Amy In Pink

Being Saturday, it was clear to Amy yesterday what she needed to do, when walking from middle school to the apartment; she just remembered her mother ordered her to wash dishes when leaving for work and needed it done before three in the afternoon. Leaving the TV playing a movie, although Amy didn’t care what played, she stood by the window of the living room watching the parking lot below; choosing over an half-an-hour what to watch, only to face she just wanted noise to fill the apartment. A minute ago, she’d thought she finished her homework from English when digging around her backpack for her phone, finding it difficult to focus when attempting one question on her reading worksheet. Only she threw back the assignment completely and went into the kitchen to fill the sink; no point in relaxing if being anxious isn't worth it, she thought irritably. While she couldn't listen to music on her phone while doing dishes, she was reminded she lost her phone. With everything feeling so gray she daydreamed with many opportunities at her hands, and couldn’t shake off the fear of them.

Two weeks ago, she had begged her mom for a new phone, along with a phone case, to match the pink cases her friends carried around school, with each having their names printed on the back. Her mom finally bought her a new one on her birthday. Days after, with caution, she was able to borrow some money from her dad to get a phone case, with her name, and show it off a day later.

However, when packing up to leave school yesterday she noticed her phone was gone. She could’ve sworn she picked it up from the bed, and made sure it was there before her dad dropped her off.

Unless mom saw it somewhere, Amy thought, and took out her dad's phone he left for her to use, taking a break from watching one after another leave or enter the parking lot. She tried asking her mom, but she didn’t notice any pink case anywhere; “Well you need to find it, sweetie,” she said admittedly. Going back to the window after hanging up, hurt by the inconvenience of herself, she tried back tracking how often she showed her pink case to her friends, to later having it while in bed watching videos. Pinpointing, as well, standing by the TV and looking out the window, on a dim day, when the phone, black all over, suddenly became dull and fragile.

The day today seemed unsure as to what it wanted it to be; she then went to sit on the couch, since it's all the activity she expected. Moving her hand over the cushions she caught how unflakily it is, compared to yesterday when eating snacks after school. She only ate cereal and a glass of water to feel cared for, this morning having no care it was Saturday, relieved to see nothing needed to be done right away, like chores or school work.

Her mind got mixed from the weeks she was at school and home, to wondering which parts her mind made up to conjure the anxiety she began to develop. She played the movie she was watching, a few minutes in, then, while the movie continued she found herself, again, standing up and moving around. Back to the window looking out the grey sky, but no rain. This is my place, she thought irritably, it would have to be just here. With sudden courage, She glanced back and knew she needed to start searching.

The first place she investigated was of course her room; it was cleaned well over two weeks ago when trying to convince her mother for a new phone; right now many clothes, makeup, and markers for art class are laid all around. She dug behind her closet and found old pants she thought she lost, and a few necklaces and bracelets, soon to be worn to pieces. She attempted cleaning dozens of times but always found it just as annoying when more things, like her white earbuds, went missing. Thus, the room would be torn apart to find them. The next area was her parent’s room, first checking the bed, then the placed sheets in her closet, with suspicion her mother folded them without noticing any rectangle object within them. She recalled while feeling their bed how nice it would be to sleep between them again, and looked up at the ceiling laying down.

While their room was better, it was admitted to Amy, with a strange weight on her, how many times her mother cleaned around the floors, restocked her makeup, and filled the closet with fresh clothes. Where could this damn phone get into, she reminded herself and got up to fight off the nostalgic edge that came upon her. Her sweatpants, from laying down, made her itch and thought she might change into shorts.

With no relief she went into their bathroom, observed her memory delicately to measure which times she had her phone and which times she had it but wasn’t active on it.

It was peaceful, though, to observe the tub and under the sink, dreamily thinking how much privacy she could have; along with her music, it felt like it was her own home, dancing alone. Her music tastes did grow admirably from elementary to middle school, and she took pride in knowing what others were aware of in their own tastes - and how connected it is to make her active within them. Maybe even separating herself that she was, in fact, aware of her own change in aesthetics.

The only place left - and she feared this the most - was the apartment located across the hall, down one corner, and had the number 409. She would glance at its eerie entrance of 409 on the door, and wonder about its hidden rooms inside, when coming home from school. And, it was the night that her curiosity took over.

During one evening past two-thirty, she had ventured to apartment 409 to look for any active, strange things to talk to her friends about; the place was old, never been rented, probably, Amy thought, since the building was built. Her phone was in her pocket in case she wanted pictures to post later. She was in her bed when the thought came; and because she hated fighting when she would fall asleep, she planned how to spend the hours left before 3am. When her parents went to sleep, she quickly put on her shoes, the bed creaking, and snuck out the door. She went down the hall, around one corner and saw 409, and it's old, wood work up close.

When she entered 409 and closed the door, finally touching its peeled surface, she was startled by how warm the place was, almost like a living thing, she pondered excitedly.

And moved away from the door when hearing more tenants go past in the hall - "Everyone is supposed to be asleep,” she whispered to herself. The tenants, whoever they were, were heard walking further and entering the stairwell. I guess nobody can really sleep at this time, Amy thought, and wiped her hair behind her ear to remain stable, out of nervousness.

Having a flashlight in hand, she observed every corner in what could be the living room, then checked on the white plasters, peeling down and cracking.

With the moon out, the windows had no blinds. The pale light shining within, made the place more ambient in its dirty interior. She moved carefully through the small hall that every layout of the apartments in the building had, and found the rooms empty, and just as shabby as the living room. The place's structure was identical, with changes of a dish washer added.

She then wanted to look at the room where she would be located, and saw it fairly not as dirty as the rest, and felt oddly proud of it. A doll, a few toys like: a bear, Dinosaurs, and a plastic phone lay silently in the corner, abandoned, yet cleaned. “Sweet things,” she whispered. Although, when dreamily thinking if this could be a place to hangout, maybe even relax, she heard a scratch and shuffle of sheets being dragged.

Not until, when looking in the bathroom - shining her light to the entrance towards the patted floor - she spotted a blanket laid out and a few objects like Stanley cups, plastic straws, and boxes of old cookies and chips. It occurred to her, before seeing an old, dirty woman peek her head from the dark, she quickly said “sorry!” and ran out to the door and quickly, nearly tripping, but silently, back to her parent’s apartment. Although stepping back into her own apartment, she realized the effect furnished and decorative house items give when life is in it.

This triggered the eyes she saw before turning away and making way to the exit, of the strong image that stayed when she snuck into her bedsheets that night, and remained still to not alert her parents. But, it was as though she ran in a circle when looking in the dark, awaiting any steps coming from the hall.

She knew from the start her phone likely fell out from her pocket, since the depths of them don't go deep, and only had lint in them. She just hoped the thought of it was just a mere misplacement in memory.

Today, after finishing the dishes, and drying most of them to avoid the problem all together, she finally let the thought of walking over and knocking on 409, asking for her phone back, stay with her.

Unless, she thought deeply, the lady - if there was one that existed or was just the light playing tricks - she would've already given it back; Amy being sure the lady must've seen or at least knew where she went. One corner around in the hall and I'm right there. But the other side came when she realized she wouldn't want anything of 409 to know where she came from, old lady's especially, she thought humorously. So, with courage, she wiped her hands and went over, locking the door behind her, in case. It was awful to think how come she didn't turn around to look for it, and wondered, at all, did she underestimate how uncaring she became - causing the trip down the hall a reminder why she traveled to 409. Not even saying anything about it the next day at school for her friends.

Going around the corner she walked up to 409 and knocked. There was a silent, ominous feel 409 had against all other doors in the hall; the walls near the frame became dark and ooey, almost as if 409 aged faster than out of anything in the complex. And, with a slight listen, as Amy stepped back, feet were being dragged but coming to the door from inside. Even the sounds act differently in there, she thought, an echo flying throughout 409. I never noticed before when I went in, she thought with pride. Then, the door opened and she was greeted, instead of a shadowy face from that night, she found a face almost fragile when the lady's voice said, “Yes, can I help you?” with strands of gray strings hanging down behind her ears.

It suddenly hit Amy she had to answer, “yes. I was wondering if you - well, you see, when I snuck in I didn't know anybody lived here.”

“No one usually does,” the lady said.

“Yes,” Amy said, trying to sound aware how lazy this seemed, “but, I was wondering if you had any chance to see a pink phone.” Amy nearly said ‘you see’ again to sound formal, but just added quickly, “I may have dropped it when I ran out.”

The lady looked fond the way Amy nearly admitted how embarrassed she was, and glanced behind the door as though another was with her, and looked back and said, “I don't think so; I slept all day. Haven't had any new things pop around in here. Except, of course, you.”

“Are you sure?” Amy said aimlessly; she didn't mean for it to come out in the way it did. But thought quickly and added, “about the phone, I mean.”

“Yes, young lady, I'm sure,” the lady said, and proceeded to hold the door open slightly.

“Okay then. Sorry to bother you - again,” Amy said, realizing she didn't come prepared with anything beyond this. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” the lady said and closed the door softly.

When Amy walked back she was willing to observe what plan she had to make, in order to see if the lady was telling the truth. The phone was a new model; and if anything, Amy thought harshly, she probably hasn't seen anything as new and clean outside her apartment; she was nearly as shabby as her hideout. Amy felt furious and glanced, thinking of it, but continued. She closed the door to her apartment and walked back to the kitchen to put away the rest of the dishes, leaving the rest of her thoughts to motivate to tell her mother about the homeless lady in 409. It's laying in plain sight on the floor, she thought, stupid woman! My name is right on it. And, while smacking the cabinets closed, nearly scaring herself, “I wonder what the landlord could do about this?” Amy said to herself, and went into her room to start cleaning, making sure to adopt her mother’s folding technique to show.

In 409, the old lady, Mrs. May couldn't let the fear settle within her when she closed the door and turned around, and saw the pink phone on the floor. She stumbled over, and picked it up and said, “Annie, come here.” A girl, nearly about to turn eight, walks from the room where Amy's room would be located, and saw Mrs. May, her mother, holding a pink phone.

“Yes?” Annie said lightly.

“I told you to hide this. You need to make sure you don't lose this,” Mrs. May said.

“Sorry, mommy,” Annie said, grabbing the phone from her.

“It's fine; we just gotta make sure of the model, how much it would be now.” Mrs. May then walked her girl back to the bathroom. “Come on, go lay down. We gotta get going soon.”

The landlord might already be on their way, she thought frighteningly, and tried not to show it.

Annie, while playing on her new phone, at 20%, turns around the phone and sees Amy's name on the case, and asks, “Mommy? Can I take this off? I don't like pink.” Mrs. May then looks down, and is reminded how glorious, and lucky she is Annie is here - keeping her from walking out and laying in the street.

“Go ahead,” Mrs. May said with a smile, “It's all yours for now,” as they prepared to nap.