When Rhiannon was in my life, everything was a rush. I think about driving to get coffee with her, driving to see her again, how scared I was that each day would be the last day she’d like me, and how excited I was when this didn’t prove to be true. I picture her kissing me hello, the welcome in her eyes.
I hear the scream as a hand grabs on to my shoulder and violently pulls me back. I realize that the scream was Danielle’s name, and the hand belongs to Hy, and the truck I was about to step in front of is honking as it pushes past. Hy is saying “Oh my God” over and over and one of Danielle’s other friends is saying “That was close” and a third friend is saying “Wow, I guess you really do need that coffee”—making a joke that nobody’s finding funny. Danielle’s heart is now, after the fact, pounding with fear.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I am so, so sorry.”
Hy tells me it’s alright, because she thinks I’m apologizing to her. But I’m not. I’m apologizing to Danielle once again.
I wasn’t paying attention.
I must always pay attention.
The other friends are calling Hy a hero. The light changes, and we cross the street. I’m still a little shaky. Hy puts her arm around me, tells me it’s okay. Everything’s fine.
“I’m buying your coffee,” I tell her.
She doesn’t argue with that.
* * *
—
The rest of the day, I stay present.
This is enough. Danielle’s friends and family don’t mind if she’s quiet, as long as they can feel she’s there. I listen to what they have to say. I try to store it away, and hope I’m storing it where Danielle will be able to find it. Hy thinks her crush on someone named France is getting out of control. Chaundra is inclined to agree. Holly is worried about her brother. Danielle’s mother is worried that her boss is on the way out. Danielle’s father is worried that the Broncos are going to screw up their season. Danielle’s sister is working on a project about lizards.
These people think Danielle is here. They think she is the one who is listening. I used to get satisfaction from playing my part well, never letting anyone realize I was, in fact, an actor. It didn’t occur to me that I would ever let anyone see beneath the act, that there would ever be someone who saw me as a me. Nobody did. Nobody until Rhiannon. Nobody since Rhiannon.
I am lost in here.
I am lost, and I can’t ignore the most dangerous question of all:
What if I want to be found?
A
Day 6076
I am woken one Saturday morning by a text:
On my way. You better be up.
I imagine that even when you sleep in the same bed night after night, in familiar sheets surrounded by familiar walls, there is still a profound dislocation at the moment of waking. You grasp first to figure out where you are, then reach for who you are. With me, this becomes confused. Where I am and who I am are essentially the same thing.
This morning I am Marco. I use his muscle memory to unlock his phone even as I’m figuring out his name. I am typing Just getting up. How long ’til you’re here? before I can figure out who Manny, the person I’m texting, is.
10 min. Didn’t you set your alarm? I told you to set your alarm!
Marco did not set his alarm. I never sleep through alarms.
Stop texting, I reply. Drive.
Shut up. At a light. Be ready in 9.
I try to wash away the mental fog in the shower, but I only get a partial clearing. Manny is Marco’s best friend. I can access memories of him from when he was tiny, so they must be lifelong friends. Today’s a big day for them—somehow I know it’s important to get up and get ready. But I’m not entirely sure why.
It’s 9:04—not that early. I can’t tell whether there are other people in the house, still asleep, or whether I’m the only one around. I don’t have time to check—I can see Manny’s car pulling up to the curb. He doesn’t honk. He just waits.
I wave through the window, find my wallet, and head out of my room, out the front door.
Manny laughs when I get in the car.
“What?” I ask.
“I swear to God, if you didn’t have me as your alarm, you’d miss your entire life. You got the money?”
Even though Marco’s wallet is in my pocket, I have a feeling the answer’s no. The mind is weird this way: Without knowing how much money is actually in the wallet, I know it’s not the amount Manny’s talking about.
“Shit,” I say.
Manny shakes his head. “I’m gonna start charging your parents for babysitting, you dumbass. Let’s try this again.”
“One sec,” I promise. Then I’m out of the car and back through the front door, which I forgot to lock behind me. When I get to Marco’s room, I’m momentarily stymied.
Where’s the money? I ask him.
And just like that, I know to look for the shoebox under the bed, where there’s a wad of cash waiting for me.
What’s this for? I ask again.
But this time, nada. Some personal facts are closer to the surface than others.
When I get back to the car, Manny pretends he’s been napping.
“I haven’t been gone that long,” I tell him.
“You, my friend, are lucky I worked an extra fifteen minutes of fuck-up time into the schedule. We’ve been waiting for months for this, man. Leave your dumbassery in the backyard, okay?”
Somehow Manny makes dumbassery a term of affection; he’s amused by my delays, not angered.
“So what have you been up to since the last time I saw you?” I ask. This is one of the many Careful Questions I have in my arsenal.
“Well, it’s been a fucking lonely ten hours, but somehow I made it through,” Manny replies. “I’m so excited for you to meet Heller after all the hype. The guy’s shit is for real, you know? I still can’t believe he’s doing us.”
“Unreal,” I say. “Completely unreal.”
“Ric’s gonna be floored. I mean, his cobra is the bomb, but what Heller’s gonna do to us is going to make that cobra look like a worm, amiright?”
“So right.”
I really need to get in the game here. Best friends are like family members when they talk—the shared-history shorthand is a beast for me to decode. I latch on where I can—in this case, I know Ric is Manny’s brother. And it isn’t much of a jump from there to recall the cobra tattoo on his arm, to know that’s what Manny is talking about. Which means, as I clue in, that Heller must be a tattoo artist. And Marco and Manny must be going for tattoos. Their first tattoos.