Sid's mother and sister hadn't left the house in over two weeks. They found what they need in the walls of that apartment. His lingering smell of him on his clothes. The recliner— still curved to the shape of him— where he watched cooking shows all night. Everything they needed to swaddle their grief into calm was in there. But it threatened to undo Sid. 

During that same two weeks, she found it hard to stay inside for more than two hours. Their grief was too demanding. Swirling around, all over everything. Tugged at her clothes and her memories until is seemed to crawl down her throat and take her air. She couldn't take it.

The move to the beautiful home in Westchester did not happen. They were still in their apartment even though they were supposed to be gone. Sid was pretty sure they were considered squatters at this point but the landlord was friendly with her dad and when he heard of the news of his passing he allowed them a grace period for mourning.

No one knew how long that would last but for now, her family at least had the comfort of falling apart in the place that brought them together. For now, family could come over and sit in that recliner of his and congregate in the kitchen where he'd pulled worn pots and pans from the cabinets to make phenomenal meals. And for now, Sid could escape into the streets of her neighborhood and away from the walls of sorrow that had been erected around her.

It was all she could do to clear her mind and feel like she was doing something. The whispers were killing her. People asking about her. Inquiring about what she saw and what she did that morning. What she didn't do. Everyone had their own opinions but they all remained quiet around her. Put on those pained and empathetic smiles once they saw that she was within earshot. She didn't want to deal with that and it wasn't helping anyway. So instead of looking for solace, she looked for answers. The guy who killed her father was still out there. Living and breathing in a whole body and that seemed unfair to her.

It was rare for her to go outside without believing she saw him ducking into a store, or leaning out of a car. Only to blink and realize it was just any other guy. No scar on his face. She even dreamed that she was the one who put the scar there. Before he was able to push her father into the tracks she leaped into action, producing a small blade from the pocket of her denim jacket and slashing him across the face. Protecting her father. Keeping him alive.

The Chicken Spot on the corner was the best place to sit and stake out the neighborhood. It rested at the busiest intersection of the neighborhood. From there she could sit at the single rickety plywood booth and watch everyone come and go. Ms. Rosa out to get her daily pint of tequila as soon as the liquor store opened at 11 AM. Mr. Williams waiting in front of his building with his 80-year-old mother, her swaying to the beat as he played The Temptations out loud on his small speaker at 1 PM. Passing the time while they wait for Access-a-ride to pick them up for her weekly dialysis appointment. Tracy leaving Marcus's house at 4 PM. Marcus's wife Lisa coming home at 5 PM.

But she hadn't seen him yet. Her patience was running out but she would come here every day and eat hot wings and fries until he surfaced. No one could stay hidden forever.

And then what? Sid didn't know but she trusted that her body would tell her what to do once he was in arms reach. Until then, she popped the last french fry into her mouth and tried to pass another hour without crying. Aiden would be here soon anyway. He was the only one who knew where she disappeared off to for hours. Her mother just seemed relieved to see her walk through the door in the evenings alive. Her phone dinged to life on the table in front of her. She peered at the screen.

Aiden: You still at the chicken joint?

She dusted her hands on her jeans and told him she was. He asked her that every day, she knew, hoping that one day she would tell him that she wasn't. That she had given up on spotting this phantom killer somewhere. He tried to convince her that maybe she had not seen him at all. Said that with trauma people tended to make up things. She didn't speak to him for two days after that until he apologized profusely and let her know that he was just trying to help. He was always trying to help and in his way he was. Aiden was a rock for her right now and she needed him there. He bounced in through the door a moment later and settled in the seat across from her.

"How are you?"

"Here." Her voice cracked a bit and she coughed to clear her throat. Actual words had not left her mouth since they were here yesterday. At home, she was a quiet island all to herself. Here she held the quietness of an officer on a stakeout. Except when Aiden came. Then she found only words to say and even the desire to speak.

"I see. Anybody look familiar yet?"

"No."

He nodded and dug into his book bag pulling out papers. He slid a stack over to her. Her homework. Dead father or not their High School still expected her to finish the few assignments they had left for the year. She would get them all done later that night at home and give them back to Aiden to take to school in the morning.

"I bought you these." He slid a pack of half-eaten Oreo's over to her. Her favorite snack of all time.

"Why is there only half?"

"I don't know. They came like that." He held a straight face as he opened his spiral notebook to begin working on his assignments. He was funny as hell. Could keep a straight face after saying the most absurd crap ever and it made her laugh every time. Even now.

"You're ridiculous." She told him after he cut his eyes at her. It felt like both a relief and a terrible wrong to laugh but she needed it more than she ever needed anything right now. She loved him for that. He smiled as well. His full cheeks making room for it. She thought of her father then. How he always said that someday she and Aiden would be married. She saw it now. Hoped for it even.

"Have you told anyone? Your mom?" He asked her.

Right after the accident, she was whisked off to the hospital. She learned later that she'd collapsed. Passed out right there next to the train that her father was beneath. The police came to her in the hospital after she regained consciousness but after asking her one simple question-- "What happened?"-- she fell into hysterics and had to be sedated. 

After that, her mother wouldn't let anyone near her. No police. No more questions. Her mother assured her that she would never have to talk about that devastation again. But she didn't know that Sid had so much to say. That she saw the quick, almost imperceptible shove, that had ripped him from their lives.

"No."

"You should, Sid." He was being gentle with her. He knew that Sid was battling with feelings that he didn't understand; neither did she to be quite honest. Sid expected to feel anger, a sense of loss, and extreme grief. But she did not expect the guilt. The shame that came from being the only one who was there and could have saved him but not being able to. To tell her mother, or anyone for that matter, what happened was to tell them she had watched her father be killed. Allowed it in some twisted way. 

She should have known that guy was bad news. Who has a fucking scar on their face like that for no good reason? He'd pissed some one-off before. She was afraid they would blame her somehow. Make her implicit in the entire thing that tore their family apart. The reasonable part of herself told her that wouldn't happen but the part that lived beneath the blame kept her mouth shut.

"I don't know. Maybe." She was hoping that she could spot the guy first. Find him and then that would give weight to her story. If people saw him, they would know for sure that he was the type. He was a murderer. In the meantime, people made up their own stories of what happened. In some versions, her father tripped on the gap between the train and the platform and went into the tracks. In other versions, the increasingly crowded train platforms from the surge of outsiders moving to the Brooklyn bumped him until he was falling. In the most ruthless versions, he jumped willingly. 

It seemed like the stories depended more on who was telling it and what agenda they wanted to push rather than any truth or evidence. The truth was that no one was paying attention to her father. They only saw him once he'd already made contact with the train. No one saw the interaction between him and the two men but her. And then shortly after they pushed him they were gone. Leaving her there with the burden.

"I think your mom would understand," Aiden said.

Sid looked out at her Fort Greene neighborhood bustling by just beyond the window. She hoped that the concrete sidewalks and towering brick buildings themselves would somehow deliver this guy to her. Make him appear so that she could have the missing link to her story. Tell everyone that he was to be blamed not her. But in the faces she saw going by, she didn't see him. And feared that she never would.

It may be time for her to tell her mother anyway. Without the evidence. Without the support. Just her words. Hopefully, the bond between mother and child would be enough. She knew for a fact that if the tables were turned her father would believe her. Her mother deserved a chance to do the same. 

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Vote and comment! Should Sid be keeping all this to herself?