FD #7- Draft
Title: The commission
It's not weird or odd, I think to myself, gnawing against the torn skin of my lips. These endless thoughts continue to loop endlessly as I stare at the screen of my phone. The pitch darkness of my room envelopes me in a nighttime cocoon. The brightness on my phone is at its lowest setting and somehow I also feel the same- dim, dark almost like I'm at my lowest setting. My stomach whispers this fact to me. Wrapped in my old throw blanket, I sat in bed, awake at what most likely was the middle of the night. And I ponder, thinking of things yet to come.
I ponder this dread. This senseless feeling of dread- why is it here? Why is it settling in my stomach, making its home as it curls and unfurling its tenacious tentacles in my consciousness. It whispers to me as though stating an obvious truth: Something is off. But I brush it aside. My fingers ignore it, even as my mind and lips ache from both my anxious thoughts and pressure of my fingertips against the screen. I press down upon the bright blue circle, a toggle on a messenger board. It's alerting me of my latest message from a stranger. Which although is odd to many, was a comfort to me. Its normal to me was that of- well normal. Or at least to me. Talking to strangers online could be almost compared to a person picking up a gallon of milk from the store at five in the morning- not exactly unheard of, not tacky weird either. It's just something not everybody does. I don't do this often. However I must say I have talked to strangers on this app a handful of times. Enough to remember their usernames as well as what they wanted of me. A drawing.
Meeting people who ask, "Can you draw my son's dog?" or "Could you update my profile picture?" are a normalcy. I once received a request for a secret anniversary gift from a girlfriend. But these commissions aren't what's making my stomach churn. In all honesty I don't know what caused this spur of thoughts. But my stomach churns. This bout of anxiety could be caused by many things. My mind will tell me it's because of this message I have yet to open. But the better half of my head says it's because I haven't slept for more than ten hours and have yet to have a sip of water. It makes sense. It all makes sense. The reason for being awake at this time, the reason to be on my phone when I should be sleeping. Doesn't this all just make sense- I can't help but scowl. I seriously need a lesson on living. This is the only thought I can think to myself as I press the blue dot. Blue like the sky, the type of sky a younger me would draw in elementary. The type of nonsensical blue that was just a little too bright and a little too obnoxious. My favorite color was blue. When did that change?
I open up the message, somehow I feel like that last girl in a horror movie. Not the type of last girl people are expecting to live because someone has to live to tell this tale or some bullshit like that. More like the last girl who everyone expects to die, or simply be killed off at the last moment because her last few moments are that of nothing really important to the plot. I never liked the last girl trope. I always found it better when the whole group was taken out together or at least the "last girl"in this case went out with another person or at least a friend. It seemed more merciful that way. But I can only seem to cling to this idea as I begin to read.
"Good evening. I hope this message finds you well, It seems your commissions are open. I wish to make a request, I am willing to pay no matter the price."
At the time, I didn't think much of it. I turned off my phone, rolled over, and pulled my blanket snug around my shoulders. My body relaxed—just like my legs, head, and eyes. Looking back now, I do find this commission a bit odd. Especially as I sketch the periodic symbols they requested the next morning, a thought lingers: how did they know it was nighttime when they messaged me? How typical of the last girl.
August 5th 2002
They said they would look into it. They said it would take some time but its been over four years now. Sometimes I stay away wondering if the search for Amanda has been brushed aside. Put it on the back-burner to be looked at when someone has extra time. No one has extra time, not even the police. I try To be reasonable. I attempted to make sense of my seemingly endless tears and the countless nightmares filled with thoughts of "what is and what isn't.". I try so very hard to remain calm when I walk up to the police station. And once again I remained "reasonable" under the eyes of the many women and men, husbands and wives waiting to be seen by the desk management. I feel their eyes on my frame. I feel their judgment curl around my frame and suffocate my diaphragm. They are missing their children, Paul Guerrero and Amy Schneider, they've both been missing for a couple months now. My Amanda has been lost for four years. Amanda would have been 28 years old. Amy was just turning 15 and Paul 18. I know their parents are scared. I can see it in their faces as I'm ushered out for the third time this week. I've been there before. But I can't manage to supply a single amount of empathy their way. No one can when their daughter has been missing for reasons even the police can find out. Did I do something?
October 30th 1999
Every Saturday night me and the gang would be up at our local diner "Vinny's". IT was small and oftentimes not very busy. But people like me, Tom and Whitney called it an essential in this town. We have been going here since high school. Of course there were others who joined us. Occasionally Kendrick would stop by after football on Fridays or as he would now come by after him and his wife were having an argument. Which was every Tuesday. Me and the gang ignored the fact that he was here because he was lonely. About three or four years ago Amanda would be here, sitting in her usual spot. She always sat on the counter stool closest to the window peering out at the highway. She was quiet though. Honestly, kinda boring. Its on days like these that I remember that she's gone. Whitney taps my shoulder often when I look at the spot. Her spot.
"Come on, she went missing a long time ago. Forget about it."
She smiles at me but I don't dare to look at her eyes. If I do, I fear she might know the truth. I have a secret, one that could easily be unveiled if I look at her. Or if she forces me to look at her. I feel bad for Amanda, I especially feel bad for her mother. The sad woman would continuously walk around carrying posters every resident has seen a hundred times. But I mostly feel terrible about the secret I have kept from Whitney.
"She probably just skipped town." they would say.
"They" were often just Whitney. She was a good friend and a great girlfriend. I wish I could say the same for myself.
"Maybe." I would say back. It was unconvincing.
So I knew it was only a matter of time before Whitney had to convince herself.
"She was a whore anyways." she takes a sip of her room temperature water. The waitress had been slow today "she slept with Tom when he was dating Rachel." she popped her lips as if they punctuated the statement further. "I mean, who does that?"
"Her mom was controlling" I add. There is a pregnant pause between us. "I know thats not a good reason to- do that but." as I say this I can only think of one thing. One horrible thing. This one thing that would not only tarnish both me and Whitney's relationship but the relationships with me and the whole town.
"Ya'know, she was probably the one to tempt him." I say, knowing she wasn't.
"She probably wanted attention." she hated attention.
"Amanda is probably settled down right now and married in another state." potentially but hard to believe. A lot of people guess she may have crossed the state to get to Wyoming. I don't believe that.
I speak lies to my girlfriend of seven years. Just like how Tom spokes lies to Rachel regarding his "date" with Amanda. Me and him were one in the same. The only difference is that only one of the two girlfriends that could have found out know. Tom is a whore. I am a whore but also worse. I'm a whore living a lie. A quiet one who continues to keep his lips sealed for a year about his relationship with the girl named Amanda.
December 23rd, 2004
Police officers point of view of the case "They turned the diner into a dollar store?" I ask my clients sister.
We were having a call over the phone as I stepped off the local bus to walk to my next appointment.
"Yes, shes been taking it quite hard ever since. She wont come out of her room."
"Yes. I can imagine."
Mrs Whitman has been my client for almost a decade now. I had been counseling her ever since the disappearance of her daughter. I was there before that disappearance and all I can say is that are
July 13th 1998
When I started working at "Vinny's" I was a dishwasher. I went up from there later becoming a bartender and waitress on the side when one of the other girls couldn't make it to their shift.
Today was hot, not unusual for July. we would open the window to let a raft pass through but it did little to cool the already humid room. My boss Morgan brought his own fan from home so he could be cooler when working in the kitchen. Everyone else in front of the house was forced to fend for themselves. I being one of the left behind found myself semi emaciated with a Popsicle. I carried it between my teeth as I took order and order. Amanda in her usual spot maintained constant commentary on my Popsicle even as I had only the stick to suck on.
"careful you'll get splinters" she said
I let out a sign filled giggle. The air quickly exited my nose as a smirk plastered itself to my face. Amanda was always here. Sometimes shed even does a couple odd jobs in the morning before heading to her own job. She always came in asking for something to do. The child only kept still when her toosh was on that stool. And even then her mouth ran, talking about any and everything. Her latest interest of topic was Germany.
"It beautiful. Truly." Amanda happily daydreams as I clear the a spot two stools down from hers.
"And you know this how?" I ask, raising a plucked eyebrow.
"Saw it in a book." she playfully batted her eyes "Cologne Cathedral is simply gorgeous."
"Well-" I wipe a spot of ketchup off the battered counter-top "Maybe you'll go one day."
She didn't speak for a long time after that. Its only something I noticed later that day when I was in bed, staring at the ceiling. So, I continued to clean until closing. Amanda stayed with me as well.
"Didn't you have work?" I playfully nudge at her shoulder as I pass by the opening to the opposite side of the counter. My hip opens the menial flapped doors, permitting me entry to the "employees side".
"No. called in sick."
"Dont look very sick to me." I laugh at my comment.
