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voice,
one far less appreciated, piped up inside me and asked But what if it wasn’t ?
    ********
    After I’d managed to pull myself
together enough to leave the restroom, I went straight home. I
changed into some shorts and a tank top and then sat down in front
of the computer. I wanted to see if I could find a number for Lisa
on the student website. A cell phone number was what I was really
hoping to find, something very personal that she was not likely to
go very far without.
    And, with the first trace of good luck
I’d had in an otherwise crappy week, I found her cell number. I
hesitated only briefly before I punched the number into my cell
phone and hit the send button. It rang four times and then put me
through to her voicemail, which told me nothing. She could be dead
or she could just be busy. That didn’t help at all.
    That night, surprisingly, I slept
pretty well. It was the next morning that turned out to be a little
more bothersome. I woke with a weird foreboding that I hadn’t felt
before. Though I had no idea what it meant, I had the distinct
feeling that I’d see Lisa again today, but maybe not in a very good
way.
    I dressed for school and went to all my
classes. Nothing strange or unusual happened. I kept my ears open,
but there were neither whispered rumors about Lisa nor funny
stories or references to her. There was simply no mention of her at
all. Not that that was necessarily a bad sign. I’m sure the student
body had gone a day without talking about Lisa Bauer
before.
    And yet that feeling of foreboding
persisted.
    That night over supper, Mom made
mention of my haggard appearance.
    “ Are you staying up on the
computer all night? You look tired,” she said, her brow creased
with concern.
    “ I’ve just had a lot of
reading for school. That’s all,” I said vaguely, staring down at my
plate and stabbing peas with my fork.
    Mom reached over and put her hand on my
forearm. When I lifted my head, she looked deep into my eyes. “Are
you sure you’re alright? Is there something wrong at school?
Or—”
    “ No, Mom,” I said, pulling
my arm away. “I told you everything’s fine,” I snapped. Then when I
realized this would not take me in a direction that I wanted to go,
I took another tack. “You’re right,” I said with a bone weary sigh.
“I’m just tired. I’m going to get my reading done earlier tonight
so I can go to bed at a decent hour.”
    Mom nodded, satisfied that I was
acknowledging the problem and taking steps to correct it. She was
as strict about her “steps” as AA was about theirs. And, though it
had taken eighteen years, I’d finally learned how to “handle”
her.
    She was easier than Dad. She was
placated more quickly and painlessly than he was. When he caught
scent of something in the air, he was like a blood hound; he
wouldn’t let it go until he got to the bottom of it.
    Fortunately, Dad had already finished
dinner and was firmly ensconced in the recliner in front of the
television. I could hear the news drifting out of the living room,
which is one of the myriad reasons I spent so much time in my room.
The news made me either want to commit murder or suicide. It varied
depending on whether they were talking about politics or the
unhealthy state of the world. Either way it wasn’t a pleasant
experience for me so I avoided it like the plague. I caught enough
bits and pieces of what was going on from overhearing Dad’s shows
during or after dinner to stay basically informed. And, at
eighteen-almost-nineteen years old, I didn’t require anything more
than that—just the basics.
    “ Roger, do you want a piece
of pie now or are you going to wait until later?”
    A low grumbling came from
the living room; it sounded a lot like I’ll wait, but only Mom and Dad could
be sure. I didn’t speak that language and I had zero desire to
learn.
    I got up and took my plate to the sink.
“I’ll get it, Mom.” I went back to the table for her plate since
she was