Conceal

My muscles loosen as we drive farther away from the station. Once it’s no longer visible, I allow my eyes to close and force myself to get some rest.

I wake up at my connection in Toledo, then I’m back on a bus, traveling closer and closer.

When I arrive in Columbus, I buy another ticket. This time, I don a hat and sunglasses. My hair is also a dark brown. No longer its normal shade of strawberry blond.

A wig.

Plus, I’ve purchased a bottle of dark brown hair dye for whenever I reach my final destination.

I had stopped at a local grocery store after getting off the bus. If I’m tracked to Columbus, they won’t be able to find me. Now I’m unrecognizable.

With my costume on, I head for the next bus and after a few hours of driving, transfer to a new bus to get to my final destination. A destination I hope is large enough that I can blend in. Hide in plain sight. Where I can come up with a plan of what I’ll do next.

We travel through the night. It’s been over two days since I’ve slept in a bed, over thirty hours since my life was shaken up, and everything I knew and loved was taken from me.

I allow myself to sleep, and the next time my eyes flutter open, I can hear the sputtering of the bus stopping. I’ve made it to my final destination.

Groggy and disoriented, I walk toward the exit and make my way outside. I’m in New York City, and I have no idea where to go from here. I have no phone, and I don’t know anyone in the city.

Are there even payphones in this city? Probably not.

I head to the local pharmacy and buy a burner phone.

But who can I call?

Who can I trust?

Maybe I should look through my contacts on my phone.

Oh, shit. I threw my phone out.

I scour my brain, trying to remember all the numbers I had in my phone, but that will never do. I can’t call someone who was a contact in my phone.

That’s the first way I’ll be found. I can’t go on social media or any site that can be traced back to me.

Think.

My brain plays through everyone I speak to, and then everyone I don’t.

I think back to all my friends, and then a name pops in my head. Maggie.

Maggie. My best friend from elementary school. In middle school, she moved. It’s funny how I can’t remember any phone numbers, but I’ll always remember hers.

Back then, I didn’t have a cell phone. She made me sit on her bed, her bag packed, and keep saying the number over and over again.

She had gotten a cell phone to keep in touch. Maggie made me memorize it that day so that when she moved, I’d always remember.

I hope she hasn’t changed it.

We haven’t spoken in years.

But I know, no matter what, no matter how much time has passed, she wouldn’t ever turn me away.

With my duffel and new phone in hand, I walk a few blocks, and then from memory, I dial.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Fuck. What if she changed her number? What if she doesn’t answer?

All the what-ifs play through my brain.

And as the phone continues to ring, my heart rate picks up.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

I’m about to hang up and figure out something else when I hear it.

“Hello.” The voice is low and tentative, but I recognize it right away.

I swear my legs go weak.

No part of me realized how badly I needed to hear her voice. But here it is. As the tears of relief fill my eyes, I know I need her. My throat closes as I try to find the words.

“Maggie?” I ask, my voice shaking with nerves.

“Yes. This is she,” she responds.

Tears roll down my cheeks. “It’s . . . it’s . . .”

“Willow?”

She knows. She remembers. It’s her.

The liquid collecting in my eyes falls faster.

“Yes,” I croak.

“Are you okay?” Even though I haven’t spoken to her in years, I can hear her fear and concern. As if no time has passed and we are still best friends, and she will still do anything for me.

“No,” I whisper because even now, free from what haunts me and far away from my fears, I’m not okay.

“Where are you?”

“New York City. Do you . . .” I inhale. “Do you still live here?”

My head tips up, and if there were visible stars in the Manhattan sky, I would wish on one.

“I do.”

A strangled puff of oxygen I didn’t know I was holding leaves my body.

“Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”

“No. Don’t. I’m fine. Can I come to you?” I ask.

“Of course.”

She rattles off an address in Stuyvesant.

Since I’m not sure how far it is, I opt for a cab, pulling out a few bucks of cash from my emergency money in the duffel to pay the fare. I have to be careful with how much I spend. I might not be able to take one in the future, but after the day and night I’ve had, I lean back in the dirty back seat and welcome the ride.