Gone, Gone, Gone(45)

“Are you worried about the flight?” I say. We haven’t flown in so long. But driving from New York to Maryland is, we discovered on the move, sort of a bitch. And not an endearing bitch like Craig.

She shakes her head.

My phone buzzes, and I check the number. Jack. I hit ignore. We’re boarding any minute, so I dig a pen out of my pocket and write CALL JACK on the inside of my arm.

“Look who’s so popular all of a sudden,” Michelle says. She’s still attacking her hand with her other hand.

I say, “You okay?”

“I want to get out of here. Like, now. Right now. I want to get the f*ck out of Washington, D.C., and back to New York.”

This is Maryland. “I know.”

She says, “We haven’t seen Mom together since . . . what, Christmas?”

“Yeah.”

Michelle doesn’t say anything else about that, and neither do I. She shivers and pulls her jacket around herself. Why do they make airports so cold?

I look out the window. It’s already dark, and we won’t land in New York until almost eleven. All the lights outside come from the flashing bulbs on airplane wings. They remind me of the candles we put in the windows during the holidays.

On the TV mounted to the wall, pretty news reporters are teaching us about Halloween safety without even mentioning there might be a rogue gunman still on the loose when the thirty-first rolls around, and then what are we going to do?

Every day I think, this is the day they’re going to catch him.

But maybe they never will. Maybe the shootings will just taper out until there are no more. Like Craig’s animals.

And we’ll never know, and that will always bother us, but it’ll be better than getting shot, or than living in fear of getting shot. Or will we always worry that one day he’s going to come back? It would be really nice to end this, officially. But I don’t know if real life works that way.

The more I think about it, the more I think that catching the guy sounds like some fairy tale I should have outgrown a long time ago.

My father said the two gas station shootings were the sniper saying f*ck you to the news reports. Those were why he suggested I disappear for a little while. I don’t think he’s afraid I’m going to get shot, but he’s a little scared I’m going to go crazy from worrying about it all the time. I don’t know why everyone assumes I’m going to go crazy at the drop of a hat. It’s not like I’m in therapy because I had a nervous breakdown over losing a toy. But I guess I haven’t been as zen about the sniper as I would have liked, or expected.

To be honest, I don’t even know how I feel anymore. Tired. Scared. Tired from being scared. Grateful to be getting away.

I miss Craig.

Michelle says, softly, “I had a dream about Theodore last night.”


I glance at her as the news report suddenly shifts. Someone’s been shot. Michelle says, “Shit.” I turn back and watch too, my fingers snapping shut around hers.

It was in Arlington, Virginia. That’s really close to D.C., but besides that, all I know is that there’s a huge army cemetery. JFK is there. The woman was an FBI agent, and she’s dead. I hope they bury her there.

God, what do I care if they bury her there? What will that fix?

Adelle would say, what are you really thinking?

Everyone in the terminal seems to have squished closer to each other since the news changed from Halloween to real monsters. One hundred heads cocked toward the screen, two hundred hands clutching a bag or a coat or a boarding pass or another person.

All because of one woman none of us knew.

One woman is not very many. Nine dead people, total, is not very many.

But my stomach hurts so hard.

Michelle gives my hand a pull. “We’re boarding,” she says. Her voice is shaking. “Come on.”

I call Craig before takeoff. Even though they haven’t made the announcement to turn off electronics yet, the flight attendant watches me, like she thinks I’m going to try to continue this call all the way to New York.

He says, “Lio?”

“Uh-huh.” Can he even hear me? I feel so quiet.

Michelle reads the crash instructions from the seat pocket. I’m in the window seat. She has some fat man next to her.

He says, “Lio, is everything okay?”

“Have you seen the news?”

I hear the click-whump of his TV. He sighs a little. “Sucks.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“It was in Arlington, Lio.”

“I know . . .”

“Oh, kid.” He breathes out. I kind of like when he does this. I love Crazy Craig, but I love Responsible Craig too. He says, “Don’t worry, okay? I’m in the basement with Casablanca, about to go searching some more because the sniper is far far far away. Are you okay? You sound way shaken up.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you in New York?”

“No, my plane’s about to take off.”

“I miss you.”

Something about the fact that he asked me if I was in New York, and I’m not in New York, and then he says he misses me even though I’m here, I’m just not here with him . . . I think I understand for the first time what it means to be in a relationship.