling it there. A few times, I drifted off, only to be jolted awake by the phantom ticking I heard. Each time I turned my light on, reached under my pillow, pulled your watch out, and double-checked that it still kept the same time as when I found it.

In the morning, I woke up realizing something. That inner voice, the one I had been able to ignore at the lake, was commanding my attention once again. It was nagging me, searching my brain for a fact that had been there all along. A clue I had no trouble ignoring once, was now surfacing. Though it was winter, the lake hadn’t frozen over. Therefore, you may have gone to the lake and drowned.

That realization stuck with me all day. The question was, what would I do, armed with my new theory? One thing was for sure, I knew I had to check it out, look for myself.

The bell rang and without talking to anyone, I ran into the hallway. I was in a hurry to put my jacket and mittens on. I skipped putting my ski pants on, putting them in my backpack instead. I almost left without my hat. I was ready to go, and I wasn’t about to go home for my bike. I decided I had waited long enough and made my way straight to the lake.

I wasn't sure what I thought was at the lake, a clue, a sign, you. Whatever I thought was there, made me determined to go and find out.

I found myself at the same spot as before, looking down from the hill. A person sure could see a lot from here, almost the entire lake. My gaze swept across the lake to where the water rippled in weird patterns. I wasn't sure why those spots caught my attention. Not even the voice in my head knew why. My mitten-covered hand felt around in my pocket, grabbing your watch. I never left home without it now. I clung to the hope I would return it to you one day, and that you would need it once again. It never crossed my mind that your watch was broken and probably would never work again. It was yours and I wanted so badly to return it to you.

I’m not sure how long I stared at the lake, my mind flashed from imagining you were there; somewhere at the bottom to imagining you were somewhere else, a place where your fate was not so final. A place where a watch could be returned to you and it would mean something that I held onto it all this time, not for thanks, or a reward, but because it was the right thing to do. It was nice thinking that in this rotten, scary world, where children go missing, people still did the right thing sometimes. At least that’s what I thought. I took my hand off your watch but kept it in my pocket.

A ripple in the water caught my attention. It was bigger and deeper than the rest. I rushed in the direction of the lake, forgetting about the steep hill and the way it abruptly cut off. With my hand still in my pocket, I moved forward clumsily.

I believed that with everything in me, that ripple was a sign, a clue. You were there. I just knew it.

My foot hit something. I didn’t have time to look down. I went sailing through the air. I forced my hand free from my pocket, preparing to break my fall. I heard something roll off the hill and hit the ground below. A far-off noise, which barely registered with me, proved that whatever rolled off the hill dropped a great many feet below.

Sailing through the air, my mind posed frantic questions. Did you get hurt? Did you get lost? Did you run away? Did someone abduct you? Did you drown?

I hit the ground, breaking twigs with my back. Something else rolled off the side, hitting below with a distant thud. The steep hill caused me to slide further. My hands in my mittens were not able to grab a hold of anything. Despite my frantic pawing, I continued to slide closer to the drop-off, causing a landslide effect as rocks, pebbles, twigs, and dirt slid off the edge. It was nature’s way of warning every living thing below, something bigger was coming.

I felt my body slowing down and I clung to hope, though it was happening so fast, that I could stop myself from going over the edge. I grabbed onto a hearty-looking branch as I slid by. There was a moment where it held, and my skidding body nearly came to a complete stop. I sucked in a breath and tried to grab the branch with my other hand. I was almost there.

The branch snapped, sending me forward with just enough speed that my body went over the edge. Falling, my thoughts focused on one thing, that thing that happened to you…