When the World Gets Blurry

It’s ten o’clock on a sunny, summer Sunday morning. The sun is up and shining brightly through the closed kitchen window. I hate when the window’s closed during the summer, it’s always so stuffy. Today is no exception; in fact the room seems to be practically boiling. It’s so sticky and hot in the kitchen that I had to leave it, instead sitting on the last step of the staircase, hidden from my parents’ view by the small doorway that leads into the kitchen.

I glance at my phone; it’s ten-oh-four. My dad’s on the phone in the kitchen, my mom anxiously hanging over his shoulder. I watch quietly as he tries to shoo her away, but she just clutches onto him as if he’s her anchor.

“Yes? Hello?” My dad says into the phone.

There’s a short pause.

“I’m calling in a missing person’s report.” He says matter-of-factly.

There’s another pause.

“How long? I don’t know, we woke up this morning and she wasn’t here.”

The officer on the other end answers and my dad taps his fingers impatiently on the kitchen counter, absently trying to shrug my mother away from him. She holds on still, barely breathing as she listens in on what the officer is saying.

“Who? My daughter, one of my daughter’s is missing.” He replies. “Well don’t you think that if she left us a note I’d know where she was?”

He’s getting angry. It’s hot and it’s early, too hot and too early to have to talk to an officer about your missing daughter.

“No, I don’t know the procedure for filing a missing person’s report. I’ve never had the misfortune to have to talk to an officer before.” He snaps.

I wonder what the officer's saying.

My dad sighs, “She’s going to be eighteen in less than a month. I don’t see why that’s important, I just want to know-“

The officer must’ve cut my father off.

“Look you don’t know what you’re talking about-“

He stops mid-sentence again. I peek around the kitchen doorway to see that my mother has moved to the kitchen table where she’s sitting with her head in her arms. My father’s standing over the kitchen sink, gripping the counter hard, his face an ugly red, the vein in his neck throbbing.

“Listen here, I don’t give a shit if she’s almost of age, my daughter is somewhere out there on her own and you expect me to just wait around? You think she’s fine? I swear to God, when I find her if there is so much as one hair out of place on her head I will personally hunt you down and-“

It’s a pity he’s cut off for a third time. He’s really working himself up into a frenzy, and as long as your not on the receiving end of that frenzy, they’re usually pretty funny to watch.

“I’m not threatening you officer,” he says as calmly as he can. “I’m simply stating a fact.”

Once again there’s a short pause.

“Alright, alright,” he finally says, as if he’s now the one cutting the officer off. “I understand completely, no apologies needed. I just hope you have a nice day, and aren’t distracted by the fact that there is a seventeen year old girl lost somewhere out there missing her family. Have a nice day.”

And with that he slams the phone down into the dock. The kitchen goes quiet, and I feel myself holding my breath, listening hard. There’s no noise, no movement, and no voices. It’s completely and utterly silent. I peer into the kitchen to see my mom still sitting at the table, and my father bent over the sink. For a moment, there’s no movement, and then my father walks to my mom and sits down in the chair next to her and wraps his arm around her shoulders.

“It’ll be alright,” he says quietly, rubbing her shoulder.

There’s no response from my mother.

I look away.

The piece of paper in my pocket feels like it weights a ton. I pull out the crumbled ball, and unfold it to look at it. The words are slightly smudged, as if it had still been wet while Alaina had packed. I flip it over to look at the circles drawn on the map. There are five, though one is cut off at the edge. It makes me wonder if Alaina had meant for me to see the map, or if it had just been the first piece of paper she had seen when she had decided to leave a note. Either way, I know.

It’s ten past ten on a sunny, summer Sunday morning. My parents are in the kitchen worrying. I’m sitting on the stairs, and I know.

I know where to look for my sister.