Grease and Rust

The TV was on. I don't remember what was playing. Something loud. Danny had it on loud because he always had it on loud. Becky was in her room. I was at the kitchen table. The bottle was on the table. I don't remember when I started drinking.

I don't remember a lot of things.

The buzzer went off. Danny let her in. Samantha Miller. Eight years old. She lived in 4B. Her father worked at the gas station on the corner. He was nice. Kept to himself. Didn't bother anybody.

Samantha came into the kitchen. She looked at me. She looked at the bottle.

"Danny says we can play hide and seek," she said.

I should have said no. I should have said go home. I should have done a lot of things I didn't do.

"Fine," I said.

Danny told her the rules. She listened. She nodded. She was a serious kid. Like she was always thinking about something. Like she knew something the rest of us didn't.

"I'll count," Danny said. "Go hide."

They scattered. I heard footsteps. A door closing. Then silence.

I put my head down on the table. I closed my eyes. I don't know how long I was out. Could have been minutes. Could have been hours. Time does that when you're drinking. It stretches. It compresses. It does whatever it wants.

I woke up. The TV was still on. Danny was on the couch.

"Where's Samantha?"

He shrugged.

"Where's Becky?"

"Her room."

I got up. I went to Becky's room. She was there. Under the bed. Asleep.

"Samantha," I said. "Samantha Miller. Where is she?"

Becky opened her eyes. She looked at me. She didn't say anything.

I searched the apartment. The closets. The bathroom. Under the beds. The cabinets. The space behind the refrigerator. The fire escape.

Nothing.

"Danny. Where did Samantha go?"

"I don't know."

"Did she leave?"

"No."

"Did she go home?"

"No. Her dad isn't there."

I went to 4B. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. No answer. I went back to my apartment. I searched again.

Nothing.

Maybe she went outside. Maybe she went to the playground. Maybe she walked home. Maybe her father came and got her. Maybe none of that. Maybe all of that. I don't remember.

I sat at the kitchen table. I poured a drink. I poured another.

The buzzer rang. It was Mr. Miller. He was still in his work clothes. Oil on his hands. Smell of gas.

"Samantha," he said. "Is she here?"

I looked at him. I looked at my hands. I looked at the bottle.

"I don't know," I said.

He looked at me. He looked at the apartment. He looked at the bottle on the table.

"You've been drinking," he said.

"Yeah."

"You don't know where my daughter is?"

"No."

He didn't say anything. He turned around. He walked out.

I sat at the table. I poured another drink. I don't remember anything after that.

---

In the morning the sun came through the window. My head hurt. My mouth tasted like something died in it.

I got up. I went to Danny's room. He was asleep. I went to Becky's room. She was awake. She was sitting on the bed, looking at the wall.

"Have you seen Samantha?" I said.

She didn't answer.

"Becky. Samantha Miller. Have you seen her?"

She looked at me. Her eyes were empty. Like she was looking at something far away. Something I couldn't see.

"She's gone," Becky said. "She went somewhere."

"Where?"

Becky didn't answer. She went back to looking at the wall.

I searched the apartment again. I searched the building. The basement. The hallway. The roof. The abandoned factory next door.

Nothing.

The police came. They asked questions. They wrote things down. They looked at the bottle on the table. They looked at me.

"Where was your daughter when you started drinking?"

"I don't know."

"Where was she when you woke up?"

"I don't know."

"Do you often drink to the point of unconsciousness?"

"I don't know."

They left. They came back two days later. They had more questions. They had the same answers.

They never found Samantha Miller.

---

Sometimes I think I remember something. A door opening. A small figure in the hallway. The sound of footsteps going down the stairs. But when I try to hold on to it, it slips away. Like everything else. Like everything that matters.

I don't know what happened to Samantha Miller. I don't know if I looked hard enough. I don't know if I was awake enough. I don't know if I was there at all.

The bottle is still on the table. The sun still comes through the window. Becky still sits on her bed, looking at the wall. Danny still has the TV on loud.

Nothing changes. Nothing gets better. Nothing gets found.

The world keeps turning. People keep disappearing. And I keep sitting at this table, pouring drinks, waiting for something I can't remember and can't forget. --- OTMES: OTMES-v2-E9AD7D-102-M0-180-268I100-F451