I whip around the house and find her
spare key, let myself in through the back door and call out her name as I mount
the stairs to the second floor where her bedroom is. There is no response. I
fear the worst. The door to her room creaks slowly under my touch. I crane my
head in, every second an eternity, as I will myself to search the room.
I’d like to believe that she is as
organized as I am. I tend to lead a very bohemian lifestyle. I try to only have
the few items I need and everything else is discarded. My usual rule is if I
haven’t seen an item in three years when I do come across it, I throw it away as
it was just taking up space. I can always get a new one if the need arises.
Her room is piles and piles of books
and clothes. Everywhere in the room is a general disaster. I really don’t want to go poking
through her items, but what if she’s near suffocating underneath one of these
mounds. I don’t know if it’s possible, but each buildup is certainly big enough
to contain her. I figure the best way to handle this is simple prodding with my
hand into each assortment, if I feel something that is other than clothes and
books, I’ll investigate further, otherwise move onto the next pile. Each mass
seems devoid of her, and I am relieved with each one I go through, but in the
back of my mind this does not help. The slipping in the shower theory rears its
head in my thoughts. I quickly abandon her bedroom and rush around the corner
to the bathroom.
The bathroom is empty and unused,
not a drop of water lingering on any part of the shower. A thought occurs to
me; perhaps she was at a party last night and hasn’t returned yet. So I grab my
cell phone out and start dialing furiously. Why hasn’t it occurred to me sooner
to try calling her? Oh right, I like to surprise people. I’ve always felt the
little things; the ones that make being with someone special are the unexpected
little surprises. The ones you think back on for years and years, the ones that
remind you that that person means the world to you. If they tell you they are
going to do something, I feel a bit of that is lost.
The phone rings and in an instant my
heart drops. From her bedroom I hear the sonorous sound of the ringtone she has
set for me. She never is without her phone. It has practically become a part of
her. Everyone that knows her will describe her as the girl in the corner on her
cell phone. I don’t know what to do. I panic. I run through the rest of the
house, looking in every nook and cranny. Nowhere. No signs of life anywhere.
I pull out my phone again and call
the only person I know to call when I have no idea what to do. My mother always
answers when I call, never fail. She always knows the exact thing to say to
calm me, all the way back to when I was a child. In fact, just hearing her
voice is enough to make me relax. The fifth ring goes by and I begin to worry
more. It ends up going to voicemail. This is not helping my current emotional
state.
-V-
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