Finding Her

2//plans

The thing about plots and plans is that, they can only be created if there's any evidence. Or if someone or something wants to be found. However, if they choose to leave, willingly, with a set mind they make sure to leave behind no evidences. I wish Ria was Margo, I wish she had shown any sign, or left any evidence, but she didn't. Ria ate chocolate sundaes, she kissed her parent's cheeks the night before like any other night, she spun her little sister around, she baked cookies, and then she disappeared. She never prepared us for a time like this.

She never told me she'd leave me behind.

So I search. I search in the places she loved. Yet, she is not Margo, and I am not Quentin, and there are no clues. 

Until, we receive a letter, a month later. 

Dear Al,

I know you're probably angry, I know you hate me, and I know you will try to look for me, but I can't let you do that. I miss you more than I can express through a measly page of paper, and this 99 cent ink. You know that right? I really hope you do, because I have no way of knowing. 

Al, you don't understand right? Why I left? I can't tell that to you. Though, I can tell you, I'm perfectly fine, still getting used to everything. Don't be too worried alright? You get sick easily if you take too much stress. Well, this is weird isn't it? Not being able to ask you anything because I know you can't respond. 

I guess, I guess all I can do is hope, everything is okay. Hope, that you miss me, hope that you don't completely hate me.

Love,

Ree

That was it, no details on where she was no explanation. Just a few sentences that let me know she was alive. The only thing we got to know? She was using a cheap pen and a piece of paper, but that's not any information at all. 

However, maybe it was the whole idea of not-knowing that got to her, because two weeks later she sent another letter.

Dear Al,

Just send me a letter at the following address, and no, I won't be there so don't come looking.

1050 Frederick Street, Venice, CA, 90291

Only once.

Love,

Ree

Do you think I listened? Yes, and no. I sent a letter, but of course I went with it.

So here I am, in Venice, California in front of Lincoln Place Apartment Homes, waiting and watching for someone to come and get their mail, and enter this compact "mail room". Time passes and many people come, but Ria does not. 

I wait, and it's night. So I rent a cheap and disgusting motel with cigarette smells and stains, and wait for another day. On my Day 2 watch, a man asks me to leave, saying I'm looking suspicious and that he will call the cops. If only he knew. Maybe I should fight, no, I don't feel, my soul doesn't feel like Ria is here. So I nod, I apologise, and I leave.

I sat on the bus, my head constantly bumping with the window and giving me a headache. It keeps me awake, it makes me understand, I cannot rest without finding Ria. Ria can't rest without being found.

Ria. Got to find. Find. Ria. Her. Where? Evidence. Why? 

Before I know it the pain subsides and I fall into a slumber. 

I'm awoken by the light peering through the windows and the sign "Welcome to Virginia", and I know I have to get off, and catch a cab all the way home. I stare out the window into the wide parking lot of these cheap traveling buses, I see two girls, they're taking selfies, and then they peer down at one's phone eagerly. One makes a joke, or maybe both do, and they grab their stomachs laughing. The bus stops, I wait in line, it's not too long, nobody real travels at this time of the year.

Stepping out into the sunlight feels wrong, I look at the place where the two girls were standing only minutes ago, how fragile happiness was. How fragile the peace and identification of our souls was. I walk up to the side of the road where cabs are lined up, I go to the one that is closest, "Wyattwille".

"Hop on hottie." the middle aged man says eyeing the back of the cab.

"Watch that language, or I'll call the cops in charge of sexual harassment." I say rolling my eyes and stepping in. I'm much too lazy to look for other cabs, and off-season cab drivers rarely have a different personality. At least the cheap ones. 

"Sassy, I like it. How much for one  night sweetheart?" he asks setting his foot on the gas before I can have second thoughts. 

"Did you think that was an empty threat? Watch your language." Pedophiles. 

I close my eyes an rest my head against the window. Maybe it's the stress and the tiredness combined that lulls me to sleep so quick. Maybe it's destiny.

Though, if it is, then fuck destiny.