He wasn’t sure if he would ever be ok. And he was ok with that.
The tips got weirder. More specific.
At first he welcomed them, but as time went on, he began to wonder if he would be better off without them altogether.
What he didn’t know, was that things were about to get a lot more twisted.
Teeth rattling, legs burning. No time to look back. No place to go but forward. Forehead bullets falling, catching creases on a map only interested in leaving.
Feet going faster. Almost to the turn. Hands on knees, breathing, gasping. Horns honking, people stopping, lights turning, and then, silence.
And a voice… louder… close by, perhaps even inside.
‘Your time is up. Better run!’
“A hairbrush…?”
She was looking at the thing in his hand like it was made of material that doesn’t exist.
“A hairbrush…. Really. You’re going to go out there, dodging in and out of dangerous terrain, desperately clinging to life as it threatens to end all around you in a hundred different, equally-violent ways. How is a hairbrush going to help?”
There was a long pause. He looked down at the only thing in his hand, then back up to see her staring back at him. She puts her hands on her hips.
“I dunno.” He said finally. “I forgot my bow and arrow at home so I’m just gonna have to do my best with what I’ve got.”
He raised his weapon and began to comb with it, which made his hair look much better than before. She realized he was probably going to die out there.
Goodnight love. I love you so much. And I’m so sorry about everything. All of it. But we will be closer because of it. And I know that I will see you soon, in my dreams or in person. Just remember that I love you no matter what… and I can feel you no matter what. You’re my twin flame and you’re my partner for life. Sweet dreams. Dream about me- I know I will dream about you too. I always do. And someday when things are better and we are grown, we will find each other again, in this life or the next, and we will laugh at ourselves and everyone who tells us we’re no good. We aren’t. We are healing. Build together. Grow together. Work together. And we will be better. And everyone who thinks we can’t, they will all at first be jealous. And eventually they will understand. Or not. But eventually they will look at us and long for the very thing we already have. The thing we’ve worked on. But for now, we will stay far. Wonder what each other is doing. And ache for the next time that it is both of us there in that place. Because those days are coming, just as they’ve arrived before. And they are beautiful. So I will stay here.
If I count the ways I love you I run out of fingers fast
If I count the ways I love you I’m afraid they may not last
If I count the ways I love you All my moments will be spent Counting ways I love you Leading to regret
If I count the ways I love you Will they make you want to stay? If I count the ways I love you There’ll be nothing left to say
“In other news, police are still searching for local 36 year old Cherry Creek woman Mahta Holmgren, last seen wearing a blue parka and green joggers. Mahta told her family she was going to make the 15-minute walk to a friend’s house late Saturday night, as she often did. But she never got there. Authorities say anyone with leads should contact local police or send tips of Mahta’s whereabouts to-“
CLICK! Tom couldn’t listen any more. He was thinkinc about how she had texted him that night, the night she disappeared. ‘I’m lost’. He had taken it to mean something metaphysical at them time, but decided to ignore his instinct, and before he could stop himself, he was typing a response. It was 6pm and he knew she was headed to Lorelei’s house across the riverbanks, and instead he told her to follow the railroad tracks so she wouldn’t be lost anymore. He liked being the one with answers; he liked this more than he liked being right.
Mahta always hated when he beat around the bush, but Tom was officially done with what he perceived to be her insecurity shrouded in weakness. She wanted a break, so he gave her space. And now suddenly here she was again on his screen, like always, except this time, saying she’s lost. Did he hate that it was his ego that told him that she probably meant ‘lost without him’? It was too late to worry about that now.
The tea kettle started whistling from the other room. Tom hurried into the kitchen and removed the kettle from the stovetop.
He had just begun steeping two teabags of chamomile so he could sleep. He was now certain that he had no tips to give the police, and even if he did, he probably didn’t have the courage to follow through. It was just like she always told him. ‘You’re weak’ she’d say. ‘You need help’ she’d say. Tom decided the best revenge was silence…. Even if it came with the overwhelming repercussive fallout of apathetic inaction, which in her eyes was his specialty.
He dipped the tea bags up and down, up and down in the kettle, the way one does when one is anxious and impatient for the tea to be ready. As he was doing this, there was a knock knock knock at the door.
Tom walked out into the hallway. From the elongated, foggy glass side window, he saw the silhouette of someone standing on his front porch, a figure fading into the dim splash of street light in the background.
The figure leaned over again and knocked three more times. Tom advanced, finally unlocking the latch.
He opened the door.
It was a woman. She was wearing a blue parka and green joggers. Her hair was tousled, her face was bleeding, and her tears both old and new, created deep rivers of blurry, faded, dried blood and water streaking down swollen, hungry cheeks.
She looked up at him. ‘I did what you told me’ the woman said in a small, quivering voice. ‘I followed the railroad tracks.’
