Missing

Missing

From the gap of the little kitchen window slightly above her head, Anne felt something was amiss. From the spot where she stood, the sky looked oddly broad for some reason -- it was as if there should be something concealing that extensive spread of blue hue. There ought to be something there, at that very spot where her sight roamed for answer.

It really is weird, she thought.

She put her red jacket, went outside and ran towards behind of her house. And when she was there, there was nothing but an empty ground, sandwiched by the blocks of houses on its left and right side. There was supposed to be a house there.

Her throat went dry. She gulped. She felt that she has missed something very important, but no matter how she wrecked her memory storage, she couldn't find what it was, or who it was, or whatever it was. It was as if she was trapped by an invisible barrier, with someone, somewhat trying to reach her out from the other side. It was hard to explain, but deep inside, she knew something was amiss.

She turned and looked around. She spotted an old man tending to the bushes of the house across her. She gathered courage to ask him (note that she was always afraid to talk to strangers). Surely, he knows something that I don't, assured her to herself.

The old man was humming an unfamiliar song. His head rocked back and forth a little, jamming to the song. He was surely enjoying himself. She was unsure at first, but her thirst for an explanation overpowered her hesitation. She slowly approached him and tapped his shoulder lightly with her index finger. The gardener stopped singing and trimming the messy bushes. He turned around with a dejected 'hm?'.

Anne was quite taken aback. She tried her best to maintain composure. 'E-Excuse me. Um, sorry to bother you... I just want to ask,' she pointed to the empty soil, 'is-is that land always empty?'

The old man looked at her curiously before looking to where Anne pointed at. He scratched his thin, white haired head, wrinkly eyes narrowed. 'Hm.. I believe so. What's the matter?'

'Nothing, nothing,' the girl grimaced. 'Um, thanks.'

She returned to her spot, staring at the vacant terrain, trying to figure out the missing fragments in her memory. She put both of her hands in the pocket of her trousers -- her poor habit whenever she was stroke by anxiety. And at the moment, she felt something round in the grasp of her right palm. A piece of strawberry candy.

In a flash, everything came rushing to her like a rain of arrows.

Yesterday afternoon, and the day before that, and days before that, even weeks before that, she regularly visited the old woman who lived at the very house which supposedly stood firm in front of her. The old woman's name was Bianca, and she was very nice. Bianca lived alone in that house since as long as she could remember, that's what she told Anne. Their first meeting was elicited by Bianca's compliment over Anne's red jacket. After that, they became closer -- they became friends just instantly. Bianca loved to tell Anne stories, legends from around the world. They loved to hang out on her porch -- never once Anne stepped her foot inside Bianca's house. Bianca never invited her in.  And in every afternoon, they would munch on chocolate chip cookies that Bianca had baked. And that old gardener, he would often joined them -- his face beaming with joy whenever he saw Bianca's hearty laughs.

That candy, it was the last thing Bianca left for Anne before she disappeared, along with the house, and all the memories of her. All of it seemed like a series of a farfetched dream.

Anne's knees gave out. Her whole body was trembling. She held the candy hard to her chest, so hard her knuckles turned white. She was terrified. She was confused. She was deplorable. How could she forget someone so important? Her head was filled with all sorts of questions, but the most important question of all:

What happened to Bianca?

The sun slowly set in the west, but Anne haven't moved an inch. The gardener has long finished his work. She covered her face with her hands and took a deep breath. She reassured herself that she was awake and sane. She opened her eyes and there it was -- the candy was still there. It was real, indeed, and so was Bianca and the memories they have made.

It was all real.