THIRTY-TWO
CINDEL
Ihave time this morning to sort through old boxes stuffed full of letters, drawings, and photos. Most are from our childhood, while I know at least one of the boxes belonged to my brother. Our mother couldn’t bear to hold onto any memories after Theo passed. So, they're mine now.
My face aches from a perpetual smile, as I reminisce over goofy photos of my brother and me. One candid image shows us wearing feather boas and costume heels.
There is also a collection of burnt CDs he made during his teenage years. Labeled compilations such asFriday Night JamsorViva La 90’s.
Tears trickle down without my consent, recalling a time my brother and I would study the lyric booklets that came within the CD cases, then we’d battle against one another to see who sung the words correctly. He was always victorious. Theo was amazing at whatever he did.
After exploring multiple boxes and emptying a container of tissues, I found nothing out of the ordinary. Honestly, I didn’teven know what I was looking for. It could be staring at me right in the face, and I wouldn’t even know it.
“What did you leave for me, Theo?” I whisper toward the withholding capsules.
I check the time, “Shit.” I was going to be late if I didn’t get moving. I pull my unwashed hair into a high pony, splash some cool water on my face, and tug on something ‘semi-clean’ from the corner of my room. Throwing the messenger bag over my shoulder, I head out. I don’t bother checking my bag anymore for the earbud, because no matter how hard I try to get rid of it, it always comes back to me. Sure enough, as I retrieve my keys to lock the door, I spot the white piece of tech in the bottom of my bag.
Benny’s looks busier than unusual, this morning. As I draw closer, I spot my uncle through the glass-walled diner. He is already at our regular table, but someone was sitting across from him. I slow my pace as I approach.
Did I get the time wrong, was I too early? He texted me again early this morning to confirm. It was, in fact, the right time.
To my surprise, I recognized the person sitting in the booth across from my uncle. It is the same officer who came to my apartment. Officer Kent. He wanted to know about my time at Star Mart and what happened the day I quit.
Do they know each other?
I didn’t want to enter the restaurant, at least not yet. Instead, I chose to remain concealed, positioned so I can see them, but they can’t see me.
Uncle Nicholas looks flustered; he keeps pointing toward the door as if insisting the other man leave.
The uniformed deputy stands abruptly, turning to walk out, causing me to step even farther back between two buildings. The officer throws open the diner door, causing pedestrians on the street to startle. Standing in the middle of the walkway,people are forced to part around him as he lights a cigarette. He looks back toward my uncle with a sneer before making his way toward his patrol car. As soon as he gets in the vehicle, he flicks the butt to the ground and takes off down the avenue at dangerous speeds.
Once the squad car is gone, I count to ten before coming out from my hiding spot. I cross the street and enter Benny’s diner. My uncle's tight knit brows and wrinkled forehead ease when he spots me. Slate eyes soften, and he immediately puts on a smile, waving me over to our booth in the back corner.
“Cindel, you look well. Did you just arrive?”
I slid into the vinyl covered booth, nodding promptly like a child who tried to deny eating a cookie before dinner. “Yup!” I accidentally pop the p. “Just arrived, sorry I’m a little late.”
His body visibly relaxes as he slings an arm across the bench’s back. “Good. Thanks for meeting me early.”
A twinge of guilt ricochets through me, for spying on my uncle. He has been understanding and a great listener as I talk incessantly about the same topics. I trust my uncle. “Anytime. I look forward to breakfast with you,” I affirm.
The corner of his eyes creases, as he reviews his phone before setting it back onto the table. “How’s that boyfriend of yours, Eamon, right?” He has an incredible memory.
I play with the corner of the plastic menu at its edges.
“He must have been the one playing you songs, right?”
I inadvertently bend the corners of the menu, making an irreversible crease. “Well…” Why did I share this in the first place? It feels too personal now. “It’s not him. It’s… it’s actually someone else.”
He licks his lips and reaches across the table to pluck the menu from my hands. Kinda rude, but I was surely ruining it. “Have you called the police?” He presses.
“No. You know how I feel about them.”
He nods, folds his hands atop the menus, and leans over the table. “Do you know who this someone else is?” He implores. His jaw ticks slightly as he waits for me to answer.
“No,” I admit. I wish I knew.
The grooves in his forehead deepen. He’s slightly older than my father, probably overworked since he’s yet to retire like my parents. My uncle can be reserved at times. His eyes searched my face, for what I’m not sure. At the drop of a hat, his eyebrows invert and his mouth tips downward. “Cindel, this is serious. You could be in danger. I have a friend in the precinct, maybe you could talk with him.”
