A Worn Backpack Part 4

“What did Mrs. Thompson want from you Johnny? Is everything ok with Catherine?” a girl with golden hair and a face similar to Johnny’s, but much prettier, asked across a table laden with food.

“Nothing important. She’s just missing,” Johnny replied with an almost sarcastic air about him.

“You’re joking. Really, what did she want?”

“I’m serious. Catherine’s missing. They don’t know where she is. Even called the police on it.”

The girl looked solemnly down at her food, then suddenly inquired, “You think she might have just gone to the park for the day? Her mom’s always worrying so much about her. Huh, Johnny?”

“I don’t have a damned clue, Lucy! She’s been gone two days now, she’s not in no damned park and Mrs. Thompson’s not just worrying. Catherine’s really gone!” Johnny excused himself from the table.

Lucy stared at his seat for a moment, before excusing herself as well. Their parents remained oblivious to everything. They were the types of parents who’d never notice when something blatantly wrong was put right before them, but knew right away if their kids were hiding something.

Lucy was Johnny’s sister, but Catherine didn’t acknowledge that fact when she first met her. Two years earlier they had a class together and became friends over the course of the past few years. Catherine had always known somewhere in her mind that Lucy and Johnny were siblings, but she never thought about it when talking to either of them. She had, in fact, only realized their twin-hood consciously a few months earlier. Lucy was like an angel. She always seemed perfect to Catherine, even though she knew Lucy had to try just as hard as everyone else to get things right. Sometimes even harder. Catherine felt a strange connection to Lucy. It was as if their brains were connected half the time. She always enjoyed talking to her, and more often than not, they’d be thinking the same thing. Later on she amused herself by the thought that she had so much in common with Lucy, and Lucy was Johnny’s twin. By the transitive property, she would have thought she had much in common with Johnny too, but this wasn’t true. They were polar opposites.

“You sure you’re not hungry?” Jimmy waved the remainder of his cold-half-eaten-sub in Catherine’s face.

“You already asked me. It’s only been 10 minutes. No one gets hungry in 10 minutes.”

“Tell your stomach that.”

Catherine’s stomach had been growling incessantly for the past half hour. She had hoped no one else heard it, regardless of how loud it really was.

“That’s ok, I have some food,” Catherine pulled the bag of Lays out of her backpack.

She began eating the chips as she noticed Jimmy was staring at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Let’s trade. You can have this sandwich, and I’ll take the chips.”

“Hell no! That’s mine. Trade your own fuckin’ sandwich if you want the chips,” Max said, turning dangerously around from the driver’s seat.

“TURN AROUND!! I won’t trade your sandwich, just turn around!!”

Catherine screamed. Instantly, Jimmy and Max spun around to see what was facing them. Max swerved back into the right lane just in time to avoid a collision with a massive delivery truck.

“I’m not hungry anymore. Keep the sandwiches. I’ll just eat my chips.”

As she said this, Jimmy stole the Lays out of her hands, “You’re not a germaphobe, right? Eat the rest of this. I’ve wanted chips for the longest time. I should’ve bought some myself when we stopped for food.” He placed his half-eaten sub on her lap. Catherine looked at it for what seemed like an eternity, while Jimmy ate away at her remaining Lays.

“What’s in it?”

“Hmm?”

“The sub. What’s in it?”

“No clue. Food is food. Eat.”

She let another half hour pass before her hunger got the best of her. If there was no food in front of her, she felt she could’ve lasted much longer without eating, but the human mind is a strange thing. Her hunger increased tenfold as she sat in this strange car, knowing food was available, and more than accessible.

“Where are we now?”

“The fuckin’ U.S.”

Jimmy glared coldly at Max as he kept driving, “We’re in New Mexico. We just left Arizona,” Jimmy returned his glance to Catherine now. “Why? We’re going to the same place, so it doesn’t matter where we are in between, right?”

“It’s nothing. I was just curious,” Catherine pulled out her sketchbook for the first time since she left her home.

“What’s that? You an artist or something?”

“Nope.”

Catherine coolly let the crevices of her heart unfold as she allowed pencil to hit paper. A few rigid lines, slowly softened up by lighter ones, forming an unclear resemblance to a face she once knew.

“So who’s the guy, Ms. Non-artist?”

“Just someone I used to know. He doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

A graceful curve wrapped around the character’s forehead, as moisture reached the edge of the paper. She quickly closed her sketchbook, realizing how unprepared she was to face the inner depths of her drawings again.

“If he doesn’t matter, why are you crying?”

“I’m not. Jimmy,” Catherine for the first time in the conversation looked straight at him, then quickly averted her glance. “I’m going to sleep. Please don’t touch my bag while I’m asleep.”

She drooped her head against the clear glass of Max’s car, entering a much needed zone of unconsciousness. Beside her lay a few pencils, a nearly empty water bottle, a sketchbook, an image so dear her sadness was forever locked into the edges, and a feeling opposing regret that she wouldn’t bear if she had been alone, all crammed into her worn backpack.