Tightrope

26

THEN

WILL

I knocked on Becca's door three times, left for fifteen minutes, came back, and did the same.

I repeated that routine three times.

By the fourth time, I realized she wasn't going to answer the door.

I twisted the doorknob, hoping it would be open, although the hope was slowly slipping away as I realized Becca's parents never left the door open.

It was open this time, though.

I walked inside the apartment, "Becca? Are you here?" I asked.

I tried thinking about a reason why Becca wouldn't want to talk to me. We weren't in a fight. Yesterday afternoon I had to go home early from playing hockey with her, but she told me she would see me tomorrow.

It was already tomorrow.

I walked further into the apartment. Everything looked the same. The kitchen was still stocked and the living room looked the same. I walked into her room, and everything looked the same as well.

Almost the same.

All of her clothes were missing from her closet, as well as her toothbrush from the bathroom sink.

Had she gone on a last-minute vacation with her parents I didn't know about?

Had she told me she was going out of town and I simply couldn't remember?

Was that possible?

It wasn't. I remembered everything she said. I always did.

I walked into her parents' room to check their closet.

If only their clothes were still there...

But it was empty.

Not a single thing hanging from the hooks, and not a single thing folded into the drawers.

Their toothbrushes were missing, too.

An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach.

"There's a logical explanation for this," I whispered to myself. There had to be.

I practically ran out of the apartment and went back home.

She would be back, and so would her parents.

And she would explain the empty closets and missing toothbrushes.

It would be okay.

❈

"Dad, I'm telling you. Something's wrong, I can feel it." I followed my father around the apartment as he grabbed his stuff before leaving.

"Drop it, William."

"It's been two weeks, Dad. Becca wouldn't leave without telling me, something has to be wrong." I insisted.

"Why do you even care? Make new friends." My father rolled his eyes and continued dismissing my concerns.

It hurt, but being worried hurt more.

"Why do I even care? She's my best friend and I know when something's wrong." I said, feeling a little surprised my father was even engaging in the conversation.

"Get over it, William. Make new friends. She's gone, and if she didn't tell you it's because she doesn't care about you like you do about her." My father said, and left, closing the door behind him.

I stood in the living room, not being able to process his words.

They didn't make any sense.

I knew Becca felt the same way about me.