A
A,
I don’t know what I’m saying, to be honest. I’m not saying things in order to lead up to something. I’m saying things in order to find out where I’m going.
I was supposed to be hanging out with Alexander now. But I couldn’t. I told him I wasn’t feeling well. When what I meant was that I’m feeling uneasy. Uncertain. Calling everything into question and wanting to bend it into the answer I want. I don’t think that in itself is love. But it can definitely be a side effect.
What the hell am I doing?
R
R,
I don’t want you to have to lie to Alexander. Or anyone.
A
A,
What’s the alternative, exactly? Telling the truth?
The only person I could possibly tell is Nathan. Remember Nathan? Basement party? Thought he was possessed by the devil? He found me. We talked. And even though he’s about as romantically clueless as you are, it’s incredible to be able to tell the truth out loud without setting off any alarms.
But I haven’t texted Nathan to tell him about all of this. He listened when I missed you, but I’m not sure if he’ll listen now that I’ve found you. I think he’d give me the same advice any friend would give if I could tell them what the story was. I can hear Rebecca’s voice in my head (remember Rebecca?): You got what you wanted. You got your apology. You know A’s alive. Don’t push it.
But I’m going to push it.
Where are you?
R
A
Day 6104
R,
Denver.
Specifically, at a debate tournament at Littleton High School, a little south of Denver.
More specifically, competing as Bernardo Garrido. Luckily, his category is Extemporaneous Speech.
Good morning.
A
A,
Good afternoon.
Denver is far. Very far.
And I can’t spend all day writing to you and thinking about what to write to you and wondering about what you’re doing. I can’t.
R
R,
What if I were closer?
A
A,
But you’re not.
R
R,
But what if I were?
A
X
I haven’t answered his phone. I haven’t checked his mail. I haven’t picked up his dry cleaning. I have been separating him as much as possible from his life.
But still, I’ve been careless.
I’m just back from a run, so I’m taking a shower. I don’t hear anyone come into the place. I don’t even sense something’s not right as I’m toweling off. It’s only after I’m out of the bathroom, heading to the bedroom in the guy’s silk robe, that I see her sitting in the den, waiting for me.
“Will you look at that?” she says. “You’re alive.”
Ex-wife or sister? I ask myself—her tone is one or the other.
Sister, the response comes.
She goes on. “Showering in the middle of the day? What a life you lead, Pat.”
“I was out for a run,” I explain.
“So I heard. Ran away from your office. Ran away from your friends. Even ran away from your reading group.”
“I have a reading group?”
“Yeah. You do. And just like Donna from your office, and Ralph and Jack and some other friends of yours, the woman in charge of your reading group—Elsa? Elisa?—called me to ask where you’d gotten to, and if you were okay. Said it wasn’t like you to skip, especially for a month when you chose the book.”
“What book did I choose?”
“That’s not my point, Pat. My point is that I’ve tried to call you, and I’ve tried to email you, and finally I had to come over here to see if you died in your sleep.”
“I didn’t.”
“A pity. If you were already dead, I wouldn’t feel such a pressing need to kill you.”
Her delivery’s good, and I almost laugh. But I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of a positive response.
“Now that you’ve seen proof that I’m alive, can you show yourself out?” I say instead. “I have things to do.”
“Like what? Is there a support group for people like you who want to disappear? Is it called Anonymous Anonymous?”
I go into my bedroom and close the door. I take my time putting on clothes. I know I’m not getting rid of her easily, but I can sure as hell make her wait.
I also try to grab hold of some of the memories he has left. This is his only sibling. Their parents are dead. She lives alone. It’s been a while since he’s seen her.
I take fifteen minutes before I go back to the den. She continues talking like it was only fifteen seconds.
“So are you in trouble? Is that it? If you are, you covered your tracks well, because nobody’s accusing you of anything besides disappearing. Although your friend from reading group did insinuate you may have skipped because you didn’t read the book, after forcing them all to read it. Heathen.”
Now I laugh, and she looks at me like she’s scored a point.
“I did read the book,” I say to her.
“And which book was it again?”
“The one with all the words.”
“That must’ve been hard for you.”
“Do you want me to get you something to drink?” I offer. “There’s plenty of rat poison under the sink.”
“Too much caffeine,” she replies.
I don’t want to be enjoying her company. I feel the urge to yank her out of the chair, dislocate her shoulder, push her down the front steps. I was just getting into my routine, and this is disrupting the routine. It is essential that I not have anyone else around.
She stands up. I notice she’s had her keys in her hand this whole time.
“Look,” she says, coming a little closer, “I don’t know if this is a life crisis or a religious epiphany or if you just woke up one morning and said, Fuck it, I want a new life. If that’s the case, hooray for you. But you still have to return the calls of the people who care about you. That’s Human Being 101. And while you were never a great student in that particular class, you always managed to pass.”