Grease and Rust

The television was on. That was all I remembered. The television was on and the kids were running around and I was on the couch with a beer and then there was a girl missing.

Danny was nine. He was my kid. Becky was seven. She was my kid too. Samantha Miller was eight. She lived in the apartment down the hall. Her old man worked at the gas station on the corner. Miller. That was his name. I never remembered the first name. We talked about the weather. That was it.

The kids were playing. Hide and seek. Samantha came over because her mom was at work. That was what she said. Her mom was at work and she was bored. I said fine. Come in. Sit down. Watch television.

The television was on. ESPN. Basketball. I did not care about basketball. I did not care about anything. Two years since the plant closed. Two years of looking. Two years of nothing. You stop caring after a while. That is what happens.

I counted. Twenty. That was what Danny said. Twenty counts. That was the rule.

Danny hid. Becky hid. Samantha hid. I looked. Danny was under the bed. Becky was in the closet. Samantha was not anywhere.

I looked again. Under the bed. In the closet. Behind the curtain. In the bathroom. Nothing.

I went out into the hall. The building was quiet. Mrs. Patterson was not home. The Kowalskis were at work. The building was empty.

I went downstairs. The courtyard. The alley. The gas station on the corner. Nothing.

I went back upstairs. The kids were still there. Danny was on the couch. Becky was in the chair. Samantha was not with them.

"Where did Samantha go?"

"I don't know," Danny said.

"Did you see her?"

"She went to hide. That was it. She went to hide and then she was gone."

I went back out. I checked the building again. The basement. The roof. The fire escape. I went to the vacant apartment on the second floor. I went to the basement of the building next door. Nothing.

The television was still on when I came back. ESPN. Basketball. The score had changed. I did not know how long I had been gone.

Miller came at six. He stood in the doorway. He looked at me. He looked at the kids. He looked at the television.

"Where is Samantha?"

"She went to hide. I cannot find her."

Miller did not say anything. He looked at me. He looked at the apartment. He looked at the beer can on the table. He did not say anything for a long time.

I went with him. We searched the building. The courtyard. The alley. The vacant lot across the street. The store on the corner. Nothing.

The police came at eight. They asked questions. They wrote things down. They looked at the apartment. They looked at me.

"Where were you?"

"Here."

"Drinking?"

"A beer. Maybe two."

They looked at me. They looked at Danny. They looked at Becky. They did not say anything.

Three days later they found Samantha in the vacant lot. She was behind the garbage cans. She was asleep. She said she had been hiding. She said she was playing a game. She said she fell asleep.

Miller never spoke to me again. That was fine. I did not want to talk to him either. There was nothing to say. A kid disappeared. A kid was found. That was the story. Nothing more.

Danny does not play hide and seek anymore. Becky is quiet now. She used to talk all the time. She does not talk much anymore. That is how it goes. Kids remember things. They remember more than you think.

The television is still on sometimes. ESPN. Basketball. I watch it. I do not remember the games. I do not remember the scores. I remember the waiting. I remember the looking. I remember the silence.

That is what stays with you. Not the finding. The looking. The not knowing. The silence at the end.

I still live in the same apartment. Same building. Same city. Same nothing. The plant is still closed. The streets are still empty. The kids are still growing up too fast. And sometimes at night I hear footsteps in the hallway. I go to the door. I open it. No one is there.

That is how it goes. You wait. You look. You listen. And then the silence comes back. And you are alone again. That is all there is.

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