You Said

“Remember when Uncle Pete said there used to be a giant hole in Grandma’s backyard and something hidden was in there?”

“No, I think I was too young. But I remember you said he was delusional, so why would we believe him?”

“Well, I’ve heard he does not-normal things, but I don’t know that for sure.”

“So do you think something is hidden?”

“Well… there is a slab of cement in the backyard in a random place. Why would it be there?”

“People put them there for level ground. For BBQ pits and stuff, right?”

“I guess. But that’s such a random place. Why wouldn’t it be somewhere we could actually hang out?”

“We can’t hang out at the end of the deck, up against the house.”

“True. What do you think is under there?”

“You said Uncle Pete thinks it’s something that’s supposed to stay hidden.”

“Okay, so we aren’t supposed to know.”

“Could it be good, or do you think it’s bad?”

“It’s obviously bad. Who covers something up in cement if they want to get to it later?”

“I don’t know… it’s not unimaginable. Let’s go check it out.”

“It’s small.”

“Not that small.”

“Well… small-ish. And it’s right up against the house. It has handprints in it.”

“Seems totally harmless.”

“Or it’s giving the illusion of being harmless.”

“Hmmm. Uncle Pete likes to make up stories, but I see where he’s coming from. This is weird.”

“Yeah. Why is this necessary? It literally serves no purpose.”

“Let’s go back. The grown-ups will wonder why we’re standing here staring at the ground.”

“But they’re so boring. All they talk about is their childhood.”

“I know. And how when they were kids the music was so much better, and how they miss everything that isn’t here now.”

“Football phones, when hashtags used to be called number signs, Saturday morning cartoons.”

“I know, right? I still don’t understand Y2K.”

“Trips to Blockbuster. VHS is dead, Dad. Get over it.”

“No one cares about your high school trauma of no computers and handwritten assignments.”

“Hahahaha.”

“Hahahaha.”

“But seriously, let’s get back.”

“No. Dad is so boring. Here he goes, talking about college. Why did he even go if he skipped so many classes? And how did he even graduate?”

“Remember when Mom was here? She was so much cooler.”

“Yeah, she included us in conversations. She talked about our childhood and how we were awesome.”

“Yeah, but she was sort of dorky too. She came to every soccer game and ran up and down the sidelines yelling at me if I spit on the ground or got an attitude with my coaches.”

“Yeah, but she cheered you on every game.”

“You’re right. I miss that.”

“Mom was the best.”

“She didn’t deserve to die.”

“Mom is missing.”

“You said Dad thinks she’s dead.”

“Dad doesn’t know anything. Maybe if he tried harder to look for her he would find her.”

“What if she doesn’t want to be found?”

“I don’t believe that, because that would mean she didn’t want us.”

“So, do you think she’s in trouble?”

“I don’t know. I hope not. But I can’t imagine any other reason she’d be gone.”

“You said when people go missing, they never come back.”

“I meant kids. I don’t know the rules for grown-ups.”

“Well then she might come back. I think she still could.”

“I think it’s too late. Plus we already have a new life now. Uncle Pete is here a lot. Dad has his own thing going on. So do we. It would be weird if she came back.”

“What are you talking about? It’s like she’s hiding and I just want to find her. She could come back any second and it would be like the best present ever.”

“People hide for a reason.”

“You said she was missing.”

“Whatever. Can we stop talking about Mom now? Where was Grandma when she disappeared?”

“You said Grandma was with you.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah-huh. You said you and Grandma were shopping for school supplies.”

“How do you remember that?”

“Because I wanted school supplies too. But you left me with crazy Uncle Pete.”

“Well, I wasn’t with Grandma. I was getting school supplies with Dad.”

“No, Dad was in California meeting my new teacher.”

“What? How can you remember that?”

“Because my teacher told me she met Dad when I turned eight in California, which is where she lived. I know Dad went there to meet her to see if she would be a good fit to tutor me. And when Dad was in California is when Mom went missing. So, Dad was not here, Uncle Pete was with me, you were with Grandma.”

“Fine, I guess I was with Grandma.”

“But Mom was with Grandma. She lives here, with Grandma. Grandma has to know what happened. YOU should know what happened.”

“I don’t. Mom wasn’t here. It was just Grandma and me.”

“You said two seconds ago it was you and Dad. You don’t seem very trustworthy.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying I keep getting older and older and I have more questions and I think this family has answers. You’re my big sister and instead of keeping me in the dark, you should be telling me what happened.”

“Ask Uncle Pete.”

“How about I break open that cement instead? I think you know what’s underneath it.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s Mom.”

“How could you say that? Mom left us.”

“You said she left. I think she was taken.”

“By who?”

“By you. By Grandma. Just say it.”

“You said that, not me.”

“Are you saying it’s true?”

“No. No one killed Mom. We don’t even know if Mom is dead.”

“…Hi, Uncle Pete.”

“Hi, kids. You talking about your mom? Yeah, little man, you were with her that night. I feel bad I had to drop you off with her last minute. I got so sick. I was puking everywhere. I called her and told her to come pick you up. I feel so bad I let her leave.”

“You said he was with you all night. But if he was with Mom, and Mom went missing, where did you find him that night?”

“You don’t remember? He was missing too. We didn’t find him until the next morning. We called all the hospitals. He was in one of them. He couldn’t remember what happened, and wouldn't tell anyone anything.”

“You said you were with Uncle Pete that whole night. Why don’t I remember this?”

“Because you blacked out. I called Dad in California and asked him what to do. He said he would come back right away, but by then it was too late. Your mom was gone, you had no idea what was going on, and your brother was in the hospital.”

“Do you remember anything from the hospital, little buddy?”

“No. I mean… I forgot about that.”

“But you said—”

“I remember blood. Mom’s blood.”

“Why would you say that?”

“…Don’t tell anyone. But I hurt Mom.”

“What?”

“She isn’t missing. She’s hurt. And she isn’t coming back.”

“…Dad!”

“Stop it. Now.”

“What’s wrong with your eyes? What’s that in your hand?”

“Something I carry everywhere. Mom said I was curious. I was curious that night, too.”

“You said you didn’t remember.”

“I remember enough. The slab. The blood. You said she was missing.”

“Because she is missing.”

“No. She’s here.”

“…Under the cement?”

“You said it first.”