Alaina

Grief. Is that what this is? That feeling in your gut that something is missing, something that should’ve been there but just isn’t.

This playground is full of children. Kids playing with long-time friends and other children they just met that day and asked to play with. It’s strange looking in on it now. That part of my life is so far away. But I was forced back into it.

I just found out that you existed. Three days ago. Isn’t that funny? I went twenty-three years before someone finally spilled the news. I had a sister.

You were a little older than me. But you knew that. I was only a baby, so I don’t remember you, but you would’ve remembered. You would’ve been my parents’ first everything. And here I thought I was an only child. All this time.

So, what happened to you? They said you went missing. You were six years old, and you went missing. At a playground, like this one. They told me they didn’t want me to know because it would upset me too much to know you were gone. But to make everyone keep it a secret?

Did I play on those swing sets with you? Did Mom put me in the baby swing while she pushed you in the big girl swing? Would you have been old enough?

Would you have asked other kids to play with you? Were you shy or were you outgoing as a child? Did any of the other kids ever ask you to play? Did they know you? Were you known?

Did we get along? I’m trying to think of the ways that we might’ve interacted. Did you like me? Did I like you? I wonder if I ever tried to bite you. If I ever made you cry or if you ever made me cry. Did we have any special moments?

And would we grow up to love each other? Would we be best friends with only five years apart? Would you have helped me when I fell down, or helped me sneak cookies behind Mom's back, or taken me to the park when we got older? Would you have taught me how to drive? Helped me with boy problems? Would you have loved me?

I confronted Mom when I figured it out. I’m not living with her now. I have my own place in the city. I’ve been going to school. Law. I came home to tell her that I knew about you, Alaina. She didn’t have much to say about it. She told me what I already said, that you went missing from the playground one day. She apologized to me, over and over. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Why she’s so fucking sorry… I didn’t want to hear it. I went to leave, but she quickly found a photograph of you that she’d kept from me and tucked it in my hand before I left.

So now I’m the creep sitting at a nearby playground, staring at your photograph trying to imagine you here. At least I’m a woman, you know. Otherwise, I’m sure I’d get a lot more strange looks than I’m getting now.

You looked a lot like me. Like Mother. You have our same nose, the same cheekbones. But your eyes are different. Blue. And your jaw. But you had blonde hair, like me. But mine is darker now. I wonder if yours got dark, too. Or if it would’ve.

A few days ago, I was trying to arrange an upcoming trip. I was planning to fly out across the continent to meet a friend of mine who lives in Florida. I was booking the hotel stay and had issues with the online website, of course, because what kind of booking site actually works anymore, so I called the hotel to make the reservation. The woman on the call asked for my last name and I told her it was Lockman. L-O-C-K-M-A-N. She assumably pulled up a file under that name and guess what was her next question. “Alaina?”

Alaina Lockman.

"No, my name isn’t Alaina. It’s Quinn. Quinn Lockman."

We didn’t have any relatives in the States. But I'm sure you know about that. That’s why I did some digging. And that’s why I confronted Mom.

So where exactly are you, Alaina? And what exactly did happen to you?