Missing Pieces

by Meredith Tate

  “Well. That’s all.” She turns away, speeding to the door.

  Something twists in my chest. “Wait!”

  “Yeah?”

  “I…I miss you, Trace. I’m not…good at being away from you.”

  Her gaze softens. “I miss you too.”

  Trace’s marker-drawn blue eyes pale in comparison to the real thing.

  “Let’s stop this, this not talking thing.” I force past the crack in my voice. “It sucks.”

  She breathes out a shaky sigh. “We aren’t supposed to be friends.”

  “Tracy.” I hold up the mangled drawing. “We were never supposed to be friends.”

  I want to hug her. I want to scream at her for not contacting me in two years. I want to ask her why she kissed me and why she moved away. I want to know why this time she didn’t come back. I want to know if we still have a shot at being friends. If it’s too late. If Christmas Eve left wounds that time can’t heal.

  “Okay, I agree,” she says. “Let’s not ignore each other anymore.”

  The moment fizzles at the sound of the bell.

  I can’t fight the smile off my face the whole rest of the day.

  I got the best birthday gift in the world.

  Tracy Bailey

  Welcome to the Assigning Ceremony! boasts a bright orange banner.

  Mom shoves past me. “There she is! Look at my little niece, the star.”

  My cousin Annabelle twirls, her curled ringlets waving around her chubby face. “Thanks, Auntie Yvonne.”

  “C’mon, we gotta get seats,” my father grumbles. “Ceremony’s starting in five.”

  I scan the chattering crowd and point. “Aunt Gloria, Uncle Roy, and Alton are in the second row. Right there. Look, they saved seats.”

  We plow through the aisle toward our extended family. Mom pecks her sister on the cheek.

  “Gloria, dear, you look lovely.”

  “I pale in comparison to you, dear Yvonne.”

  “You flatter me, dear! I feel like an old hag.”

  I suppose they would be cute siblings if they didn’t only talk or see each other at frigging Ceremonies. They always put on a performance that could rival the Ceremony itself.

  “What do you think of Annabelle’s gown?” Aunt Gloria asks.

  “It’s divine. Any little boy will be lucky to Partner with her.”

  “Oh, I know. She’s a little princess today.”

  Everyone oozes excitement. One hundred pristine children giggle and whisper by the stage, pruning themselves like peacocks. They hold postures like miniature adults.

  I slide into the row and sit between Aunt Gloria and Sam.

  “I love you, Tracy Bailey.”

  “I love you, Sam Macey.”

  Veronica and Oliver plop down beside my Partner. Purveyors of fine fashion, The Wonder Twins sport their hideous matching T-shirts. Despite my desperate pleas, they didn’t even shield the monstrosities with jackets. Barely seated, they’re all over each other, brushing knees and entwining fingers. It makes me want to retch.

  Sam rests his hand on my thigh. I keep my arms tight at my sides.

  “So, Tracy, your First Kiss is coming up in less than a year, huh?” Aunt Gloria asks.

  I nod.

  Start the frigging ceremony already.

  She leans closer. “You must be so excited.”

  “We’re very excited,” Sam says. “It’s a big step.”

  I roll my eyes. How long did it take you script that answer?

  “It sure is,” my aunt continues. “Next big step before your Cohabitation Ceremony, then before you know it, the wedding!”

  My stomach drops.

  “The wedding’s going to be lovely.” Three seats down, Mom gestures her hands in the air. “Flowers everywhere, hanging chandeliers, the whole works. Tracy in a big white dress. We’re all so unbelievably excited.”

  So unbelievably excited.

  Mom winks at her sister. “You’ll have to take notes, soon enough it will be Annabelle’s turn. And we get to meet her future groom today!”

  “I know. I can’t believe it.” Aunt Gloria dabs a tissue to her eyes. “Look at me; I’m a wreck. Just imagine me at your wedding, Tracy. I’ll need to bring a whole box of Kleenex.”

  I swallow hard.

  She furrows her brows at me. “You’re quiet today.”

  “Sorry. It’s just a bit overwhelming for me.” I sip my water bottle, purposely un-focusing my eyes.

  “Aw, don’t feel overwhelmed. It’s a great future you’ve got in store. First Kiss, big wedding…And then, soon enough, you’ll be popping out kids!”

  I choke, sputtering water everywhere.

  “Are you all right?” Sam asks.

  “Fine! Fine…” I cough, wiping water off my chin with the back of my hand.

  The Ceremony commences. My aunt and uncle assemble their cavalcade of cameras, aimed and poised to attack.

  All the little kids amble up to the stage. Annabelle waves at us, and we collectively wave back. She’s so cute and young and small—so very innocent.

  The moderator starts announcing couples. One-by-one, they exchange awkward I love you’s.

  “Remember when this was us, baby?” Oliver says to Veronica.

  “It was the best day of my life.” She swoons.

  He whispers something in her ear, and she giggles. They delve into their myopic existence, playing with each other’s hands.

  Sam pokes my flank. “Remember our Assigning Ceremony?”

  I remember you picking your nose.

  “Yep.” I scrape my chipped black nail polish with my thumb nail. “Sure do.”

  “Sorry,” he says with a smile, “I guess today just brings out the romance in me.”

  My aunt reaches over me and squeezes my Partner’s leg. “Never apologize. It’s a beautiful thing to watch a couple so happily in love.”

  I clench my teeth. So happily in love.

  Sam beams. “At our wedding—” he brushes a curl of hair behind my ear “—will you wear your hair like you had it the day of our Assigning? It was so cute.”

  Wow, he’s really laying it on thick.

  “Oh, uh, okay.” I cross my legs.

  “And I’m assuming Veronica will be your maid of honor.” He wraps his hand around mine. “What color would you like her to wear?”

  Are we really having this conversation now?

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s years away.”

  “I really like purple.”

  I snort out a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

  Sam’s not laughing.

  “Oh…you’re serious?”

  “Yes. You’re not?”

  I planned a fake purple-themed wedding once…with a fake Partner.

  Purple in all my wedding pictures; I gag at the mere thought.

  “I hate purple.” I crinkle my nose. “It’s so…yuck.”

  “Oh, really? Well, I think it’s a nice wedding color.”

  “Very nice color,” Mom says.

  “Veronica will look lovely in a purple bridesmaid dress,” Dad says.

  “Well, I’ll get a nice purple dress myself, then.” Aunt Gloria says.

  “So, we’ll do that, then?” Sam asks. It’s more of a command than a question.

  I force a half-hearted smile. “Whatever you want, Sam.”

  Piren’s face floats through my mind. If he were here, he’d be laughing at this whole exchange. I’d be laughing too if it wasn’t my life that’s so hilarious.

  My parents don’t know Piren and I reconnected last month. We talk in secret at school. I can’t call or text him, because my dad screens my phone. I won’t pretend it’s like the good old days, because it’s not. We limit our conversations to hallway small talk. Our storytelling days are long over. It’s not the same, but he’s back in my life, and that fact alone fills me with warmth.

  “Annabelle Cohen!”

  My cousin leaps up, an eager smile spreading across her round child’s face. I
can tell she’s nervous; she’s bouncing like she ingested a heaping mound of sugar.

  “…and Brian Bates!”

  A twitchy dark-haired boy waddles up to her. His shoulders slump as he approaches his future wife. In some ways, he reminds me of Sam.

  “I love you, Annabelle Cohen.”

  “I love you, Brian Bates.”

  Cheers erupt in the audience, and cameras flash from every direction.

  Those are such big, heavy words on such a small pair of people. How can Annabelle and Brian possibly understand the magnitude of what they’ve said? Of what they’ve just promised each other?

  All the faces in the crowd blur together in a giant mass, their happy shouts warbling in my ears.

  Aunt Gloria pats away joyful tears. Uncle Roy’s cameras whir and click, capturing every moment of the occasion forever. Maybe my aunt and uncle will watch the video footage on the eve of their daughter’s wedding, a date unofficially scribbled in a calendar years away.

  Annabelle and Brian sway awkwardly on stage as if not knowing what to do with their bodies. Strangers stare at them, and they don’t know how to respond. All these people came to celebrate their life commitment to each other. To slide imaginary wedding bands on their tiny child fingers.

  I want to storm up there and rip my cousin off the stage. Run away. Leave.

  “I’m happy too, my love!” Sam says, resting his hand once again on my knee. As if my body is uncharted territory for him to claim.

  My muscles tense.

  “I have to pee.”

  I run out of the staged area, into the bathroom, and the tears break free.

  Piren Allston

  Lara’s parents own a huge saltwater fish tank. The thing takes up an entire wall in their living room. I love watching the little guys swim. Fifteen tropical fish of varying sizes, shapes, and colors float and weave past each other, in and out of a sparkly silver castle in the middle. Sometimes, one fish bumps another fish and reverses directions. I’ve heard fish memories only last one or two seconds; every time they bump into their tank-mate, it’s like meeting a new friend for the first time. I press my face to the glass.

  “Lara?”

  “Hmm?” She sits beside me, facing the other direction, knitting a hat.

  “When we get a house, I want one of these tanks.”

  “Okay.” I can tell she’s only half listening to me.

  I point through the glass. “Especially these blue ones here, they’re the best.”

  “The tangs?” She doesn’t avert her eyes from her knitting.

  “Is that what kind they are?”

  “Yep.”

  I’ve already asked to flip on the TV but was informed this would violate “our time.” So, instead, I sit in silence, watching the fish.

  Lara’s mother rushes into the room. She paces the length of the couch, hands jittering at her sides.

  I cock my head, draping my arm around Lara. “What’s wrong, Mrs. Goodren?”

  “Nothing, it’s nothing.” She sinks down beside us and buries her face in her hands.

  “Mom?” Lara brushes her mother’s leg. “You okay?”

  At least she’s finally paying attention to something other than yarn.

  “Lara, come close, I need you near me. This might be tough to hear.” Mrs. Goodren takes a deep breath. “Your Uncle Brent is…leaving Aunt Caris.”

  Lara gasps, clapping her hand to her mouth. Her knitting needles tumble to the floor.

  “He’s been Banished to Lornstown.” Water pools in Mrs. Goodren’s eyes. “He met another woman, and they…fornicated.”

  Lornstown: town for the exiled and the traitors. The only place the Banished can legally go in the entire state without facing execution for trespassing. It’s a sad, lonely town, full of loveless people with no hope and no future. Even if traveling there wasn’t forbidden, I doubt anyone would dare set foot past the boundary; it’s a hotbed of suffering and disease.

  “He’s in Lornstown?” I tighten my grip on my Partner. “Already?”

  “Not yet. He and the horrible other woman, that tramp, are going together.” Tears break the barrier and streak down Mrs. Goodren’s puffy cheeks. “The Mayor gave them two days to pack.”

  “What about Aunt Caris?”

  “She…she’s going to live alone.”

  Lara’s hand tightens over mine like a vice.

  Mom says Solitude is one step above Banishment. If your Partner commits adultery, you don’t have to leave town or go to Lornstown. You can stay in society, but at a heavy price: you’re doomed to a lonely life forever. You’re a pariah with no one to love. You’re a pitiable cripple without your other half. If you don’t already have children, that possibility is gone. If you do already have children, they’ll grow up under the shroud of shame, as everyone will know about their Banished parent. In the end, many Solituders voluntarily move to Lornstown, just to be around people again.

  “How’d he meet this other woman?” My mouth grows dry.

  “I don’t know; Caris didn’t say. I don’t want to know.” Mrs. Goodren scrubs her hands through her matted hair. “It’ll be in the paper next week. The burial for Brent’s soul is next Friday.”

  My leg jiggles, and I clamp my hand over it. Not now!

  We mourn the symbolic deaths of the Banished with funerals for their souls. Despite their fate, they have closure. But Solituders die a slow death alone; they’re alive, but lifeless.

  “I’ve got to call the rest of the family,” Mrs. Goodren says. “She shouldn’t have to go through this alone.” She strides from the room.

  The moment her mother leaves, my Partner breaks down in shuddering tears. My mouth opens, then closes again.

  What are you supposed to say when there’s nothing to say?

  Lara’s aunt is doomed to a horrible life, and her uncle is dead to us now. She lost two family members at once. A double whammy, straight to the heart. It’s sickening that anyone could do that to their family.

  “Don’t ever leave me,” Lara whispers.

  “What? Of course not. I’ll never leave you.” My words race out in stutters. “You’re my Partner. I’m not like Uncle Brent; I know what it means to have a Partner. It’s a privilege. I’m not going to give that up.” I squeeze her hand.

  She sniffles. “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  She smiles at me, cheeks wet with tears that still rain from her eyes.

  “I love you, Piren Allston.”

  “I love you, Lara Goodren.”

  “We’ll be happy together forever. I know it. I love you so much.” She wipes her sleeve across her face, absorbing the remaining tears.

  Forever.

  Tracy Bailey

  I’m mulling over the fridge for a midnight snack when the backdoor creaks open. I spin around, flicking on the hall light. My sister tiptoes inside, arms outstretched like a tightrope walker, accompanied by the overbearing aroma of alcohol.

  She presses her finger to her lips and giggles, slumping up against the wall.

  “Very sneaky.” I narrow my eyes. “Do Mom and Dad even know you left?”

  She smirks. “Nope. They were in bed. I went to Ollie’s.”

  “You’re out of control.”

  “Nuh-uh, I’m invincible!” She thrusts her fist over her head. It sways in the air for a moment before clapping back down at her side.

  “You’re fifteen, for God’s sake.” I slam the refrigerator door. “Your drunk ass isn’t fooling anyone. Quit the booze.”

  “Don’t be a killjoy.” She grabs my shoulders in a feeble attempt at stability. “You should party with us next time.”

  “Nope, I’m good. I don’t want any part in this bullshit.” I shirk out of her grasp. “And there shouldn’t be a ‘next time.’”

  I walk away, but she tugs my sleeve. “Don’t tell Mom and Dad!”

  “I won’t, but cut the shit, V. No more.”

  She holds up her hand. “Promise!”

  Thr
ee nights later, I’m perched in front of the television when the doorbell rings. My father rushes to answer it, abandoning his third round of scotch on the coffee table. I follow him into the hall.

  A cop stands on our doorstep, carting my handcuffed sister. Veronica wobbles back and forth between her feet.

  That little promise-breaking liar!

  The officer explains that he arrested Veronica for underage intoxication in the Capstone Mall parking lot, a block from Oliver’s house.

  My father’s hands ball into quivering fists at his sides.

  “I don’t want to catch her drinking underage again.” The cop tips his hat.

  “Don’t worry, officer, you won’t.” Dad glowers at Veronica.

  The policeman scribbles a report and speeds off in his cruiser. His bright flashing lights evoke fluttering curtains from peeping neighbors.

  Well, Mom won’t be thrilled at that…

  The moment the officer leaves, my father erupts.

  “Veronica Lynn!”

  My sister kicks back her foot against the doorframe. “Whattup, Pop?”

  Dad’s reddening face tremors. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Me?” She jabs him in the chest. “How about your drunk ass?”

  “You think this is funny?”

  They fly into screaming rages, ripping into each other.

  If I wasn’t a member of this fucked-up family, I’d find the situation amusing; two people, equally sloshed, slurring and stumbling while bellowing that the other person is an alcoholic.

  Veronica shouts in Dad’s face, and he roars back, shaking with fury. The stagnant hallway reeks of liquor. Somewhere upstairs, a door slams shut; Mom heard the fight and wanted no part of it.

  “You humiliated this whole family! You’re not leaving this house for a month!”

  “Don’t tell me what to do while you’re in here guzzling scotch!”

  “Don’t you dare talk to me that way!”

  I step forward. “Okay, guys—”

  “You’re an asshole!”

  Eyes blazing, Dad slaps her across the face.

  “Hey!” I barrel forward, launching myself between them. “Leave her alone!”

  “You stay out of this!” Dad hurls a sloppy punch, but I duck. His fist shatters against the drywall. “Damn it!”