Lost and Found - Chapters 10-13
Lost and Found - Chapters 11-13
Chapter 10
She woke up, wanting to stay under the blanket, but she forced herself to put her feet to the floor. With her notebook in her hand, she walked over to the desk. She had figured out the pattern, “If I write in my notebook, I don’t find any notes.” She looked sadly at her notebook, like a long lost friend, “I’m sorry. I’ve neglected you. I promise to write more later.” She placed the notebook aside.
And inside the desk, waiting as always was the paper and pen and a question, “What is your last memory of Anna?” A wave of unease crept over her as she processed the question. Her mother always told her that the more someone pushed her, the harder she fought back and that’s how she felt now...but she still wanted to write. She thought for a moment and remembered something she wrote in the notebook:
“Anna was convinced clouds were animals. Not shapes. Not “look, that cloud looks like a rabbit.” Actual animals.
She would say “That one is definitely a giraffe.”
“Anna, giraffes don’t fly.”
“Then explain why it’s in the sky!”
It wouldn't stop there... Anna kept it up:
“That’s a whale.”
“whales live in the ocean.”
“Cloud whales migrate.”
She wasn’t going to let me win the argument and would invent ridiculous facts:
“Cloud whales eat thunderstorms.”
“Cloud giraffes get tangled in rainbows.”
“That’s science.”
She would defend nonsense with such confidence that I would eventually stop arguing and just accept that cloud whales and cloud giraffes existed.”
The page received a hug and then gently was placed in the drawer. The desk groaned is if the joints of the desk protested, then let out a sharp crack. The drawer opened again fast, the page flew out. She barely caught it in the air.
Another blank page, another question. “How did you feel when you last saw Anna?”
Had it been a different day, a different moment, she might have broken down, but she was on full-fledged stubborn mode. “What gives you the right to ask? Who do you think you are? You want to play this game, fine!” She flipped through her notebook, “You’ll take this or you get nothing!” She wrote:
“We were lying in the backyard looking at clouds. Anna pointed up and said, “That cloud looks exactly like Grandma.” I stared for a long moment. I didn’t see it. “How?”
“The attitude.”
“Clouds have attitudes?”
“That one does.”
A few minutes later she pointed at another cloud. “That one’s you.”
I was almost afraid to ask, “Why?”
She laughed, “Because it can’t make up its mind what shape it wants to be.”
“Oh, funny you” I tickled her.
“And that’s me.”
“What is it?”
“A dragon.”
It looked suspiciously like a blob.
“That’s not a dragon.”
She sighed dramatically.
“You have no imagination.”
She folded the paper and firmly placed it along the side of a small drawer. “Take it or leave it. Today, I’m a dragon too.”
Chapter 11
She had a bad night. The desk was creaking and groaning, like it was going through old age life pains or had bad digestion. What made it worse was the scratches, either the mouse was back or the desk had fleas.
Tossing the blanket away, she got out and announced, “I’m going out!” She felt foolish after that and wondered, “Am I really going to battle with a desk?” Then laughed, “Anna would pick up a sword and start hacking away at it right now.”
A butterfly was in the room, oddly, because it usually only showed up at night. It hovered over her notebook. “Ah, thanks for the reminder!” and grabbed the notebook, the old notes, her cell phone and a pen. She flipped off the desk. “You can wait.” It was immature, she knew. But she also knew Anna would have approved. She walked out of the room, out of the apartment building and ran into the landlord.
“Where’s the closest place where I can get cell phone coverage? I need to make a phone call.”
“Grocery store is about 3-4 miles. Turn right at the corner and keep going. You can’t miss it.”
“Phone and food. Perfect.” She turned and followed the wall path. She thought about how she followed this same path when she saw Ellie running. “turn at the corner” and Ellie had. In that direction. She reached the corner and looked back. She couldn’t see the landlord any more. Actually, she couldn’t even see the house well, because of a row of trees. She could barely make out Mr. Holloway’s window. It was empty now.
“What was she doing? Where did she go?” A flutter by her ear. She almost hit the butterfly away, but thankfully missed it. The butterfly landed on the grass, very close to where she saw it before that night. This time she knelt down and inspected the area closely. She didn’t know what she would find. She pushed grass aside and saw something plastic.
She pulled away the dirt and grass carefully and held in her hand a ziplock bag.. with notes in it. “What a treasure!” she thought to herself. The desk wasn’t giving her paper or notes, as if she was being punished, like putting a child in the corner. “So there!” and stuck out her tongue towards the house. “Oh yes, I’m being mature. Whatever.” She laughed at her own conversation. She was almost giddy with the find and put the dirt and grass back and packed it down.
“Off to find food and phone coverage and a shady spot to read.”
It was more than 4 miles, but the walk and fresh air did her wonders. The stifling apartment had left her craving the open air, albeit there was no humidity today and that made a world of difference.
At the grocery store she picked up items small enough to fit in the refrigerator, a pack of pens, a turkey sandwich and chips... and checked her phone. “Yes! Finally I have coverage!” The owner of the store said there were tables and benches at the park, just a few steps away. “Thank you! That sounds perfect.”
One picnic table was shaded by an old Oak tree. Children laughed somewhere in the distance. A dog barked. The breeze stirred her hair. She picture Anna trying to climb the low limbs to the higher ones. She gave a soft, sad sigh and gave herself permission... to listen.
To the wind. To the leaves rustling... To the birds.. and then... to Anna’s recording.
Her hands trembled as she opened her phone. The message was still there. She had listened to it before. Hundreds of times, probably.
But never all the way through. Never without stopping it. Never without finding an excuse. The screen blurred. For a moment she considered putting the phone away.
She pressed play.
Anna’s voice filled the speaker.
“Hey, Sis.” Her breath caught immediately. Not a memory... not words from a book.. her voice, actual voice. Warm.. familiar... Alive.
“Okay, so apparently we’re doing the thing where we’re mad at each other now.” Anna gave a short laugh...”You’re ridiculous, by the way.”
- Tears started falling down her cheeks.
There was a slight pause from Anna, then she continued, “And I’m still right.” Another pause.
“Fine. Maybe we’re both ridiculous.” The sound of turn signal clicking in the background.
- She covered her mouth. The sound hurt. She had forgotten how much she missed her sister’s voice.
“I know you’re note answering because you’re stubborn. And honestly? I’m stubborn too, so this could go on forever.” A sigh.
“I don’t want it to.” The silence stretched a moment.
“I hate fighting with you.” Soft laughter.
“I just saw a dog hanging its entire head out of a truck window and it reminded me of George.” Another pause.
“The cat, not the dog. See? This is why I need you around. You keep track of the important details.” The smile fades from her voice.
- A broken laugh escapes her after hearing her sister talk about the cat. A wet, ugly laugh that turned into a sob halfway through. “You idiot,” she whispered. Another laugh escaped. Then another. Until she was crying and laughing and had to pause the message because the hiccups had started.
“Anyway... call me when you’re done being mad.” Longer pause.
“And sis...”
The next words come out more quietly.
“I love you.”
Another pause.
“I always will.”
The beep was horrible, the end. She wanted more. Prayed for more, but she had this and she replayed it. People at the park walked by her and stared. She didn’t care.
For years she had carried one memory above all others about her sister.. the argument.. the unanswered call.. the guilt.. what if she had answered.. what if she could have prevented the car accident that took her sister’s life?
But this voice... she had allowed herself to listen all the way through and replayed it three times... this voice.. there wasn’t anger. There wasn’t blame. It wasn’t a goodbye. This was Anna. Just Anna. Stubborn and funny and trying to make peace.
She played it a fourth time and closed her eyes.
She played it a fifth time, she mouthed the words along with Anna.
The sixth time another wave of tears so hard her shoulders shook.
Years of grief poured out of her. Years of anger. Years of guilt. Years of wishing she could go back and answer the phone. Years of refusing to really listen to the message and hear the love.
The sobs came harder. She bent her head forward until her forehead rested on the weathered picnic table. Deep. Violent. Uncontrolled. She cried until her chest hurt and her throat burned and the tears were mixed with snot.
A passerby had placed a napkin by her when she wasn’t looking. She didn’t bother to look around. She wiped her face, took a deep breath and caused the hiccups again.
The world looked different. Nothing had changed. The guilt was still there. The loss was still there. But the love was still there too.
A butterfly drifted past the table. Its wings were black. Missy watched it disappear into the sunlight. Then she pressed play one more time, not because she was afraid of forgetting, but because she wanted to remember the laughter and love. She understood.. to remember and keep the love, she had to suffer the loss.
More composed, with puffy eyes. She had to blink a couple of times, before she picked up the notes. She had almost forgotten about them until the butterfly visited.
Chapter 12
The hiccups had stopped, the tears had mostly stopped. The hurt had not. She wanted her sister back. The best she could do was to do that with memories.
That thought lead her to pick up the note. She recognized Billy’s handwriting but it was different, at a slant, written hard on the paper. He wrote:
“You asked what I fear.
I fear I am losing my sister.
Not to death or to illness.
To this place.
She sits in Mr. Holloway’s chair for hours now. Just rocking. Back and forth. Back and forth. She watches the courtyard and smiles at nothing.
Nothing bothers her anymore.
Nothing.
She doesn’t cry.
She doesn’t get angry.
She doesn’t laugh the way she used to either.
Not really.
I tell her stories and she smiles, because she knows she is supposed to smile.
I show her photographs and she studies them like they belong to strangers.
She says she feels better.
Everyone keeps saying that should make me happy.
Then why am I terrified?
She forgot Mother’s favorite flower.
She forgot the peach story.
Yesterday she forgot why we kept Charles the potato on her dresser.
She laughed when I reminded her, but it wasn’t the right laugh.
It sounded borrowed.
You ask what I fear.
I fear that one day she will look at me and not know why she loves me.
And I fear something even worse.
I fear she won’t care.
What did you do to her?”
A lump formed in her throat. She didn’t allow herself to think. She picked up the other note. It was from Ellie:
“Billy says I wrote these notes. I believe him. The handwriting is definitely mine. The stories sound like mine, but some of them feel distant now, as if they happened to another girl and I am reading her story.
I found a photograph today. Billy said it was my favorite. I smiled because I knew I was supposed to. Then I saw his face, the disappointment, not anger, just... heartbroken. I don’t know what I did wrong.
I saw Billy by the desk and I saw him writing. Afterwards he took a nap in a guest room and woke up still tired. But better, he said. Billy doesn’t seem worried about me anymore. Not the way he used to. He watches me the way people watch a candle when the flame starts getting smaller.
I asked him why he keeps looking at me like that. He wouldn’t answer. He just asked me if I remembered Mother’s voice. I didn’t. He cried, just a few tears. I wanted to comfort him. I knew I should feel something stronger than I did. That frightened me. For a little while today, I remembered Mother’s hands, the way she folded towels.
The way she tucked loose hair behind her ear. I cried and Billy smiled when he saw me crying. I asked him why. He said, “Because you’re still here.” I don’t understand what he means. But I think I almost do.
And that scares me more than not understanding.
If these pages helped me with my fears and if the forgetting is healing me..
Why does he look like he’s losing someone?
I don’t want him to hurt anymore. I don’t want him sitting beside me in that chair, watching me disappear one memory at a time.
Shouldn't I be enough? Why does it need more? Why does it keep asking?
And if it isn’t finished with me...
Please don’t take Billy too.
I know I am forgetting things. I know pieces of me are gone.
Sometimes I feel hollow inside. Like a house after the furniture has been moved out.
If there is only a shell of me left...
Then take the shell.
Leave Billy alone.”
With trembling hands, she turned over Ellie’s note and read:
Chapter 13
“Today I remembered Billy teaching me to whistle through a blade of grass. I couldn’t do it and laughed until my stomach hurt. For a moment, I remembered exactly who he was.
I grabbed Billy’s note that he wrote before the desk drawer shut completely. My hand was caught in the drawer and it wouldn’t budge. Billy had to pry my hand free.
I read his words while he took a nap.
I’m going to put our notes somewhere safe.
We have to find a way out.
If you’re reading this, do not share, do not give it what it asks for”
The message from her sister, the tears, the letters from brother and sister, it all haunted her as she walked back to Hawthorne. She tried to remember what all she shared with her own notes that she put in the drawer. What had she given up?
When she entered the building, she turned to the library. She needed a moment. She was afraid of going upstairs. The desk felt like a monster now. She saw the book she had picked up before, opened it to the page with the bride’s picture. She put that into her notebook.
Her plan of action was simple. She took a page from her notebook and wrote, “Leaving early. Keep the deposit. 3C”
It has memories of Anna. Terrified, she walked up the flights. She felt like throwing up. She didn’t look at the desk and went straight for the closet. She took out her suitcase and packed. Clothes, items she came with. And Billy and Ellie’s notes. And the wedding photograph. The pianist notes. Jasper’s story. Everything she can save.
Then she heard it.
The drawer clicked. Not gently. Not invitingly. Violently.
A page shot out. The drawer slammed open. Paper burst from the desk and reached across the room. She froze. One page fell at her feet. Slowly, she picked it up. Only six words were written across the page.
“What Is Your Last Memory Of Anna?”
Her stomach twisted. “No.”
The room creaked. The desk answered with a sharp crack. The words on the page darkened.
“WHAT IS YOUR LAST MEMORY OF ANNA”
“No.”
The paper trembled in her hand. For a moment, for a brief second, she almost gave it. Just one memory. One final memory. One memory wouldn’t hurt.
No, that’s what Ellie thought. That’s what Billy feared.
She walked to the desk. She picked up the pen. The wood beneath her hand felt strangely warm.
She wrote:
“My last memory is not yours.”
She gasped as the ink vanished and the paper shuddered. New words appeared, “SHARE”
The desk groaned. She gripped the pen harder.
“I know Anna loved me. I know I loved her. I know grief hurts because love remains. Love is not something to be removed. Love is not something to forget. You cannot have her.” Then she purposefully lined out everything she wrote, so dark that it could not be read. Leaving only “You cannot have her.”
The room went silent. For one beat, the desk did not respond.
Then every drawer opened. Every drawer.
The desk vomited notes upon notes and they blew around the room. Butterflies erupted from the desk.. from the cracks in the desk.
The apartment door opens. The landlord took one look. This time he wasn’t the calm, mysterious face. He looked frightened.
“What did you do?”
She replied, “I told the truth.”
“Missy. Leave. Now.”.
She didn’t need to be told twice.
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