Find Him

I checked my phone again, for the fifth time in as many minutes. Not just a quick glance at the indicator light, which I prayed would be flashing its friendly light-green blinking—no, I went through the whole process of unlocking the phone, opening the messaging app, and looking over our conversation. Still nothing. I was tempted to fire him yet another message, but what would it do to add one more to the twelve I’d already sent and the three calls that had gone straight to voicemail? It wasn’t like this would make him respond any faster.

I sighed and chucked the phone onto my bed. Our bed. The bed I’d managed to get him in for the fastest hour in history a week earlier. God, that had been nice—

No. I tried to push those thoughts out of my mind, to stop thinking about him. It was useless. I didn’t even want to. Not when all of this was going on. Not when he had…

I couldn’t even form the words in my head.

“Anything?” I asked, turning back to worn leather office chair and the tri-colored head that sat bent over in it.

A quick shake sent the pink, blue and yellow hair flying back and forth. “Nothing new. Nothing’s been updated. Facebook, Insta, Snap, all of them just showing the same stuff from a few days ago.”

A few days ago. The last time I’d seen him. “What about LinkedIn?” I tried to smile.

“Yeah, I’ll check that right after I check Myspace and Google Plus.” Caitlyn looked up from her phone and laid her eyes right on me. “You know, this would be easier if you had the apps on your own phone.”

“Nope. You know my rule about social media. It just distracts me.”

“Yeah, because you’re clearly not distracted right now.”

I sat down on the bed, the mattress creaking beneath me, and sunk my face into my hands. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“I know. I heard you the first dozen times.” Using her feet, she scooted the chair across the wood floor until she was sitting right in front of me. “But maybe there‘s an explanation. Maybe he went on vacation or his phone’s broken, or he’s grounded—”

“He’d find a way to let me know.” I was back up on my feet, walking past her and to the window. “He never said anything about vacation. His last words to me were ‘Let’s try to do something on Wednesday.’” I could still hear them echoing through my head. “And that was last week.”

The window looked out on the tiny backyard, barely big enough to contain the house’s barbeque and a set of third-hand patio furniture. I’d joked that it should have been classified as a balcony when I’d first moved in. Back before I even knew Josh. Back before, well, whatever the hell this situation was.

Two firm hands came down on my shoulders and began to massage them. “Please try to relax.” I found myself doing so as her fingers worked against my sore muscles. “Just wait a few days. He’s bound to show up soon.”

I gave her another few seconds to relieve my aching shoulders before shrugging her away and walking back to my phone. Still nothing. Not that I was expecting there to be something.

Not that I wasn’t praying there would be.

I stretched my arms out and slowly sighed, finally able to take a deeper, longer breath. “Okay. We’ll wait. You’re right. There has to be a sensible explanation for all of this. Plus, I have a ton of assignments that I haven’t even started on. And probably a few tests to study for.” Now she was smirking at me. I sighed again. “Thanks C. I really appreciate this.”

She grabbed my arms and held them firmly. “Everything’s going to be fine. For all you know, there was an emergency in his family, and he’s a thousand miles away with a dead phone, desperately trying to find a way to get in contact with you.”

I nodded as my heart’s pounding lessened to a steady rate and my shoulders relaxed further. My whole body was calming down. “Yeah. The last thing he’d want me to do is freak out. Then he’d feel even worse about this.”

She sat back in the chair and scooted it back to the desk. “Exactly. I’ll keep an eye on his socials. But this really isn’t anything to worry about. Can you promise you’ll try to stop?”

I chuckled. “I’ll try to try. Besides, I have to plan something for tonight’s meeting, right? Maybe I can do something that relates to this whole mess. ‘What to do when your boyfriend stops answering your texts.’ Or something like—”

She gasped loudly. “Oh God.”

“…or not,” I said. “Fine, I’ll do something that doesn’t—”

“No, it’s…” she held up her phone. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no.”

In a second, my heart was racing once again, and my entire body felt like it’d heated up fifty degrees. “What?” I lunged over to her. “What is it?”

“I-I just tried to view his Facebook. It’s… it’s not there anymore.”

I looked over the page. Where seconds before had been the cheerful, beaming smile of my boyfriend and a slew of enthusiastic, bright background statuses, now there was just a bandaged thumb and a message that the page was not available.

I struggled to get the words out, my mouth dry and my throat feeling constricted by my pounding heart. “Check the other pages.” Caitlyn fumbled with her phone. “Dammit, check them!”

She opened his Twitter account. Pre-refresh: 1,276 posts. Post-refresh: inactive account. Caitlyn glanced up at me with wide eyes and moved on to Josh’s Instagram. Every photo of his piercing blue eyes and shiny black hair was gone.

“How could…” she started. “We were just looking at them. How could they all just be deactivated like this?”

I couldn’t find the words to say it aloud, but I feared—no, I knew—what had happened. The unanswered texts, the absence on campus and at the club meetings, and now this. I had no idea what was causing it, but it had happened.

Josh had disappeared.

My boyfriend was gone.

I met Josh on warm day towards the end of September of my junior year. My classes were well underway, and a Chemical Engineering assignment I had no idea how to even approach was on my mind as I walked up the stairs to the top floor of my college’s student union building. I winced with each step, my legs reliving every check and blocked puck from the previous night’s practice. At the third floor, I regretted not taking the elevator. By the fifth floor, I regretted ever making the school’s hockey team. When I reached the seventh, and final, floor, I wondered whether life was even worth it.

Carrying a box full of papers and cheap little toys, I headed down the hall. It was the kind that looked like it hadn’t been given any attention since the building was constructed in the seventies, with old, well-worn grey carpeting that crunched under my feet and peachy beige walls that screamed “old folks home,” especially under the harsh blue glare of the exposed florescent lights. Ten seconds in and already my head was starting to hurt. Anyone suffering from a hangover would find themselves in Hell here.

I started singing to myself as I walked, knowing that the only people who used this floor were us and the janitors, and since I was fifteen minutes early for the meeting and the janitors didn’t give the slightest care to us students, I was safe to let my inner Britney out. “Oh baby, baby...” As I spun the corner, I saw that I wasn’t alone.

Because I saw him.

He was standing outside the club’s rainbow-painted, selfie-covered door, hugging onto his backpack like it was a teddy bear. He jumped—literally jumped—when he saw me, his eyes going wide and darting from me to the hall behind me to the floor and then back to me. I found myself smiling, and not just because I wanted to assure this kid that nothing was wrong, but I tried to keep from looking like I was too entertained. I’d seen that wild, crazed, terrified look before on many of the students who’d come to the school's United Gender/Sexual Minority, or USGM, club before: students who’d walked the entire way with their head looking over their shoulder, who’d loitered in the building’s lobby for half an hour before finally making their way up to the top floor, who’d had no idea what to expect when meeting other Queer people for the first time. It never ceased to be adorable. If anything, it got cuter each time.

And this one was mighty cute. His big blue eyes were crystal clear and reminded me of the ocean, or what I remembered of the ocean, while his mop of black hair fell onto his face and drifted back as he looked around. His body, a couple of inches shorter than me, was slim, but the clothes he wore fit it well, with a tight dark-green shirt hugging his torso—at least, the part I could see behind his backpack—and skinny jeans doing what skinny jeans do best.

Now I was smiling even wider. “Hey,” I said, trying my best to give off the cool, casual “Trent” vibe. I kept walking towards him. “How’s it going?”

His mouth contorted in a way that an alien might if it were trying to mimic a human smile. “Good. I think I’m—” He gestured at the door. “I was going to, uh—Maybe it’s the wrong time?”

“Are you here for UGSM?” I asked. I raised my hands, as though he were a trapped animal and I needed to indicate that I was not going to cause him any harm.

“I—uh—yeah. I just wanted to check it out.” Again, with the attempt at a confident smile. It took all of my energy to not break out in a huge grin. The kid was adorable.

“Well, you've come to the right place. I'm Trent. I’m on the club’s executive team.” I offered my free hand and was met with a weak, sweaty palm. As much as I wanted to ask what had brought him here, I'd been told time and time again that it was not a good icebreaker of a question. Everyone had their reasons and prying about them could scare our newcomers away. Heck, he looked like he could flee at any second, be it by hall or window. “So, you're a student here?”

“Yeah, I am.” Look away. Back to me.

“And you're studying…”

His lips inched upwards in a way that looked half-natural. “Economics. And, uh, theatre.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Now that's a combination. Maybe you can write the first-ever Broadway show about John Maynard Keynes. Call it 'I Have a Date with the Aggregate' or something.” Truth was, I barely knew a thing about economics, but in the previous school year I'd given a presentation to the club on famous LGBT scientists, and the bisexual Keynes had been one of them.

He laughed and gave me a look that I instantly recognized. It was the same kind of look I gave to guys when I was trying to figure out what I thought of them. Then he relaxed, and his bag fell to his side. I could see a bit more of his body—slim, but showing a bit of tone under his t-shirt. “I'm more interested in acting, but maybe I'll give it a shot.”

“That's cool.” I hoisted the box higher under my arm. “By the way, what's your name? I mean, you don't have to give your real name if you don't want—”

“Josh. Josh Driscoll.” Boom. First and last. Now I could stalk—er, find him online.

“Great to meet you, Josh.” I fished the keys out of my pocket with the other. “Now, if you don't mind, I do need to get into the room.”

“Right. Sorry.” He sheepishly moved out of the way. I unlocked the door and stepped into the darkened meeting room, which was just as outdated as the rest of the floor. Old wooden chairs, half of them broken or cracked in some place, lined the windowless walls, while in the center were six collapsible folding tables—or, would-be collapsible tables, had the legs not rusted to the point of being completely immovable. From what I'd heard, the room had been given to the UGSM club a decade earlier, after heavy pressure from students to have an LGBT support club. The fact that we'd received the bare minimum of facilities showed how much the administration really cared about us.

“This is… nice.” Josh followed me in, dropping his bag on a chair. It creaked loudly.

I walked to the back wall and flipped the light switch—one more stupid design issue with this room—and looked back at him. “That’s it? It’s nice? C’mon Josh, if you wanna be an actor, you're gonna have to be more convincing than that.”

“Uh, right.” Josh looked around and nodded his head. His voice shot up an octave. “Wow, this place is really great!”

I shook my head. “You’re getting close, but I’m still not buying it. Give me more. Show me passion!”

“Okay, fine.” He took a step forward and held a hand up to his forehead dramatically. “Trent, in my eighteen years on this earth, I have never seen nor experienced a place such as this. All my life I have been searching—seeking, yearning—for a room to call my own, one with crappy lighting and poor ventilation. And for so long I thought such a room was an impossibility. And yet, alas, I look yonder and what do I see?” He walked up to me and swept his hand out. “This is that room. I have found that room.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. It was something I never would normally never do to a guy I’d just met. But at this moment, it felt right. “Tell me, Josh,” I said, trying to match his own theatricality but knowing that I was failing miserably. “Was it this room you were looking for? Or was it a room somewhere deeper? Was it a room… in your heart?”

He looked up at me, his sleek black hair once again hitting lightly against his face before falling back to cover his ears. I felt a shiver go down my spine and into my legs. “Maybe, Trent…” He'd suddenly clasped my hands with his. “Maybe we all have an empty room in our hearts.”

I adjusted my fingers so that they were interlocked. The fake passion I'd been trying to act out was gone. Now it was a real passion, as the growing bulge in my jeans made clear. I found myself looking down at his ever-widening eyes and trying to keep myself from laughing. The color drained out of his face as his mouth finally broke out in a huge smile.

Kiss him. Who cares that you just met him, just kiss him, damn it.

His head inched towards mine. I slowly brought my lips to his, in breathless anticipation of what his skin would feel like. What it’d taste like.

I could sense his warm breaths. My grip on his hands tightened. I closed my eyes.

The door handle clicked.

I let go of Josh’s hands and jumped back as a girl in an oversize turquoise tank top and grey sweatpants barged in. “Trent!” She clapped her hands together and shook them up and down.

“Hey Cait.” I tried to mask my disappointment. In front of me, Josh walked to the side and took a seat in the nearest chair. He placed his backpack firmly over his lap.

“I was wondering why the door was unlocked!” She spoke with the enthusiasm as though she’d just found an unknown Da Vinci work. “Didn’t realize you were in here with your… new friend.”

Josh fidgeted in his chair, while I tried my best to keep cool. “Very funny, as always.”

“Is that Trent?” Another girl, this one about half the size of Caitlyn, skipped into the room. Behind her was a short, skinny boy with straight brown hair that fell to just above his eyes. She stopped when she saw Josh. “And a new recruit, I see!”

Josh tilted his head up at her and seemed to muster a half-smile. “Hey.” His low, shy voice was back. He had returned to his shell.

The smaller girl dropped her bag from her shoulders and began to rummage through it. After a few seconds, she pulled out a Ziploc bag full of cookies. “I know you said you have a game tonight and I wanted to make sure you have enough energy for it.”

“You wanted?” the boy said, in a sing-song voice. “I was the one who suggested it!”

I walked over to her and took the cookies, then wrapped my arms around her. “You’re the best, Tess. The Test. You’re the Test.” I looked at the boy. “And you’re great too, Kyle.”

“I try,” Tess said. “You better score a goal or something tonight, though. Then I can tell everyone that it was my cookies that won the game.”

I briefly opened the bag and took a whiff of the goods. It was like I’d stepped into the world’s finest bakery. “Wow.” I held the bag up to my face and inspected it. “And there should be just enough here to keep me going for all sixty minutes.”

She punched my shoulder. “They’re for sharing. Like with the newbie here.”

I turned toward Josh and gestured the bag of cookies toward him. “You want one?”

“No. Thanks.” It was like all the life had been sucked out of him. His head lowered, but then he looked back up at me. “What sport do you play?”

“Hockey.” I couldn’t resist any longer. I grabbed one of the cookies and shoved it into my mouth. I was met with an overwhelming taste of sugar and warm, gooey chocolate. “Oh my God, Tess. Quit school and open a store. These are incredible.”

“Ha. I’m sure my parents will appreciate wasting fifty grand on my education if I do that.”

“Please.” Caitlyn walked over and grabbed a cookie from the bag. “You're studying Philosophy. They're already doing that.”

I laughed and looked back at Josh, still thinking about how close we’d come to kissing. It’s not that he would have been my first kiss—not by a long shot—but he definitely would have been the fastest. I’d known him for all of five minutes.

“So do you play in a league at the school?” Josh asked, his eyes looking past, but not directly at, me.

“Oh, no, I’m varsity. I, uh, have a scholarship to play here.” I looked to the side, trying to decide if dropping my accomplishment would impress him or make me look like a braggart.

“No way!” The former. Good. Now he seemed a bit more excited. “What position do you play?”

“Defense. I tend to block more shots than the goalie.”

He nodded his head. “Oh. Cool.” He didn’t really seem to get it.

From down the hallway came a flurry of footsteps, and then a half dozen students burst through the door, caught up in some conversation. I forced my attention away from Josh and went over to them. Within the next few minutes another twenty-some students arrived, and by the time four o'clock rolled around I had an audience of over thirty. I welcomed them, spending a bit of extra time to especially welcome any guests, before giving my talk, this one about dating and consent.

Josh sat silently through the meeting, keeping his head down for most of the time. I kept looking over to him, to the point that I'm sure people started to notice, but the few times we made eye contact he immediately looked away.

As I spoke, I kept rubbing my fingers against each other, remembering the feeling of Josh's soft hands in mine. It wasn't the easiest meeting to get through—talking about dating right in front of a very cute boy who I'd just met—but I was fortunately distracted by my colorful audience. Jokes about pickup lines and stories of the worst first dates quickly took the pressure off me and my mind off Josh, and before I knew it my phone's alarm was buzzing, indicating that I had to hightail it out of there to get to the game.

While the others gathered in small groups to chat, I quickly made my way over to Josh. “Hey, it was great to meet you.” I found myself looking in those blue eyes again. I couldn't help but grin. “I hope you enjoyed yourself?”

He nodded and smiled, though this one again looked forced. “This was cool. I didn't know what to expect, but it was all pretty good.”

“I'm glad.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway, I need to get to my game, but I hope I see you soon.”

“I, um—” He once again looked away, and then back at me. His face relaxed. “That'd be great. Good luck with your game!”

“Thanks.” I said farewell to the others and booked it out of the room. I could still feel Josh's touch in my palms, feel the anticipation of kissing him on my lips. I wanted him, and I was pretty sure he had at least similar feelings towards me.

Damn it. This was the sort of thing that could stay in my head for days, kicking around and distracting me from everything else.

Fortunately, there was one thing that could take Josh—and everything else—off my mind: a good, rough-and-tumble game of hockey.