This is the thing I was writing all weekend for a workshop in my creative writing class. My prose is super fucking flowery and chunky. The more I read it, the more I dislike it. I'm glad I wrote it, though. I had a lot of fun. It was supposed to be like 2000 words longer, with allusions to Minor Threat and borderline personality disorder, but I had to cut it for time, which is why this is probably going to seem unfinished. Hopefully it's still readable. Sorry if it sucks. Enjoy?
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The back of my phone was caked in sweat from the palm of my hand. I held it below my chin, my arm trembled under the weight it gained in the hours I held it up. I was on speaker with Mindy, who was sobbing.
"I just don't know what to do. I'm so worried about him." Mindy sniffled.
"We're all worried about him, too," I said. "We're all in this together, Mindy." I took a deep breath.
"Thanks for talking with me, guys. Seriously, thank you. Like, I know I'm probably, just – I don't know. I'm probably being really annoying right now. But you're all helping a lot."
"No, don't say that. Oliver is literally fucking missing." I splattered a few drops of spit on my phone. The screen was off from being on call with Mindy. The spit hardly botted out some of the oily smudges left by my fingertips, the streams of which swirled into each other like a still image of boiling black water. "This is a legitimately dangerous situation. You have every right to be upset right now. Again, we're worried, too."
Jonathan had his arms crossed as he stood behind the kitchen counter, nudging his breasts upward, warping the stripes of his orange-and-blue collared shirt. "We're with you all the way, Mindy."
Azalea looked up from the floor, sitting crisscross applesauce, swaying her toes back and forth against the grey shag carpet. She had a Dystopia - Human = Garbage hoodie on that was baggy on her. "Yeah, we're here for you," she said. She looked back down at some corner of the room.
I starred at the part of the kitchen counter with the photographs of Jonathan and his girlfriend, the one they took at graduation and one they took on some hike. I wasn't really looking at it. I just needed something to stare into while on the phone. I asked Mindy, "Don't take this as me not listening, but for the billionth time, you called the police already, right?"
"Yes, Tim. We just went through this," Mindy said.
"I know, I know. Just – you know me. Have you got ahold of your mom?"
"I tried, but obviously she was never getting back to me."
Jonathan began to pace around the kitchen, looking for something on the faux tile floor, the kitchen counter, and the corner by the front door where everyone left their shoes, coats, and backpacks. I moved out of his way into the living room, stepping over Azalea and sitting down on the couch. "I'm sorry," I said to Mindy.
"I wish you could know how much I hate her right now."
"I do," Azalea said. She didn't turn toward me to speak this time. She stopped prodding her toes on the carpet.
"I know. That's totally justified. This is the absolute worst time to be an absentee parent."
"Ugh, God," Azalea mumbled. Something about her saying this really drove home what she was trying to get across with her intentionally messy eyeshadow.
I jerked my head to give Azalea the stink-eye, but I stopped myself. I asked Mindy, "Has your dad said anything since the last time you spoke with him?"
"Uh, kind of." Mindy's voice became more distant as it sounded like she turned away from her phone to look at something else. "He's texted me a little bit since I called him. He's on his way over here now."
