The lights turn on in the room. How long have I been laying here? Ten fingers. Ten toes. No signs of any physical trauma along the body. How’d I get here? Where is here? I’m in the center of a circular room, the walls lined with identical glass panels—too dark to see what’s inside. Where am I? The last I remember, I was watching television in bed, fighting sleep against the sound of some late night rerun. There’s a pounding that echoes against my chest.
A high-pitched buzz resounds from behind me; my body flinches at the sound. One of the panels illuminates a blinding glow that makes my eyes squint to adjust. It looks like a bedroom. With a soft pink striped wallpaper that makes my heart hammer—do I recognize that room? I run toward the glass. And I see her. “Kate?” It escapes my cracked lips as a whisper from a dry patch in the back of my throat. She’s sitting on the bed, reading from a Seventeen Magazine. I hardly remember the way she used to look. “Kate!” The glass rattles against my fist as I knock, but she doesn’t lift her gaze. Why can’t she hear me? Why doesn’t she notice me standing here?
The room dissolves into darkness. She disappears. I press my forehead against the glass, cup my eyes with both hands, and search for the familiar shadow. But I see nothing. Nothing but an endless expanse of black. And my reflection in the glass.
That same sound comes from the left, the glow erupts from a different panel. It pulls me in like a trance. Now she’s laying by the pool in her favorite polka-dot bikini. The summer sun is shining against her amber skin. We spent so much time by that pool. My spine tingles. I see the window. The master bedroom had too good a view of the backyard. The panel goes black, I face the center of the room and wait for the cue.
The first panel clicks on. She’s standing in the bedroom, the laptop recording on the dresser. She does the dance. My body mirrors her movement; I can’t believe I even remember it. One arm out, then the other, flip them both—uno, dos, tres, quatro. A half smile escapes my face.
There’s a hesitant knock at her door. She presses the laptop shut and jumps into bed—pretending to sleep. She knew not to be caught up that late. The door opens with barely a crack. I press my hands against the glass. He takes a step in, watches her breath rise and fall with the blanket.
“Hey!” I start to knock on the glass. If only I could make her get up. “Katie!” She doesn’t move. He glides his disgusting body another inch closer. I slam my fists. I scream her name. I beg her to move. There were other people in the house, someone slept on the other side of that wall. I slam my side into the glass. I scream. I beg. But the light goes out. And I know what happened next. I was there and I didn’t even know how long it went on for. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have said something.
My breath comes out in shattered gasps. My side throbs to the rapid beat of my heart. Who is doing this to me? The next panel arrives with an unfamiliar room; a slight haze spread across the glass. I press closer to see. An ordinary bedroom, plain walls, no windows, and eight identical beds in a row. And then I see it on the wall; the memory comes shooting back, how odd and unplaced I found it then too. The industrial fire alarm, the kind that belongs in a school or hospital—not above your head.
She has two glittering bags; a shiny red and green bow on each. She reaches inside, and pulls out—nothing. Huh, I don’t seem to remember what we gave her then. But I do remember our sweet friend, that was the last time you saw him. I press my cheek against the cool glass wanting to feel close. That’s when our memories started to diverge. We didn’t share the same grief, you had to do that alone, on that bed. I tried to tell you everything, paint the picture so you could feel like you were there. How his parents hosted barbeques in the house, how weird it was to be there when they were home. How the streets were lined with cars and trucks. How many people loved him. How we spent each morning sitting in his parking spot before class. I didn’t know if that helped or hurt you. Maybe something in between. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I wrote you letters, did they ever give them to you?
The sound of the ocean wanders over to me, waves crashing in the distance. There’s a warm glow spreading against my toes. I can almost smell the sting of the air. She’s sitting on the back porch of her grandma’s rental property. The wicker chair creaks underneath her crossed legs. Her hair tangled in salty knots. She laughs at something I said. I pretend to say something else. Someone’s phone is buried into a red cup, the muffled sound of the music rings in my ear. I fall into the thought—this was the last time I ever saw her whole. She packs the little glass bowl in her hands, holding it out for me to take. I reach out my hand. I can almost feel it graze the tips of my desperate fingers. I don’t even see where the panel ends. Am I inside of this one? It all turns black.
The room returns with a new panel’s glow. My body drags across the floor, too scared to see what waits for me next. Maybe if I refuse to look. But somehow I end up at the glass, I can’t turn away. She’s alone in a bathroom. I watch over her shoulder, stare through the empty space. The place where I should be. She leans over the counter, hangs her head toward that little stick. You told me the same line each time; if the father wasn’t who he was. Please understand, you didn’t fuck up. I know how scared you must have been. How you wanted to feel loved by family. Your mom was gone before you could remember. And you’ve just been floating. Do you know how bad I want to go back? I wish they would have let us take you in. But they said it was only two years, as if someone only needs to feel loved until they’re eighteen. I lean closer to the glass, but it only makes me further away. The light darkens and so does my heart.
If they hadn’t taken you so far from me, I could have been there for everything. I’ve thought about what I would have done differently. I’ve thought about it so many times it’s tattooed onto my skin. The lights come on. My body shakes. You were dating that random fucking loser. He was only one of the many who hurt you, and I wasn’t around to take you away. She’s standing outside of the house facing my direction, saying goodbye since I ended my trip short. You begged me to forgive you, made excuses for his temper. I let you believe I did. I stared into your eyes when I knew I wouldn’t see you again. I had to save myself, not knowing what was to happen to you. How fucking selfish of me. I wanted to grab you, throw you into my car and drive as far as we could. Why didn’t I do that?
My body melts to the floor while darkness floats across the room. I trace my finger against the wood floor, replaying each panel in my head. I see his face; his miserable fucking face. It all started with him. And I knew there was something there. I was so fucking young, yet I knew there was something wrong. Why didn’t I say something? It all started with him. And I failed you.
Another panel turns on. I hardly noticed this time. There is only one light, dust floating under its thick beam. She’s sitting against the glass. I crawl to the panel, come up close to her side, lean my body against hers. The needle rolls across the concrete floor. She’s buried herself into her knees. I hardly recognize her anymore. My hand presses to her shoulder. “Let me help you,” I say the words out loud for only myself.