[ THE VIBE: SOME POSTMAN BY THE PRESIDENTS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA ]
I'm stuck on some random road. How am I supposed to get out of here?
I work my way to an intersection at the end of the street, hoping to see a sign. I do - this street is called San Andrés Road. I still don't recognize any place in this area.
The only solution I can think of right now is finding another person and finding out if there's a bus that comes to this area or something. I doubt that will happen, though, because I'm convinced this place, Rosetown, is deserted. I haven't sensed any movement the whole time I've been here, other than Brian, Paul, and Paul's car.
I close my make-believe eyes and hope I get knocked out again or something. It's better than trying to find my way to somewhere I'm familiar with.
I open my eyes, praying I will see Walmart. Unfortunately, there is no Walmart.
But there is a house. My house.
I haven't even considered how my dad is doing. Is Brian going into my house at all, or does my dad think I just ran away? I decide there is only one way to find out. In the nick of time, my dad steps outside to retrieve a package. I'm able to slip into our home.
My dad inspects the package and shuts the front door behind him, then flips the package over to see who it's from. I watch him sit down at the kitchen table, sipping green tea, his favorite. As he begins to open the package, I study his face. For a fifty-year-old guy, my dad looks pretty great, if I do say so myself - but I'd never tell him. His ego would explode.
His black, greying hair is combed back nicely, and although I can't see it right now, his smile is amazing. He doesn't look so hot today, though. His eyes are surrounded by red, and it seems he's using his handkerchief often - it's planted on the table, disgustingly used. I assume Brain hasn't been visiting. It's bad he's so concerned for me, but I'm flattered.
He sucks on the inside of his cheek, still trying to find out what the package is. I walk over to him and peer over his shoulder, and the package reads:
FROM: SHIP DATE: 2019-04-15
John Doe WEIGHT: LIGHT
1293 Via Scala Street TRACKING #: 298731
Hampton, Virginia, USA
(434) - 123 - 4567
To: Gavin Wright
235 Knight Lane
Aubatt Valley, Virginia, USA
(757) - 902 - 0621
The package must be from Brian on Via Scala Street. You know, the guy who stole my body, then told me it isn't my business? If you've never heard of him, he's an asshole.
But what does he want with my dad?
After considering, I am positive these guys - Brain, Paul, whoever - are definitely not very intelligent. Who would use their actual address while sending a package when they're on the run or something?
My dad pops up from the table, traveling towards the kitchen drawer. I can tell he's getting scissors to open up the package. I feel myself tensing up, wondering if I actually want to see what's in there. I watch my dad take one blade of the sharp scissors, stick it through where the tape seals the package, and drag it down the length of the box. It seems about as big as a Kleenex box, so there must not be anything huge inside of it.
My dad opens up the flaps cautiously. I see him lick his lips and rub his throat, both of which he does when he's nervous, frightened, surprised, or even guilty. Not a good sign. He lifts a handwritten note out of the box, then other things I never thought I'd see again.
Not after the explosion.
I feel like I trip backwards as I see what Brain sent my dad - my phone. I haven't seen it since I lost my body, and I wonder what could be on it. I imagine scrolling through my notifications, reading "Drew, where are you?" and "Are you okay, Drew?"
But, when my dad opens my phone, there is nothing there. The only thing I can read is "Monday, November 19th, 2017." I gasp as I read the date - it has been over a month since I've been home.
There are no notifications on my phone. Nobody who's concerned for my well being, no new tweets from Kanye West. My dad doesn't seem shocked, for some reason. He continues to type in my password and open up my messaging app. I read some of the messages that seem to have already been opened:
Dad: Drew?
Dad: Drew, where are you?
Me: I'll be back soon.
I definitely did not send that. Brian must've - and it's very possible he's lying so my dad isn't heartbroken. I pray he's telling the truth. I want my body back.
My dad starts crying.
He weeps, putting his head in between his arms on the table. I've never seen him cry this hard, even after Mom left. I reciprocate his emotions, as a singular tear falls from my make-believe left eye. I use my "finger" to quickly swipe it away - I don't like crying, even if nobody can see me. I smile sympathetically towards my father.
I wish he knew I was there.
My dad lifts up his head, using his hand to remove his tears, but instead spreads them across his face. He sniffs and ignores how wet his face seems and proceeds to open the letter. He chooses to read it out loud, as he always says that it helps the information "sink in" more.
"Dear Dad," my dad reads, wiping his nose.
Breathing in deeply, my dad says, "I'm alive - I'm okay. The people in charge of me say that I will be back in a couple of months."
The note obviously looks nothing like my handwriting, but he doesn't pick up on it.
"They're feeding me here, letting me read books and study from home. I don't know why they kidnapped me in the first place, but I'm safe." His gravelly voice only makes me want to be a human again more. My father lets out a small smile.
"I'm not allowed to use my cell phone anymore, so they decided to send it back to you. You will use it more than I will."
"Sincerely, Drew." As my dad recites my name, his voice cracks. I try to avoid blinking so no water flows out of my eyes.
Why would anybody write "sincerely" in a letter to their father, of whom they dearly love and haven't seen for a month? And, speaking of which, I didn't write an "I love you" throughout the whole note. These guys are really bad liars.
I close my eyes and imagine running up to my dad with open arms. I dash as fast as I can towards him, as he looks me directly in the eyes with one of his killer smiles spread across his face. When I reach him, he wraps his arms around me as tight as he can, as I feel my shirt getting wet from his tears.
"I love you," he says.
But then I open my eyes, and all I see is my dad sitting at the table rereading the note over and over again.
"Letting me read books... I'm safe," he reads through sobs.
I don't want to be without a body anymore. I need my body back.
[ PS: VOTING AND COMMENTING CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS MUCH APPRECIATED! ]
YOU ARE READING
body-less
Mystery / Thrillerimagine finding yourself without a body. can't imagine it, can you? 16 year old drew can. he was pulled from his life - his family, his school, even his job at walmart - and is now bodiless. new chapter once or twice a week!
