Qisha sits on the edge of her bed, phone in hand. The pounding in her chest plays loudly in her ears. Thump thump, thump thump. Squeezing her phone in frustration she calls out over and over again, “Can anyone hear me? Please, come back.” Thump thump, thump thump. Her quickly beating heart is all that breaks the silence. Just five minutes prior Penelope’s echo said good bye.
“Qisha, you shouldn’t rely on text messages. You should call. Call them, bother them, over and over. Connect. I miss you and I don’t want her to miss you too.”
“Pen, you miss me? Look, I don’t know if what you’re saying is for sure, but I’m not trying to sound thirsty. I’m sure they have their phones on them. They’ll get me back.”
Penelope’s echo wanders around the one bedroom apartment. She stops to admire the furniture, the art on the walls and the plants. No Qisha she has ever known has had nearly this many plants. There are stacks of coupons and mailings on an end table. There is a television set with a remote on the stand next to it. The coffee table is a bored out tree trunk with a clear glass top. The top rests on the rim of the trunk and easily removable to access its center which doubles as a storage space in this apartment.
“Qisha, it’s almost time. I can feel it. You should call her.”
“Stop saying that. She’s not going to answer. It would have to be one of those boys. They haven’t responded to the text yet, so why would they answer. Besides, she’s there out of the blue, if what you’re saying is true, and they are probably all freaking out. They’re not going to see the phone.”
“You really want to take that chance?”
“Penny is a big girl. It’s not up to me to save her. I am sure she will be fine.”
“Qisha, I don’t think you heard me before. They don’t poof. Well, they do because poof doesn’t mean anything, but they don’t teleport.”
“You sure, because she’s not here any more and she was a few minutes ago and sometimes she disappears into thin air. That sounds like teleporting to me.”
“Qisha, what I am trying to say is that it’s not just that. Listen, like, hear me. Truly hear me. If I disappear, all three of them will be gone from this world. They will move on to the next one.”
“What? Like they go to a new planet?”
“No, it’s not a new planet. Not like they are space people. It’s a different version of Earth. Usually it’s slight. Like, instead of Diego buying a grey sweater he bought a blue one. Instead of Penny going to that coffee shop on 3rd her whole life, she instead just went to that bakery that sells coffee on 25th. You know the one, with the scones.”
“I love that place. She hates scones.”
“Today she does. Tomorrow she might not. It’s usually that subtle. But sometimes, it can be pretty different. Like, maybe your mom had two kids. Maybe she had none.”
“What are you saying?”
“I am just saying that you are running out of time.”
The ambulance siren, which usually goes ignored, jars Qisha. Her frozen state of confusion, denial and regret breaks down just long enough for her to notice the blue and red lights flicker twice as the rescue vehicle screams down the road. She is flooded with memories of a childhood best friend and all of the emotions connected to her. The joy of time spent together during the summer. The excitement of riding the F then B trains for the first time by themselves to get from one of their houses to the other’s. The pit of sadness when she was taken from her. She hated herself for not being with her, for remembering a loss she never knew happened.
Her phone buzzes. The contact named “Babe” says simply,
Hey lover. Call me?
There is no one in her phone with that name. There has never been a “Babe” in her phone. She doesn’t like nicknames. Not in contacts. She opens the text message and sees a thread. A long thread. Scrolling up it is filled with sweet notes, emojis and photos. Some are lighthearted, some are more intimate. Most of them are of her and a man she doesn’t recognize, but she knows. She can’t place him.
I’m sorry. I’m having a day.
She is cautious to reveal too much as she is frustrated by her inability to recall who this person is. There are images in her mind she is struggling to recall, but she believes she knows him.
“What is his name? How do I know him?”
Oh noes! Want me to come over after work?
Um, thanks, but I think I need to be alone right now.
If that’s what you want, I support you. I am here, fall
into me if that’s what you need.
Are you being for real right now?
Of course.
I just need some time.
Today of all days. How could I forget. I am so sorry, my love.
Take all time you need. Okay? Just message me if you want to talk.
What are you talking about?
I didn’t mean to forget. I know how much she meant to you.
What are you saying?
Penelope. Your best friend. Today’s the anniversary. I let it slip my mind.
That’s today?
Babe, you don’t have to rub it in. I feel terrible.
I’m not rubbing it in. I am just a little caught up right now. I need some time.
Take all the time you need. All of it. I will be here when you’re ready.
Are you at your Abolo’s?
“Abuelo’s”
Yeah! Abuelo’s! Are you at his place?
I’m at my place.
So it’s your place now? Good, good. That means a lot.
I’ve lived here for my whole life.
I know. That’s how we met. Are you sure you’re okay?
Qisha puts the phone down and begins taking slow deep breaths. Something about all of this feels so familiar, but at the same time feels so foreign. Her abuelo has been dead for years. He died in a car accident when she was a kid. He, her abuela, Penelope and Qisha were all headed up to Boston for the day. He lost control and the car flipped. Everyone survived except her abuelo. Everyone survived except her abuelo and Penelope. Penelope had taken her seatbelt off to remove her jean jacket. It was too hot in the back seat of the family station wagon and the windows didn’t go down in back. She had been fanning herself with her teenie bopper magazine, but that wasn’t cutting it. Her abuelo heard the click and turned his head to scold the children. In that flash of a moment, a delivery van lane changed in front of their station wagon. The delivery van didn’t give much room for error and had to apply his brakes. Her abuela called out. When her abuelo turned back he swerved to avoid the delivery van, but couldn’t. He clipped the rear left bumper and careened into the grassy area between the different directions of traffic. The car fishtailed back and forth for a moment before the front bumper got caught on an incline. The car tumbled and rolled until it met a concrete pillar supporting a road that crossed over the highway. Penelope, unfastened from her safety belt, was ejected from the car and succumbed to her injuries while en route to the hospital in the ambulance that came for them almost an hour later.
Qisha sat silently. As her mind is reminded of what a broken heart feels, tears well in her eyes and when they have become too full, make their way down her cheeks. She grips her cell phone tightly taken back to that day. She held Penelope’s hand firmly and reminded her again and again of all the things they had planned for the summer. She told her to hold on. She pleaded and begged. Penelope held on as long as she could. She fought to breathe. Fought to stay awake, but her injuries were too severe.
“I want to see her. Will you come with me?”
Absolutely. Do you want to meet there, or would you like me to come get you.
“Let’s meet there. Do you know where you’re going?”
St. Mary’s in Queens, of course. Plot 41. I told you I would never forget again.
“Good. I’ll see you in an hour?”
<3 Love you.
A day full of shock and emotion can still find ways to surprise. Qisha stares angrily at her phone. The only person to whom she has ever confessed her love was Penelope. Their bond was tight. They shared dreams. They bickered over clothing styles, politics, vices, movies. They fought for each other. They protected one another. They truly loved each other. And now this boy sees fit to say what she had only ever allowed Penelope to say. He did so with such confidence. Such blatant disregard for her best friend.
“Love you too.”
“Aaaahh!!! What did I just do?”
Her heart pounding in her chest, she silently scolds herself. Shaking it off she gathers her things and speeds out the door to the B train. “What the fuck is even happening right now?”
The train seemed quiet today. The buskers seemed to pause as she came swiftly down the stairs and glided along the platforms. The sea of commuters parted as she made her way to her train. The bustling train became serene. She sat in her seat quietly amidst the advertisements for medical studies, warehouse parties, overseas travel and eateries. The only sounds she hears is a boy standing on a seat reading through all of the advertisements, starting with the travel poster. “There you are, on a train, and Here we are, across them all…” Retreating into the privacy of her thoughts, she closes her eyes, struggling to bring forth every memory she had of Penelope, whether young or old. Adult Penelope’s face became increasingly difficult to make out. The shape was there, but the fine lines that shaped her smile, formed her eyes, and traced her cheeks were now gone. Floating from the B to the F to her bus, she ignored everyone and everything around her. She let muscle memory take her from place to place until she found herself standing at the gate to St. Mary’s.
Building resolve in her heart and fortitude in her soul she ventured forward, along the narrow footpaths through the myriad of headstones, crosses, tiny mausoleums and aging floral arrangements that line the plots and the path. There are no indicators that tell you where you are or where you are going, so she continued to walk. She finds herself at a fork with three different paths. The cemetery is still. There is a light breeze that does little to interfere with the comfort of standing in silent reverie or somber remembrance. She looks along the right path, then the center and when she looks to the left she sees the silhouette of a man with a flower in his hand down the path whose eyes are fixed upon her. She is filled with a measure of comfort and slinks slightly into herself.
“Hey.”
He nods and motions for her to come.
“I’m sorry, Derren, today has just been a day.” She smiles to herself and whispers in her mind, “So that’s his name. ‘Darren.’ I’m so glad it came to me.” As she closes the space between them she sees a tall, stoic man. He is slender and well dressed. His hands are weather worn and he squints to fight off the bright light of the shop lights the grounds crew are using to illuminate a plot they have yet to fill shining from behind Qisha as she slowly walks toward him. He waits patiently for her to come and extends the flower as she approaches. “I saved you one. The others I already placed at her headstone.”
“That was sweet, thank you.”
“Do you want me to step away so you can have a minute?”
“No. Don’t go. Today I have dealt with so much and have done so alone. It will be nice to have you next to me.” Again she thinks to herself, “Girl, what the fuck are you saying? You don’t even know this boy. Look, just take a moment, say goodbye to this dead version of Penelope and see if you can find your way back to the one who was here like two hours ago.”
“Okay, Qisha. I wont. I’ll stay right here.”
“Thanks.”
She looks solemnly at the small headstone that simply reads, Penelope Resto.
“Oh Penny. I’m not done with you yet. Why did you have to leave? Why didn’t you come back. You warned me to not let you go and I didn’t listen. I’m so sorry for that. I’m so sorry. I love you, Pen. Good bye, little one. I hope to see you again soon.”