The Missing

by Melanie Florence

  “Okay, okay. I promise.”

  I leaned over to give her a hug.

  “Good. I think it’ll help, Mia. I really do.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Mia picked up her math textbook and flipped it open. “We should get this over with.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Listen, do you want to stay at my place for a day or two? Get away from the creeper out there?”

  “No! I mean, no. If he keeps drinking, I’ll just go to the rec centre or something.” She smiled at me but it looked strained. She was acting so odd. Something was obviously up. Why was everyone acting so weird lately? It was like there was some big secret I wasn’t in on.

  I was confused, both by her quick refusal of my offer and by her willingness to put herself in danger. Did she feel so unsafe in her own home that she’d leave to go to the Riverwalk, which was even less safe? I glanced at the deadbolt on her bedroom door.

  “You don’t need to go to the rec centre, Mia. Come and stay with me. You need to be careful . . .” I trailed off. Because what can you possibly say that makes any sense of the fact that a seventeen-year-old girl — someone you know — has gone missing without a trace?

  “I’m always careful, Feather.”

  “Yeah, well . . . so was Carli,” I said pointedly.

  “The rec centre is safe enough and I can always get a ride down there if I need to. My mom will be home tonight so I’ll talk to her then. If there’s a problem, I’ll call you, okay?” She smiled at me and I nodded.

  “Good. Okay. So bio, my least favourite of the homework genres,” I opened my book with an exaggerated sigh, trying to lighten the mood while my mind raced, wondering who was driving her around. It wasn’t me.

  She threw a pillow at me and opened the bag of chips.

  “And also my favourite. So what did you get for the first question?”

  Chapter 6

  There Was a Little Blackbird

  The first time he saw her, she was sitting on a bench outside the library. He watched her digging through her bag. It was a ridiculous, oversized thing that had to hurt when she slung it over her bird-like shoulder. She was delicate. He liked that. Like a little blackbird with her straight, glossy hair hanging down her back, soft as feathers. He’d love to brush it for her. To run his fingers through it and grab great handfuls . . . pulling her head back and exposing her neck to him.

  She’d like that, he thought.

  He hummed his mother’s favourite song under his breath as he watched her pull a book out of her bag, opening it with slender fingers. She frowned when she read.

  Chapter 7

  Gone and Forgotten

  “Is it just me, or is the schoolyard looking particularly empty today?” Mia asked. She wasn’t wrong. The police had stopped hanging around and talking to people about Carli a week after she disappeared. The local reporters who had been lurking outside the school had found other stories to chase. Apparently, the retirement home’s annual bingo festival made for more exciting news than a missing girl.

  The halls were still ringing with gossip. But now it was about two senior boys, Matt and Dre, who had been caught making out in a car in the parking lot.

  “I always knew he was gay!” I heard one girl tell her friends. “We dated for a week in junior high and he wouldn’t kiss me. Totally called that one!”

  People were unbelievable. Neither of the guys had shown up for school and I heard one was posting some suspiciously suicidal thoughts online. I knew both of them. Had always suspected they were gay. Never cared. They were nice guys and they didn’t deserve the firestorm of attention they were getting just because the jackals at school needed to update their Instagram feeds with something new.

  I swung into the guidance office on my way to my locker. Mr. Taylor was working on his book again, pecking away at his laptop with a look of deep concentration on his face.

  “Hey, Mr. T.”

  He looked up and smiled. “What can I do for you, Feather?”

  “So I know you heard about what happened in the parking lot, right?” I asked. He nodded. “Well, I heard Matt is putting some dark stuff online.”

  “Have you seen it yourself?” he asked me, concern written all over his face.

  I shook my head. “No. But enough people are talking about it that I think it’s probably true. My phone battery just died so I can’t check but I thought maybe you could call his house? Maybe check on Dre too?”

  “Can you show me?” he asked, turning his laptop towards me. I logged into my Instagram account and looked up Matt. I scanned his page quickly, and then wordlessly turned it back towards him.

  “See? So can you call or something?” I asked. He read the page, his face serious.

  He nodded. “Yeah, for sure. Thanks, Feather. I appreciate it.”

  I walked out of his office while he was dialing his phone and headed towards my locker, trying to tune out the gossip. Did people have nothing better to do than worry about everyone else’s business? They were always looking for the next big thing to gossip about. I swerved left and went down the hall to the art room. I knew Mia would be there, working on some new crazy piece. I had tried unsuccessfully to find my inner artist alongside Mia, but I finally gave up this year after a kiln explosion that closed the art room for a week.

  Sure enough, I found her standing in the art room with her back to the door. She was staring at a huge piece of paper taped to the wall, paintbrush in her mouth as she smeared a blotch of cobalt blue onto the surface with the side of her hand.

  “Hey, Picasso,” I called out from the doorway.

  Mia took the brush out of her mouth and painted a bold stroke of deep purple in the middle. She answered without turning to look at me.

  “What brings you to the art department? Bad morning?”

  “Yeah.” I picked up a lump of clay from one of the tables and mashed it between my fingers. “Everyone’s talking about Dre and Matt. And no one’s talking about Carli anymore. It bothers me that as soon as there’s something else to gossip about, Carli is completely forgotten. But what about you? Did you talk to your mom yet?”

  “Nope.” She shook her head, a piece of hair coming out of the bun held in place with another paintbrush. “She didn’t get home until after I fell asleep last night, and I left before she got up this morning.” She saw the look on my face. “I’ll talk to her tonight, Feather. I swear. She’s not working tonight.”

  “Have you talked to Matt and Dre today?” I asked her, deftly changing the subject. Mia used to have a thing for Matt, and although they became really close friends, she never managed to turn it into anything more romantic. Given his love for Ryan Gosling movies and his ability to avoid sleeping with Mia despite everything she was doing to get him in her bed, I had suspected he was gay. Truthfully, though, he never tried very hard to hide his orientation. I’d be happy he was open about it now, except it was clearly destroying him.

  “Yeah. I tried to call Matt but his phone was off. I’ve got a free period this morning. I’ve got my mom’s car so I’m going to drive over,” she said. “I heard what people are saying. His so-called friends are calling him a fag and saying he was giving Dre a blow job in his car.”

  “Seriously? What is this obsession? They were all saying Carli was giving blow jobs down at the riverfront too!” I replied. I was disgusted with the gossip and the innuendo by people who were supposed to be friends of Carli and now Matt and Dre.

  “Well, she was, though.” Mia looked up from her painting at me. I couldn’t have been more shocked if Mia had told me she was stealing cars to finance her burgeoning art career.

  “What are you talking about? Carli was nice! She wasn’t some hooker, Mia!” I had known Carli all my life and I refused to believe it. She was so sweet and quiet.

  “She did. Sometimes. It wasn’t a regular thing for her or anything. But when she was desperate and needed a
few bucks, she did what she had to do.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” I admit that I was shocked. I watched HBO as much as the next teenaged girl did. But this was someone I knew! She was someone the same age as me. I looked at Mia as something occurred to me. “Mia . . . you don’t ever . . . when you stay down at the river, you haven’t ever done . . . that . . . have you?”

  “Feather, no! Of course not!” She shot me a look that told me what an idiot I was for even asking.

  “Sorry. I’m sorry, Mia. I know you wouldn’t. I just can’t believe Carli would either.”

  Mia shrugged. “You don’t get what it’s like, Feather. You’re lucky enough to have a stable home and a family who loves you. Not all of us are that lucky. Carli didn’t have a home or a family. Sometimes you get desperate enough to do whatever it takes to survive. You know?”

  The bell rang and Mia dropped her brushes into a tin can and pulled off her smock.

  “I’m heading over to see Matt. I’ll call you later, okay?” she said as she picked up her purse.

  “Tell him to hang in there. He has people who care about him,” I told her.

  “Who cares about who?” Jake came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my neck.

  “Matt. Mia is heading over to see him now.” I reached back and ran my fingers through his blond hair.

  “Oh my God! Can you believe it? I’ve known Matt since we were kids and I had no idea.” He paused for a second, thinking. “Wait, do you think he’s been checking me out in the change room this whole time?”

  I saw Mia’s mouth drop open at the exact moment I pulled out of Jake’s arms.

  “What did you just say?” I asked.

  “No offence or anything.” He glanced between Mia and me. “But our showers don’t have curtains. He probably watches me and the other guys all the time.”

  “Jake!” I was shocked. I had never seen this unattractive side of him before.

  He put his hands up in front of him. “Look, I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking. I don’t care who Matt wants to blow as long as he doesn’t get all faggoty around me.”

  “I’m not standing here and listening to this. I need to see my friend.” Mia threw her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll call you later, Feather.”

  I stared hard at Jake. My perfect boyfriend. The other half of what my friends considered a perfect couple. I suspected I loved him, but how well did I actually know him?

  Chapter 8

  Throwaway Lives

  We didn’t often get to have dinner together as a family anymore. My mom worked a lot of hours. With her usually working late and Kiowa away at school, I often spent dinners in front of the TV or reading in my room. Having all three of us home at once called for a big, home-cooked meal. We all pitched in. I chopped veggies for a salad while Kiowa barbecued steaks. My mom made dessert: homemade strawberry shortcake that looked delicious.

  As we sat around the table and talked about Kiowa’s classes, which neither my mother nor me actually understood, I couldn’t help but think again about how different my home life was from Mia’s. We both had single mothers but my mother had focused on raising my brother and me. She worked hard to provide for us, while Mia’s mom paraded one useless boyfriend after another through Mia’s life. Now she had to lock her bedroom door against her creepy molester stepfather. I knew if my mom ever brought home a guy who touched me like that, I could tell her and he’d be gone in a heartbeat. Probably with a black eye.

  This led my thoughts back to Carli. She was shuttled from house to house and expected to fit in and not complain. I didn’t know as much about what happened in her foster homes as I’m sure Ben did, but I knew she had been with a family who liked to hit their foster kids for any wrongdoing — real or imagined. I had seen her with black eyes and an arm in a cast. That wasn’t even the worst situation she had been in. I couldn’t imagine being Carli, moving from place to place and having to fly under the radar so you don’t make waves. I couldn’t conceive of a home where I didn’t feel safe and secure with people looking out for me. What choice did she have but to find other kids like her and seek a refuge where they could all eat hot meals and not worry about being hurt or touched? It was starting to make sense. Not everyone had someone to talk to or count on. Not everyone had someone who worried about them.

  “So the cops stopped coming around the school and no one is talking about Carli anymore,” I blurted out, interrupting Kiowa’s fascinating story about his latest physics lab. “Sorry,” I said to him.

  My mother sighed. “I assumed as much. There’s an epidemic of missing and murdered women in Winnipeg — over a thousand murdered Indigenous women in this country and a hundred still missing — and a lot of people in power are ignoring it. They believe we’re bringing it on ourselves. They think women in our community deserve to be victimized just because of the colour of our skin.”

  “How can they do that?” I asked, maybe naively. Not everyone lived as I did. But it seemed to me if a teenaged girl went missing, it was the duty of everyone to try to find her. “Why aren’t they doing anything to find Carli . . . and all of those other women? Doesn’t anybody care?” I was so worked up, so outraged that I was sweating. I wiped my forehead. “I just don’t get it.”

  “Well, a lot of them are marginalized women. Prostitutes or homeless women. But I believe people are changing, especially in our community. After Winnipeg was named the most racist city in Canada, people started to address it. People are trying to do something about these women. Amnesty International, No More Stolen Sisters and the marches . . . it may not be what we’d like to see happen, but people are raising awareness.” My mother looked at Kiowa and sighed. “There have been a lot of people passing the buck, refusing to take any responsibility or action. There have been calls for inquiries, but up to now, no one seemed to want to move forward with it. The government has left it to law enforcement to deal with. Women in our community are sexualized and seen as easy targets. Alcoholism has destroyed too many families and now women are often on their own. There’s still a lot of racism directed towards us, both within and outside of law enforcement.”

  My brother applauded her speech and kissed her on the cheek. “Hear, hear! If Mom was in charge, we’d have a real roundtable organized in no time.”

  “I should be!” Mom was outraged.

  “I think I know what you mean,” I volunteered. “It’s not just about Aboriginal girls after they go missing or are killed.”

  “Oh?” My mom looked over at me.

  “Well, it happens a lot, doesn’t it? Mia and I have men stopping their cars all the time and propositioning us when we’re walking down the street and it’s just as bad at the mall.”

  “What?” Kiowa looked furious suddenly. “When does this happen?”

  “It happens all the time, Ki. They call us ‘sexy little Indians’ and they honk their horns. I guess I was offended but I didn’t really think about it being racist. But they always seem to make some comment about us, like calling us ‘squaws.’”

  “That’s awful, Feather.” My mom reached over and took my hand.

  “I’ve had it happen too,” Kiowa admitted. “Not like that!” he interjected. “But when I was looking for a summer job, I had more than one person tell me they didn’t feel they could trust me. I thought they meant because I was a kid. But one admitted it was because of my skin colour. It was humiliating.”

  I nodded. “I don’t get why the local police aren’t doing anything about Carli. She’s still missing and they called off the search after a few days. There were plenty of people in the neighbourhood who would have kept looking but the police told them it wasn’t necessary. They didn’t find a thing. Not a clue. So why did they stop looking?”

  “I don’t know, Feather.” My mother looked sad as she answered. “I really don’t. I guess because Carli ran away
before, they think she’s run away again.”

  “But she wouldn’t leave without telling Ben,” I insisted.

  My mom nodded. I knew she understood. I also knew she had to be worried about me. I worried about her too, since she was usually the last one to leave the office at night.

  “You’ll be careful, right, Mom?” I could tell she knew what I was thinking. She reached across the table and took my hands in hers.

  “Of course. I usually walk out with Armando.” Armando was one of the security guards at her office. “And you’re being careful too, right?”

  I nodded. “Definitely. I’m usually with Mia or Jake. Otherwise, I’m home.” I looked over at Kiowa. “Hey, I’m sorry. I really brought this dinner down, didn’t I? Why don’t you tell us more about university? Maybe you can fill us in on the thrilling hours you spend in the lab? Are there any actual girls in that class?” I smirked at him, trying my best to lighten the mood. Kiowa and I had always been on the same wavelength. He smiled and started talking about . . . well, I think it was about physics but Kiowa is the only one in our family with a brain that processes numbers and theories easily. I inherited the more creative mentality of my mother. I played a couple of instruments and I loved to write. I’d swear Kiowa was adopted, except he looks just like the one picture of my dad that my mother left on the mantle.

  “Fascinating as this is, I’m going to get the dessert. But keep talking, Ki. I’m sure I’ll get the gist of it when I get back.” I winked at him and stood up. The mood was lighter, Carli temporarily forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind, I found myself thinking. I immediately felt awful. I’d push the cops to keep looking the next time I saw them, I swore to myself. Maybe someone needed to remind them there were people who cared about our women. Even if she was just another Indian girl.

  My phone dinged in the pocket of my hoodie. We had a strict “no phone” policy at the dinner table and my mother shot disapproving glances my way.