May Is Gone

Her eyes were blue with green specks- like the sea. Her hair was brown, her skin, like milk chocolate on a summer day, melting into the most beautiful shade. Her skin was smooth when we held hands as little girls. Mine was rough, callused from my already all consuming obsession with my guitar. I have gray eyes. May always said they looked like the cloudy sky. And if May said so, of course I agreed.

May left in May. It seems poetic now. She left, her bag on her shoulder, the bag with the cat pin that I gave her when we were five. "I'm off to find myself," she said, "I'm off to be free." I nodded. I didn't understand why she had to find herself- she was right there. So I waved silently as she walked toward the bus station. I haven't seen her since.

August came quietly, as everything came without May there. June and July were filled with Popsicles, babysitting, and summer reading. And camp. Ma signed me up for camp, and I left, and I felt happy for the first time since she left. I was fourteen, and ready for all the dreams May and I had about high school. I kissed a boy at camp, his name was Michael. May loved that name, wanted to name her baby that. I want to name mine Will. Micheal and I exchanged numbers, but I haven't sent him anything in the week I've been back. Ma would see- she checks my messages. I hope he doesn't forget me.

August. The fourth day. Now. School starts in one week. Will May be back? I wonder where she went.

Andre is sixteen- a soon to be sophomore. He buys school supplies in all blue, which Ma thought was a suitable color. He didn’t care what color they were. All he wants is to go smoke with his friends, but I won’t tell Ma that unless I’m craving a beat down from my six foot two brother. I bought all my supplies in purple. I’m in high school now. No more sequins, or kitty cat pencils, or anything labeled babyish. Now I have simple supplies. And a gold pencil, ‘cause Ma said I needed some flair. She’s right. I like gold. Maybe I can start a club- the gold pencil club. We can wear gold tops too. We’ll be the envy of the school for our style. 

May and I loved to daydream impossible things. 

May’s house was twenty minutes from mine, if I walked quickly. So, with my new black boots on my feet, I walked briskly toward my best friend’s home. Her little house, the one that held her and her three brothers, was dark. The white lace curtains were drawn, the lace torn in some places. The mat outside her house was worn. It read: W l  me  o ou  hom. I wiped my feet on it, the years of dirt flying into the air in swirling, dusty clouds. 

I raised my hand to knock, even though no one was home. I wanted to knock. So I did. And the old, worn out door opened.

As I stared into the entryway, I realized this was the most I’d seen of May’s house. It was dirty. It was dark. But it called me with every gust of wind that blew inside the house and made whisper sounds. My feet lead me inside, past the entryway, to the tiny living room. The living room had three beds- Johnny, Ricky, Sam. One box held a few tattered stuffed animals. Clothes were tossed every which way. A solitary toy truck laid on the floor. A layer of dust coated everything. No one had been here for a long time. I walked to the right, where another small room was located. One bed, with two blankets strewn across it, and two boxes. One had dirty, nasty clothes in it. One had folded up articles of clothing. Clean clothing. My clothing. 

May loved my clothes, always begging to swap. “That’s what best friends do,” she’d say, with a smile. But she never gave me clothes. But that was okay. My clothes were nice, I knew. I can read price tags. I know that’s why I’m popular. And why May could be too. Josie and Tasha and Tiffany never knew that May’s clothes were mine. 

There was one more room in the house- the kitchen. Little rays of sunshine smiled in, but their smiles turned to frowns when they saw the state of things. The floor was almost black. Empty cans of Cream of Chicken littered the counters. And the smell. 

I left the house. I ran all the way home. May was never coming back. And neither were Johnny, Ricky, and little Sam. 

As I ran, tears glistened in my eyes, dripping in little spirals down my cheeks. When May cried, her tears went down her face in little spirals too, making her melted chocolate skin actually melt. I ran from the empty home, from every memory of May, and I never looked back.

The fall and winter months passed by. Josie and I were part of the popular crowd as usual, but Tiffany and Tasha weren’t in the same school. By the time spring came, May was a distant memory. For them. 

But as I walked home from school, the trees started whispering to me. May is here… where is May? May… May… May. I ran to escape their cries. May! May! May! Somehow, my running took me to May’s house. The lace curtains were in even worse condition, their white color turning into a light brown. 

A white paper hung from the door. I crept toward it slowly, the font blaring out the word eviction. I open the door slowly, biting my lip that is coated in lip gloss. It tastes like plastic. 

I walk through the rooms, breathing quietly. It’s all the same. Why am I here? 

Monday’s folded clothes aren’t clean anymore. The dust covers every surface. That’s when I see the closet. The door I didn’t notice before. It’s closed. And it’s calling me. 

I reach out my fingers, and they clasp around the knob. The cold metal makes me shiver and I pull it open slowly. And that’s when I see the bodies. 

Three of them. 

Johnny, Ricky, and Sam. 

I faint. 

The black on the edges of my vision slowly fades away as I come to. I turn my head to the left, and their three bodies stare back at me. So small. So innocent. So broken. A piece of paper, white in this dark house, glares at me. I reach out my left hand, trembling, and raise up, head spinning, to look at it. 

She left. She killed them. I hope you find them someday, June. I’m off to find myself. To find a home, I guess. Please tell someone. Before too many May’s have come and gone.

I take a deep breath and rise. I walk out of the house and down the stairs. My eyes are barely seeing. But I can hear.

Every car horn. Every pedestrian. And the trees, speaking to me. I swear I can hear May calling. “I'm free!” She yells. “I'm free.”