I haven’t seen her in forty-eight hours.
Haven’t seen her. Haven’t talked to her. I don’t know where she is. I don’t know if she’s okay. I don’t know if she’s lost, in trouble, if she needs me. I’ve called her about a hundred times but she hasn’t picked up once.
It reminds me of the night when my parents died. I was at Ethan’s and didn’t get back until the early hours of morning. When I stepped through the door, I knew something was wrong. The silence was too thick. My dad was a noisy sleeper. He’d toss and turn and yes, sometimes snore. My mom hated that. She always said that he needed to go see a doctor for his snoring problem or she wouldn’t sleep next to him anymore. He never went and she never slept apart from him.
My phone was dead so I had to hunt down my charger before I could make any calls. No easy feat, that. Pixie calls me a slob for a reason. At last, I found it buried under my dirty laundry, which was in turn, under my bed. As soon as I powered my phone on, it blew up with messages and voicemails. I was afraid to open any of them. Somehow, I knew it was going to be bad news. The worst fucking news.
I’ve looked everywhere for Pixie, all the places I could think of. The restaurant she used to work at. The coffee shop by the apartment that she says has the best chocolate chip cookies. Jury’s still out on that. The nearby subway stations, like she’d be hanging around those smelly places, just waiting for me to find her.
Like a maniac, I show her picture to random people, asking if anyone has seen her. Most of them look at me like I’m crazy and move along. Some take a good look at her smiling face, ponder a bit, say no, and then move along. Others don’t even spare me a glance.
I get into a fight with one such person. I shove him and he shoves me back. We curse at each other. He’s a drunk and I look like I might be the same. A crowd gathers around us, as if my life’s a show to be enjoyed.
Assholes.
I walk away from the fight. Finding Pixie is more important. But after running around for hours, my legs give up and I stumble on the sidewalk, outside a laundromat. I try standing but it’s as if my entire body has given up.
Your body’s like a kingdom or something.
That’s because I make smart choices about what I put inside it.
She laughed. Maybe I need to make smart choices too. You know, about what I put inside my body.
I sit propped against the brick wall, her picture in my hands and the air smelling of detergent, making me realize how dirty and sweaty I smell myself. I lose the last battle with my body and a thick tear snakes down my pulsing cheek.
My fingers curl and I crush her photo. I hate her for doing this to me. I hate her for leaving me like my parents did. I throw the crushed photograph and it hits the trashcan before falling to the ground.
A minute later, I crawl to it, pick it up and smooth the wrinkled paper, pressing it to my chest.
***
“Oh my God, you lost my best friend,” Sky screams in my ear. “You fucking asshole. What did you do?”
When my phone rang a minute ago, I leapt to it, thinking it was Pixie. It wasn’t. It’s her menace of a best friend.
“You talked to her?” I sit up on the mattress in our room.
I don’t remember collapsing on it though. I only remember Ethan coming to get me from in front of the laundromat and taking me home. I realize I don’t thank the guy often. He gave me a home, a job. He lied for me and I haven’t shown him my appreciation.
“Yes. She called me and she was crying. What did you do to her?”
A breath whooshes out of me. It’s huge. It’s a gust of wind. Jesus Christ, she’s fine. She isn’t… gone. Even now, I can’t think of the ugly word: death.
“Where is she? Is she okay?”
“Well, if you call sobbing like a baby okay then yeah, she’s doing fabulous. And I have no clue where she is. She wouldn’t tell me. She also told me not to call you but I’m still doing it because I’m so mad at you,” she snaps. “So, what the fuck did you do? Did you say something to her about the treehouse? Because if you did then I’m gonna come up there and kick your ass.”
I want to distance the phone a few inches and grimace at her loud voice, but I grip it tighter at her words. “What about the treehouse?”
She goes silent for a few seconds before continuing, “You don’t know?”
I’m completely awake now. My body’s hurting like a motherfucker but I’ll survive. “What don’t I know?”
Sighing, she tells me, “Her dad. He burnt down the treehouse. He found more pictures of you and her and the day you guys left, he torched everything. They had a wake for her, Abel, telling everyone that she was dead to them. I didn’t wanna tell her but Jesus fucking Christ, she’s stubborn and I thought you guys were happy over there and that you’d, I don’t know, fuck her silly or something. But now she’s gone. Oh my God. I never should’ve told her. I’m an idiot. I’m such a –”
“When’d you tell her?”
“Uh, I don’t know, a couple of days ago. Look, I –”
I hang up on her.
Sky’s not the person I wanna talk to right now. I need to find Pixie. I have to. I have to talk to her, listen to her sweet voice. I need to dial her number but I’m almost crushing the phone in my hands. Any second now, it’s gonna break, shatter into a million pieces. I’m gonna smash it to dust with my bare hands.
I should stop. Phone’s my only hope right now. My only hope is that she might pick up my call and talk to me. My only hope is that she’ll let me comfort her.
Why didn’t she tell me?
Maybe she did. The night I was out, getting bored out of my mind without Pixie, she was drinking. She hardly ever drinks. She likes to think that she loves it, loves the bitter taste of it, but I notice her tiny grimaces. It makes me smile every time she acts badass.
It’s you and me against the world. I know that now.
Jesus. Fuck. She tried to tell me and I was busy fucking into her. I was too drenched in lust, in my need for her.
I should really stop now. It’s not really the phone I wanna destroy, it’s them: her fucking parents. They have no idea what death is. They have no idea how it feels when someone you love is gone. You can’t reach for them. You can’t touch them. You know in your heart, in your very bones that they are no more. They don’t exist. Where you saw their faces, their smiles, there’s only a void. You see the casket. You see their closed eyes. You see that their chest is not moving. Their body is lying useless.
That’s what death is. It’s black. A vacuum, without body, without substance. Without breaths.
I should dial her number and fucking pray to God that she picks up. But I never learned how to pray. My mom wanted me to but I’m like Dad. He never believed in God either.
Maybe there’s a God, Abel, but I don’t believe in Him. I only believe in myself.
Somehow, I uncurl my fingers and call Pixie. Of course, she doesn’t pick up. It hurts. It fucking hurts but right now, I need her to know that I’m here for her. So, I leave her a message. “Pixie, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. About the treehouse. About everything. I’m not… I’m not good with words like you are. I’d rather hold you, kiss your tears away. I’d rather cover you with my body so nothing can get to you. But I guess I can’t do that right now, huh,” I whisper, my eyes stinging. “I fucking hate this. I hate what they did. Hate that it’s hurting you and I’m not there to comfort you like you deserve. But, baby, you need to talk to me. Gimme a chance to make it right. I’ll make it right for you. I’ll fucking burn them down. I’ll burn that entire place down, if you want. Just come back, Pixie. Please, come back.”
For the first time in forty-eight hours, I wonder if I’m speaking into a void.