Forgotten
It was a bitter cold Saturday night, and the rain was drizzling outside which caused minuscule streams to flow across the dark window like veins. Half-way covering the only window in that room were long, burgundy-colored curtains that were starting to fray at the ends and had a mysterious stain on the bottom right of one of them. A smell of must and several years’ worth of layered on Febreze encased the sagging fabric. These curtains were a house-warming gift from my parents. It was at least slightly thoughtful, I tried to convince myself since these were handed down from them. The living room was only dimly lit by the television that was turned on to a sports channel. I didn’t enjoy sports and I never played them growing up, but I wanted to try something new and watch something that a normal guy at my age of 27 would.
Door number 365, on the 5th floor, was my tiny apartment blending in with the hundreds of others. It only had one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen that was barely wide enough to open the oven door, a dining room attached to the kitchen that could fit only two people, and a living room in which I was lounging on my stained linen couch. That night was dull and grey with thick layers of overhanging clouds over the city in which I lived. The city was fairly large and was littered with skyscrapers and thousands of faceless, dull figures speed-walking to their jobs and yelling at traffic. Almost every day was cloudy and I rarely ever saw the sun; that’s probably why I’m so pale. It’s also probably because I stayed inside my apartment for most of the day other than for work due to my lack of social life. I often found it difficult to make friends because of the deficit in friendliness in that city.
Watching sports was becoming too boring for me and my stomach was beginning to growl. Due to my laziness that night, I decided to order pizza. I began to call a pizza restaurant that I had never tried before because it was relatively cheap. The ringing continued for about half a minute before a deep, grungy voice picked up. I was a little uncomfortable as I pictured this man working at a pizza place: tall, dark-haired, tattoos on every corner of his body, bulging muscles, and piercings on both his lip and eyebrow. Nevertheless, I still gave him my order and he abruptly hung up after I said my full name. That was strange. Soon I realized that he forgot to ask me for my address. I hoped he didn’t assume I would drive there to pick up the pizza, for I was already in my black drawstring sweatpants, fuzzy slippers, and an old T-shirt with Cheeto stains on the bottom. The address for the pizza place wasn’t even on their website. I contemplated calling back but felt uneasy about hearing that gravelly voice once more and possibly starting a conflict. So I leaned back into the sunken couch cushion, hoping that I would get my pizza sometime tonight, and I changed the channel to a documentary that I liked better.
A couple of hours had passed when I finally glanced at the clock after being sucked into the filmed lives of sea turtles on my television. It was 8 o'clock and I was starting to get ravenous. I picked up my phone and was about to call the pizza place again when suddenly a loud, obnoxious knocking thundered on my thin front door and rattled the interior of my apartment. The noise startled me so much that I jumped up from my couch at the speed of light. My heart was racing as I imagined what type of character could be standing behind that door so urgently wanting to get in. My slender body and 5’8 frame pranced like a cat over to the peephole in my door and peered through. What stood on the other side was a tall man dressed in all black with the hood of his sweatshirt covering most of his face. In his hands was a pizza box carrier in which I assumed was my delicious pizza. As I hesitantly unlocked and opened my door, the man briskly took the pizza box out and handed it to me.
“Don’t worry about it.” his deep voice was insistent through the shadows under his hood when I attempted to hand him cash. I glanced at the pizza box in my hand but in the next second, the man had vanished. I slyly peeked around the corner into the hallway and realized that he was nowhere to be found. I shrugged my shoulders and locked the door again.
Free pizza was relatively suspicious but free pizza that was delivered was another thing. I was skeptical of opening the pizza box after I set it on my coffee table. The box had no printing on it other than a plain outline of a pizza slice directly on the front. This must be a new business that just started up which could explain why I’ve never heard of it before. A fresh smell of melted mozzarella cheese and juicy pepperoni struck my nose as I lifted the lid. The pizza looked perfectly fine to me and all at once I couldn’t contain my hunger any longer.
A dim flashing light pierced my eyes open and I bolted upright. It was 3 a.m., my eyelids were heavy, and the television was on a strange medical documentary that auto-played. I must have fallen asleep with a full stomach while listening to the soft winds howl outside my small window. The pizza box was still open on the coffee table with only four slices remaining inside. At a closer look, I noticed a scrap of paper attached to the inside of the box. My eyes were still adjusting to the light but I could faintly read the crude handwriting on it: “don’t go back.” I was thoroughly bewildered, but my exhausted brain could not process what I had just found. I reluctantly decided that it was a stupid prank that I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with, so I lugged my tired body into bed.
My life was pretty ordinary and mundane. Nothing really exciting happened to me anymore, especially since I moved away from my family. I moved out a few years ago into that dingy little apartment and my parents decided to move to Florida with my younger sister. I didn’t expect to be living in this city by myself, but my parents were rich and they decided to get away from the dreariness of it. My parents never seemed to want to stay in contact with me after they moved, which surprised me. I assumed they cared about me but as I looked back on my childhood years I could recall the numerous times they would seem to forget about me. They would forget to make my lunch for school or even forget my birthday. I pondered if somehow my parents were trying to reach me possibly even through that note. But why would they say that; don’t they want me to come back to them?
A few days passed after that incident and I was getting ready to go to work on another gloomy day. The dark, heavy clouds seemed to touch the tops of the skyscrapers and the thick air made this world seem slower than usual that morning. My life at work consisted of sitting in an office chair in my small cubicle at a garden tools company. Nine to five felt like the longest hours of my life trapped in an enclosed space doing office work with only a partial view of a tall window on one side of the floor overlooking the grey city. I dreaded stepping out my apartment door that morning just as much as dreaded driving through eight o’clock traffic on a Tuesday. A surprise came to me when I reached my metallic blue Toyota Camry in the parking garage with two cars on either side of it sitting too close for my comfort. Another note from a ripped-off piece of paper was under my windshield wiper. I prepared myself to read some type of ticket or fine for doing nothing wrong from the parking police who liked to do this for fun. But no, instead, what was written on the note was another message from an anonymous person. This time it read, “Don’t leave, I am here.” Whatever that meant. As I stood there in the cold, windy parking garage, I questioned if this was truly happening to me and why it would be me.
The week slowly dragged on as I put the mysterious events aside and focused on work. As best I could, I tried to ignore the thoughts and feelings pulling me towards curiosity and hopefulness. Day after day I told myself that no one would want to reach out to me unless they wanted to harm me, or they were my parents. I longed for the latter to be true. During a shift that seemed to be lingering long past five, a co-worker had brought in a small curly-haired white dog. After I pushed my jealousy aside, a smile crept its way onto my face like it did on very rare occasions. That dog reminded me a lot of one that I grew up with; one that was my older brother’s. My brother, whom I haven’t seen in several years since he left home, was one person that I looked up to throughout my childhood. He and my parents never got along because they were always at ends with each other. Josiah, my brother’s name, rebelled against nearly everything and he was very outspoken. Sometimes I wished that I could stand up for myself like he did because our parents weren’t always fair, but now he’s long gone and nobody has heard of him since. I realized that I missed him.
My phone was ringing persistently from the armrest of the couch in my living room. The sky was pitch black outside my window with no cloud in sight, but the faint light of the city down below drove out any shining stars that night. Stumbling over many used clothes that I’ve owned for years and disorganized shoes scattered across the hallway, I eventually made it to the couch and hastily picked up the phone.
“Hello?” There was no answer, so I decided to ask again. Faintly in the background were sounds of feet stomping on wooden floorboards. This was too strange for my liking so I hung up immediately. I wouldn’t dare answer it if it rang again. Suddenly, a voicemail popped up on my phone causing it to vibrate in my hand and startle me. My heart pounded as I stared at it with a blank expression. I stood there frozen for a long minute before I hesitantly opened it. What I heard next made me hold my breath as the whole room seemed progressively darker and colder around me. The same voice that took my order last weekend spoke through the voicemail.
“Gavin, don’t look back. Don’t leave.” The same stomping came through the background and the line crackled sharply as the message ended. My thoughts were racing when I wondered how this frightful man knew my name. I couldn’t ignore that no matter how hard I tried; the question kept running through my mind: am I safe?
The weekend was on the horizon as I was driving home from work the next evening watching the pedestrians bustle their way through the crowded streets that were lit up by dim yellow street lamps. The sidewalks were still covered in puddles from the rain that morning and they gleamed with the bright, colorful lights from the store-front signs. My destination was home, and I made sure of that. I had no desire to spend any extra time away from my apartment than I had to, especially with the ongoing thought that my life could be in danger. My eyes focused on the gleaming street ahead of me. When I arrived at my apartment, I unlocked the door and to my surprise, there was a third note laying on my floor from somebody sliding it under the door. This one was more like a letter. It was neatly folded and on the side that I opened, there was a symbol printed in jet black ink. This symbol looked like it was for a secret group or organization. The words inside the letter were neatly typed and all they read was an address and a time. This seemed like an elaborate scheme to try and get me out of the safety of my apartment. On further inspection, there was one word at the bottom of the page that I missed. Family. As perplexed as I was at that moment, my curiosity and hopefulness got the better of me. I wanted to see my family again. However, reality suddenly set in when I realized that I could not go to that location. It was way too dangerous. If these anonymous people knew my name and address then surely they might try to abduct me from my apartment. Thinking a little too irrationally out of fear, I decided to leave town.
I couldn't trust the fate of what event would play out at the address that was sent to me the day prior, so I packed a few bags with essentials and hopped in my car. It was only for a few days, I told myself. Just until I could get things sorted out. I had no clue where I was going, but I had to find someplace to stay. Maybe my aunt and uncle who lived a few towns north would let me stay with them, but did they even remember me? The thoughts circled my head like a vortex of perpetuating fear and anxiety, until suddenly a screeching alarm broke through the silence. It was coming from one of the stores up ahead. In the next moment, a jet black car pulled up in front of me blocking the path of the narrow road and causing me to slam my foot on the brakes. Another black car pulled up behind me as I saw a young man running out of a broken window on the storefront and dashing around the corner into an alleyway between that tall store building and another. Two men wearing all black bolted out of their cars that sandwiched me and chased down the theft into the alley. I contemplated making a run for it but soon I saw another man dressed the same way enter the alley from further down the sidewalk, but he was not running. I could not sit there and wait any longer. I needed to know what was going on and who these men were, but at the same time, I wanted to escape and avoid risking my life. The notes, messages, and voicemails flashed back in my mind and determination came over me to make it out of that situation. Stepping out of my car, I tried to run past the entrance of the alleyway, but a chorus of yelling, fighting, and boots stomping coming from the darkness halted me. I realized I wasn’t going to get far without a car and my curiosity suddenly got the better of me. I rounded the corner and saw these men in black surrounding another young man. He was holding something in his hand and one of the men violently grabbed it from him. The young man’s face was red and fearful, and the object he had been holding looked like it was an expensive package of some sort. One of the men in black proceeded to hold the young thief up the cold, hard brick wall. Only a few intangible words we said between the two before the thief was let loose.
The men in black quickly turned once they spotted me. My heart raced and I knew I had to run. My legs went as fast as they could and everything around me turned into a blur. I didn’t know where I was going when abruptly, a deep voice penetrated the frigid air.
“Gavin!” My mind and body were shaken up when I heard my name. My legs gave out and my elbows slammed into the pavement. The ice-cold ground pressed up against my face until it barely had any feeling. Forcefully, I made myself get up and I wiped away the blood and sweat dripping down my forehead. My eyes regained focus and saw a tall figure standing directly in front of me. He lifted his hood off and I could see the damp strands of dark brown hair sweeping across his light-skinned face. Those bright blue eyes glistened under the dim light of the streetlamps and my heart finally softened. It was my brother. I was so speechless, I couldn’t get my mouth to form words. Before I knew how to react, Josiah extended his arms and hugged me warmly.
“I finally found you, Gavin.” he stepped back and took a good look at me. It was probably ten years since I last saw Josiah; his wrists and face had small cuts and blemishes and I could vaguely make out a sleeve of colorful tattoos emerging from under the cuff of his jacket.
“Our parents are not coming back; I left them for a reason.” his deep voice calmed my exhausted heart. “I know you aren’t happy here. Trust me when I say that there is nothing for you here. Mom or Dad would have reached out by now if they truly cared.” my heart began to sink deeper and deeper. Hope felt lost. “Don’t let the past take over your life, Gavin, and don’t let the pressure our parents put on you stop you from living your life.” his harsh words resonated in my mind with how my life had been up until that point. Josiah went on to explain how he ran off ten years ago and joined a secret agency that focused on catching criminals, protecting people, hijacking weapons, and traveling across the country. It seemed bizarre to me, but he made it clear that it was what he loved to do. He became his true self who lived his own life.
“Why did you send those notes and messages?” I was thoroughly curious.
“I had to protect my identity and I felt the need to see and talk to you after I found out you still lived in the city.” he explained that they made up that pizza restaurant as a cover-up for their agency and that he was the one who delivered my pizza that night.
As I thought about it more, I realized that all my parents ever wanted me to be was ordinary. Nevertheless, my brother always stuck up for me and took a hold of his own life. He inspired me to be more like him.
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