Missing

If she went missing, it would have broken me. If she hadn’t come home from school one day, and she hadn’t come home and she hadn’t come home. If it grew later into that night, and they hadn’t seen her and they hadn’t seen her. Panicked calls to neighbors, her friends she should have been with. Driving up and down and around streets, trying to see where she had gone off-course. More calls to the school, to more people, had anyone seen her?

It was mid- October, and I was in a show at the time. I would have come down from it, happy and bubbling with stories of what happened in the show. My mom would be sitting in the car, waiting to pick me up. Her face when I stepped into the car would have tipped me off that something was wrong. She would tell me that my best friend in the world had gone missing. I would have been in denial. No, no, she can’t be gone. She can’t. Then I would’ve broke down, right there in the parking lot, because what would I do without her?

I wouldn’t have come back to school. Eventually, maybe, but how can you wake up and try to focus on school when your best friend is missing and you can’t do anything about it? You can’t. I would have gone to her house, the second I was told she was missing. Whereisshewhereisshewhereisshe? I would have gone to her room, remembering the many many many times I had been there. Too many to count. People would start coming, more and more. Maybe she was just upset. Maybe she got lost. Maybe she’ll come home.

Days could’ve passed, and we wouldn't have seen her. Police would be in and out of the house, searching for clues on the missing girl. No one would be able to sleep, haunted with dreams of where she was. Who she was with. Why she was gone. How were we supposed to function without her?