No Tears

The table was full of strangers wearing basketball tops streaked with (fake) blood. And there was no box. And definitely no Jennifer.

Great.

I steamed up and down the aisles, like I’d lost a parent in the supermarket. But there was no box on any table. There was no Jennifer anywhere. I returned to where we’d been sitting. Maybe she’d gone to the toilet too? I waited awkwardly. Eventually a basketball guy turned round. Blood oozed from his mouth. His eyes were a milky white.

‘You okay, bro?’ he asked.

‘You’ve not seen a girl, have you, please?’

The group’s attention focused on me as the guy grinned. My skin tightened.

‘You’re a Brit? A Brit zombie?’ I nodded. ‘Good for you. And I’ve seen plenty girls today. You need to narrow it down. Cherchez la femme, right? Ain’t that the truth.’

‘Yeah.’ (Whatever that meant.) I described Jennifer. ‘And she was holding a box wrapped in brown paper.’

He shook his head. He asked his friends. Nobody could help.

She’d probably decided that it was best to split up. I wasn’t a great travelling companion. My main skill was being able to hold stuff and a bag can do that. She didn’t even laugh at my jokes. I mean, I’d dump me if I were travelling with me. I make me miss planes and I make me make stupid decisions.

Alone, I stepped out into the morning. Each breath further inflated the question WHAT NOW?

Across the football field, zombies warmed up. The air, less cold than Chicago, was rippled with soft moans of ‘braaaains’. And, then, at the other side of the grass, I spotted something terrible.

It wasn’t a person being ripped apart by hungry monsters. Worse: it was Jennifer being marched by two police officers towards the battered emergency vehicles. Even from this distance, I could see she was struggling, her braids whipping across her back as she moved. Inevitably the Cowboy walked alongside, a good foot taller than the others. He left a trail of cigarette smoke behind him – the white puffs punctuating his path like steam-train smoke.

The cops took Jennifer to an all-black squad car. As they reached it, the group turned. The Cowboy held the box. The rear door of the car was opened. One officer put his hand on Jennifer’s head and lowered her in like they do on TV. He slammed the door and the noise shuddered across the space, echoing against the empty stands like a firecracker. The two police officers shook hands with the Cowboy and soon their car edged away from its space and disappeared off through the far gate and on to the supposedly famous Route 66 and a different story.

And, standing there, I felt like I was being gradually lowered into a tank full of cold water. The wetness was anxiety and it rose over my ankles, over my waist, over my head. I screwed my hands into balls. I bit into my bottom lip. I forgot how to breathe.

‘Where am I? And how did I get here?’ I wanted to shout.

But I didn’t. Because strangers would turn and strangers would look at me. And that would make things worse. The looking.

The Cowboy got into a black pick-up, his mission complete. Frozen, I watched it roll away and, as I did, I shivered. She’d been caught. My partner in crime. Bonnie. What now? What next? What happened to Clyde? Did he have a happy ending?

First off, I wouldn’t cry. That would be a terrible mistake, no matter how much my throat tightened and my eyes stung. (Loads.)

At least she’ll get her wrist seen to.

But she’d looked … desperate. I mean, I hadn’t seen her face but her shoulders were slumped. And the thing about Jennifer is how full of energy she always was. The sugar sparkle. Like she’d shotgunned a dozen energy drinks. No slumping.

And now she was gone. And I was left alone. How was I ever going to free her from a police car? I was a kid, a thin-limbed loser, who’d once got himself locked in a school toilet for three periods (it was only French and everyone thought I’d done it on purpose) but …

Here’s the takeaway: I was no hero. I was a massive idiot.

The only sensible option was to call home. Mum and Dad would tell me what to do. It didn’t matter that ringing them didn’t feel right.

Probably. Because where had feelings ever got me?