WHEN YOU CAN'T BE FOUND
It was just after lunch when your mother called us. Mum was frying the bacon so I answered the phone. She wanted to know if I had see you…you had disappeared. I didn’t worry then…you always did things like that…you’d just wander off, for no reason, you were different, but you always came back. I tried to tell your mum that but she was worried. She was afraid that this time you were never coming back.
I promised her that I would look for you. And I did…eventually. After I’d eaten my lunch and read the paper listened to music and had nothing else to do. I looked for you. I took my bike and I went to the hill. The first place I always look for you. It was a warm day and the sun glittered through the leafy evergreens. But you weren’t there…not even in the tree house. I started remembering when we used to sneak out and go and sleep in the tree house, and I knew I’d find you…someday.
I tried the channel next. I couldn’t ride up the hill, so I left the bike where we always parked them, under the willow tree. You used to tell me that we hid them there because the fairies in the tree protected them. And I wondered why those same fairies abandoned us that day when we needed them the most, on the day that our faith in them was purest. I called out your name as I climbed the hill…but you didn’t answer. I made my way across the footbridge and stood on the edge of the flowing channel and I remembered the blood…the blood mingling with the water. It came back to me from the depths of my memory, swimming before me, a macabre vision on a black backdrop. But you weren’t there.
I don’t think I was worried until after I tried the sound shell, and you weren’t there either. I started to remember little things you’d said and done. Secrets you’d whispered and blood you’d shed. And I remembered my promise as you lay on the cold cement on the floor of the empty channel. I told you…I promised you that you would be all right. Could I have lied?
When you can’t be found…I’ll come to you, you can always depend on me. How long ago was it that I said that? Two years? Three? Perhaps more, perhaps less. The memories are coming faster now, I don’t know where they’re from, or even if they’re mine. I cry out in pain as the blackness settles over my mind, peaceful and then the tears come, slowly at first and then faster, I can’t stop them. I can only wonder what I look like to people passing by.
You never cared…never cared what people thought…or maybe you did and that’s why you ran…that’s why you hid. Perhaps you cared too much. I was so certain that you were perfect Katie. So certain that you couldn’t possibly be real…be true. You seemed too complete for this world of change and uncertainty, of fear.
I never thought that you could be scared, and then I remember the look in your eyes that day. The blood and your eyes, staring ahead like always but with something new, something that wasn’t always there. Something that wasn’t there when we were little girls in fairy costumes. Little women, using lipstick for the first time or young ladies, taking our first tentative steps together into womanhood. Could that have been fear in your bright, brilliant eyes?
When was it that you got scared Katie? What scared you? And why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you cry and scream like I did? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you whisper to me? Was it because I took up too much of your time with my problems? Was it my fault? Please God don’t let it be my fault.
Was it me that crushed you? Whoever falls upon the stone will be cut to pieces, but whomever that stones falls upon, he will be crushed to death. What was your stone? Was it me…was it us? Or was it the expectations of a world that didn’t know you? Or…or Katie…was it you? Was it you who made that decision to run…to hide yourself away?
I don’t know how long it was audible for, because I’ve been crying, my sobs wracking my body, distorting my hearing. But then, somewhere in the distance, I can hear it, in the back of my mind, in the bottom of my heart, I can hear it. A beautiful voice, a voice that seems surreal. Talking…telling a story. Telling the only story I could ever want to hear. Telling your story Katie. About the girl, the beautiful girl who was born on a hot summer day. The girl who developed into the sweetest person I’ve ever known or could know. The girl that I loved. I know that the voice belongs to you Katie. It may not be yours, but you’re telling it what to say. And perhaps if I keep listening, it may tell me your story Katie. It may tell me your fears, why you cared…and maybe, perhaps that story will tell me where you went Katie.
THE END
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