I answer my cell phone. I am at work, not on break. Across from me, someone shuffles some papers and another person outstretches their hand and picks up a call. They bring the receiver to their ear with such ease. Quickly, I remember my call, my responsibility. A red and green button appears with a name across the top and a face. I recognize the face, I recognize the name, but yet I find it strange that they are calling. Truthfully, I find it troubling above anything else. Troubling and worrisome. Intuition knows me like a mother.
"He's gone," a voice cries hysterically into the phone, "He's gone and I don't know where he is and..." She carries on like this, tears, yelps, and flurried mania until I can finally get a word in. I can hear her hand shaking while she holds the phone, listening to me.
"When did you last see him?" I ask.
"Last night," she says.
"Did anything happen that would make him leave?"
"He just left."
"Nothing happened?" repeat. For every action there is an equal or opposite reaction. At this point, I walk to the men's bathroom, open the door, and walk into a stall. Luckily, there was someone just leaving and it was empty. I flush the toilet for safe measure and wipe the toilet seat to sit down. My stomach rumbles. I haven't eaten.
"Nothing happened," she tells me, "He said he was going out, a little mysteriously, and I asked him where. He didn't tell me. He just said "out". I don't know what the **** that means. He just says "out" like I'm supposed to know where the **** that is and he just leaves. How can he do something like this to me and leave me totally in the dark."
"I don't know. I haven't really seen you guys in a long time." It was true. In between work and my diluted problems, I haven't had the motivation.
"How can you do something like this to me?" she says again, her breath a little shorter than before. I suddenly worry she may make herself faint and fall into a glass coffee table or the edge of a counter.
"I know," I say, "I really don't know why he's doing this."
"And he just left! He just left with no cell phone and he hasn't been back all night and now it's 10:30 in the morning and I still haven't heard from him. I mean, how could I? I have his ******* cell phone!"
"He'll come back," I try, "Maybe he just needed some space. There's nothing out there for him. You're all he has."
"Did he tell you that?" she asks.
"Yes," I lie. The door leading into the hallway before the bathroom door opens. It's loud and someone is coming.
"Thank you for answering. I know this really has nothing to do with you, but I didn't know who else to call."
"Don't worry," I say, muffling my voice over the receiver with my hand, "I'm here for whatever you need."
"What?" she asks, "I can't really hear you. What did you say?"
"If you need to get out of the house, just to clear your head or get away or whatever, nothing to do with all this, you can always come to our place."
"Thank you," she sighs, "I'm calming down now. I may do that. God I'm so embarrassed."
I imagine her shaking hands slowly fading into a slight tremble, then a light buzz, finally falling into stillness. Her face relaxes and her cheeks - once flushed and red - go back to their slightly tanned beige. The crows feet of her eyes melt away as she wipes the tears from her eyes and she exhales heavily, breathing as if she was just underwater for a very long time. A cough and she thinks of a cigarette, but stops herself because that will remind her of him. For a second, she begins to choke up, but I stop it with my voice.
"Everything will be fine," I say, "You can call me if you need anything."
"Thank you," she says, "I will."
We both hang up our phones as a man next to me zips up his pants.