I can look back now and see times, days when my world was changed in significant ways.
This was one of those days.
I wake up. It’s just after 11pm. There are three policemen at the end of my bed. They’re asking me questions. Asking me if I am ok, if I know where I am, if anything has been stolen and if I could get up and have a look around my basement apartment on Indian Road. I’m startled and unsure. Wondering why I was even sleeping. I didn’t remember going to bed.
I look around but didn’t find anything missing. The police inform me that my landlady had called the police as there were two strange individuals going in and out of my apartment but I was not with them. She feared they were burglars and she called the police. I believed the story then, but what really happened in those moments before my rest are not so certain anymore.
A life missing details.
This would be the first of many.
The police leave and later I realize my phone and keys were missing. I found out what happened to my phone, but my keys, well, I never did find them. And of the two who were thought of as being burglars. I knew them. Found one, but never saw the other, ever, again.
My mom tells me to stop thinking about it. To give it up. I just can’t. My pride too important.
Or an impending sense of life being a big set-up. Me being the big joke.
I’m still in high school.