Getting Lost

Oh shit, was that light familiar? It all looked the same in the dark. My foot shakes as I wait for it to turn green. The back of my hand runs across my mascara stained face. Three years in this city and I’m back to getting lost while searching for 3 a.m. burgers. If only-

The light turns green. Tears well in my eyes again. Four days have passed since Max died and here I am listening to his favorite song while getting lost. He would’ve found this amusing. When it came to getting lost with friends he was the best to be with. No panic, just eyes forward for the adventure. 

A round-a-bout I recognize. The statues of long dead men stare at me from their bronze pose. One of these streets lead to the outdoor mall that has a 24/7 Burger Palace. But which street was it?

Max got lost like this the night he died. It was 3-something-a.m. when he called me. I pulled up his location when the call dropped. That was our last conversation. He was unnaturally scared, and swore he saw his deceased abuelo waving at him. I pick a street, and catch a glimpse of someone standing under the next street light. 

It’s no one, some creep waiting for a gullible idiot to pull over. That happened to Max and I once. He was driving when a milk carton filled with glitter hit his windshield. It exploded in a barrage of rainbow sparkles. I called the cops while he had a panic attack. Still, I can’t believe he was going to stop. I giggle at the memory. There is still glitter on his car when you look at it just right. 

Four way stop. No one is coming but I take the opportunity to breathe. Max had a unique laugh. I still hear it. God why do I hear him laughing. A person is standing on the corner and our eyes lock. He is wearing an oversized black hoodie, but his hair is gelled with enough glitter to be seen from space. The air around me feels cold. Max?

 Right now I need to calm down. I drove past the man. It isn’t Max, Max is dead. They found him in his bed. His funeral is in two days. I have no idea how I am going to make it but I will. I’m just grieving. Everyone has been so overly nice to me since it happened. My boss hasn’t yelled at me, our friends all look at me like I will burst into tears at any given moment. 

Yeah, I did burst into tears at the Ramen Shack. But that was our place, one of our places. Okay, I also cried when I opened my phone at work the other day since his stupid face was my screensaver. It’s been changed, and I am going to move past this. 

I’m in a residential neighborhood with horrible street parking. Cars line the streets as if some celebrity is nearby. Max and I lived in a place like this before we dropped out of college. Two apartment complexes surrounded by some cookie cutter neighborhood with chaos streets designed by toddlers. We sat, high as two college kids could be, on that balcony planning our lives like the end was never coming. I see him again, this time peeking out over the railing of some apartment. He looks pale, but waves at me as I pass.  

 A spot appears and I take it. Once my car was in park I burst into tears. It’s not fair! We were supposed to play video games in the nursing home together. Forget burgers, I just want to go home. I want to curl up in my warm bed and forget I’m alive. 

Instinctive fingers reached for my phone in the dark. The blue light illuminated my car. In the mirror all I see is my pain. Face covered in lines of smudged mascara, my hair is greasy and matted, I look like a mess.

There’s a knock against the passenger window causing me to jump. My phone falls, landing on the floor under me. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. Looking up I see a familiar smiling face. “Hey gurl! You look like hell.”

“Max?”

“Let me in and we can get burgers.”

I bend down, blindly searching for my phone.

“Hurry, let me in!”

“Take me home!”

The light dims for a moment before my phone responds, “Taking you home. Head east.”

“Please don’t leave me here.” He nearly sounds like Max. But like an AI version of him. 

“You’re dead!”

“Yeah, but I always promised to haunt you. Now you won’t let me in.”

I put my car into drive. 

“LET ME IN.” It was demanding.

This has to be a bad dream, it feels like a bad dream. Every hair on my arms is standing on end as a sense of unease takes me. Pulling back onto the road I glance into my rearview mirror. Max, or that thing wearing his face, is gone. Finally, my breath returned to me, my hands still shaking. On autopilot I focus on following my phone’s directions back home. I probably need therapy. 

Nothing looks familiar, but my phone dutifully tells me to make a left onto a street I now recognize. It starts buzzing. “Shit.” I hit the button on my steering wheel answering the phone. “I know I’m late, I got lost, but I’m on my way home right now. Nothing bad, but I’m lost.”

Silence. 

“You have every right to be mad. If you want to just lock the door I haven’t lost my keys and can let myself in. You guys have been kind, letting me stay with you and I know we all can’t work at midnight like I can so it’s okay.”

Nothing. Wait no, breathing. “Hey gurl, invite me in.” His voice is getting more metallic now. It sounds less and less like Max everytime it speaks. 

My heart freezes, but my hands move, hanging up the phone. It’s not real. None of this is real. I feel like I’m in hell. 

Through tears I look up in time to see it standing in the middle of the street staring at me. My scream is louder than the music. I slam on the breaks but I don’t stop in time. After a sickening pause I opened my eyes. When did I get up on the freeway? Where did it go? A horn pulls me from my fog. “Sorry.” I wave at the pissed off driver before going again.

The porch light is on when I pull into the driveway. My body feels heavy as I pull myself out of the driver’s seat. 

Inside I relock the front door and shut off the light. A copy of the post about Max’s funeral hangs on the fridge. It serves as a necessary reminder that he’s gone. 

My feet carry me to my room. I’m so tired. That thing, it had to be a mixture of my grief and exhaustion. None of it was real, and tomorrow I am going to wake up, refreshed, and find a good therapist. Our apartment is covered in pictures of us. Maybe tomorrow I will go over with another friend and box them all up. Sleep first, tomorrow after.

The bag around my shoulder hits the floor with a dull thud. My head hits the pillow, if I could muster the energy I would change into something more comfortable. Right now I can’t even-

My door creeks, slowly, until it clicks shut. I sat up to see what it was. A familiar dark figure stands there smiling at me. “Hey gurl! Has anyone ever told you how tacky Welcome mats are?”