I smile as the manager at the Weekly Shopper hands me an application form. She agrees to interview me on Friday. I thank her again and leave for home.
When I get home, my dad is watching the news intently, as if anything on Charlie will pop up. He gets more and more discouraged as the stories go on. We don't say a word to each other as I walk past him and into my room. My side of the space looks all wrong, particularly the boxes. I decide it's time to unpack my things. I discard my shoes by the door and get to work.
I dutifully place a cardboard box on my bed, it's heavier than I remember. Brushing it off, I stab a scissor blade through the tape and drag, tearing the seal.
When I do, thick red blood gushes from the opening.
It was like I had just stuck a scalpel into the chest of a human being. My eyes widen and I feel my heart sink. Slowly, I pull the blade out and hold it in the light. The metal glints, but it's covered mostly by red. My hand shakes, my fingertips stained. I drop the scissors to the floor and turn back to the bleeding inanimate object.
I slowly pick it up to place it back in the corner. But my hands shake so violently that the heavy box slips out of my grip and slams to the floor, landing hard on its side.
It's everywhere.
It looks like paint, splashed all over the wooden planks of the floor in a fan shape. Closest to my bed, red splatters stain my blankets. My shoes are crimson. The blood traveled so far on impact up the wall and almost touches the ceiling with it's tendrils. The blue bathroom tile has its fair share of red spots.
I feel myself hyperventilating as bile rises up my throat. Slowly, I pick up the box, which is still pooling blood, and quickly walk to place it in the corner. Then I grab towels from closet in the hallway and cover the floor. It doesn't help, as the blood soaks through the material quickly.
I step out of the room slowly and shut the door.
-
Henry's dad promised to call if he received any leads on Charlie's case.
There's been no call.
Not just regarding my sister. In fact, the line's been silent since her disappearance.
No more of Dad's long conversations with coworkers, none of Charlie's late night pizza orders, not even a wrong number caller. I'm convinced the line is dead.
I decide not to sleep in my room that night, instead laying blankets on the sofa. Dad doesn't notice.
He doesn't notice much anymore.
Later that night, I stir noodles in a cup fresh from the microwave. Dad comes in and opens the fridge, neither of us saying a word. Until he pulls out another beer. I glance at the clock that reads eleven forty five.
"It's getting late," I stare into my soup with an empty gaze. "You've had a lot already, yeah?" I see him turn to me in the corner of my eye. "What's that supposed to mean?" I regret saying anything as I close the microwave. "Nothing." I turn to start walking away.
"No, please Lorraine, you have the floor," He leans on the kitchen counter. I look down and shrug. "It's just, you've been drinking a lot these past few days," I look up at him for the first time. "I'm just worried about you." My dad scoffs. "Worried," He opens the beer and goes to take a drink. Not before he remarks, "Doesn't feel good does it?"
I set my soup down on the table and sigh. Here it is.
"You don't think I was worried that night?" You don't think I was worried when it was one in the morning and my daughter wasn't home yet?" All the guilt I had repressed comes back and I feel my ears get hot.
"You don't think I was worried when my other daughter left the house and now both of my children were out in the night?" His eyes are filled with an anger, one that I hadn't seen before. "Maybe you should be a little less worried about me and a little more concerned with spreading the news about your sister," he takes a drink and mutters under his breath, "It's the least you can do."
I blink away fresh tears, hoping he doesn't mean it. And yet knowing he does. He doesn't look at me again, instead stomping past me and saying, "I'm going to bed." Condescendingly adding, "Of course, if that's okay with you." I let tears fall from my eyes and storm past him onto the sofa where I throw my blanket over myself. I hear him let out a sigh and walk to his room. When I hear the door shut, that's when I lower the blankets.
Should have just kept my mouth shut. God dammit, Lorraine. Why can't you just keep your mouth shut?
-
The next morning I dread walking into my room. When I open the door, it's worse than I thought. In disgust, I lift the towels from the floor. The light, cotton towels are now stiff and maroon with dried blood. I quickly dispose of them in the washer and return to the room.
I can't tell which is worse, the metallic smell that lingers in the air or the large red stain that's soaked into the porous wood. Nonetheless, I proceed to wash up and get dressed.
The bus ride is quiet as always and when we arrive, I barely hear a small voice speak up.
"I hope you find your sister." I turn and meet the eyes of who it was. Sam. He'd never really acknowledged us, let alone spoken to us. I give him a smile and nod. "Thanks, me too."
I get off the bus and watch as it roars away, out of sight. I hate that stupid yellow death trap. I look to where Amy is usually parked and see the car isn't there. Late. Then I turn walk inside.
The same sad eyes stare at me when I walk through the hallway. I need a new friend. I need a friend, period. Not Henry, not a boyfriend. But someone to hang out with me. Just so I don't look and feel so stupid.
I open my locker and am confused to see a bloody fingerprint the back wall. Absentmindely, I smear it. My eyebrows furrow and I slam the locker without my books.
I pay for it later in class when Mr. Meriwether asks me to read a paragraph from the section we've been on. I sheepishly state that I don't have my book. When he demands a reason, I lie and say it's at home. With a disgruntled expression, he tells someone else to read. He gives me irritated looks the rest of the period.
Later that day, Greta pushes past me with a force so strong, I nearly stagger off my feet. I blame Henry for my foreign urge to rip her ponytail out. A girl I have phys ed with sees the fire in my eyes and promptly hurries away.
-
After Henry and the boys' skip day, they return to school Wednesday and much to my delight, Henry's feeling less irritated.
"Hey," He grabs me by the waist. "Look who decided to show," He smirks and lifts my chin with his index finger. "I'll make it up to you," he leans in to give me a kiss and I give him my cheek instead. He smirks and lets me go, keeping a hand in my back pocket.
When he does, he pulls out a piece of paper. "What's this?" Before I can turn to see what he's holding, he scoffs. "The grocery store?" I nod. "Yeah," I look over the half filled application with him. "I have an interview Friday,"
He shakes his head. "No you don't." I give him a confused glance. "What?"
"No girl of mine's about to work at the grocery store," he hands me the paper. I laugh dryly. "Are you kidding?" By the look on his face, I don't think he is. "And just what is wrong with the grocery store, Henry?" The boys look amused.
"There's nothing wrong with the grocery store, Lorraine." He leans against the car and holds my waist. "I just don't know why you need to work. I can get you money,"
"I don't want your stolen money! And I'm not working because I want to, I'm working cause my dad quit his job before the move and he's making no effort to get it back!"
Henry furrows his eyebrows and thinks for a minute. "I'll figure it out, okay?" I roll my eyes.
"Whatever, dude."
-
Wow! It's been such a long time! I'm so sorry being MIA for so long, but I just had such severe writer's block. Hopefully you stuck around and will continue on with me!
