Joanne slowly hung up her jacket. She trudged up the stairs to rest at her desk, her head falling into her hands. She rustled through some papers until she found a piece of paper. It was sheet music she had written. At the top, in her careful script, it read: For Maureen.

She tested a pen on a scrap of paper and tested some words on her tongue.

"And suddenly, my suspenders are too tight,
Without you, my Maureen, something's not right,
And I am getting colder.
It's a chip on my shoulder.

Without you, my life is expendable,
Now you're gone, my dad said I'm less dependable,
And at night, I cry myself to sleep."

It would sound so much better coming from Maureen's mouth. Maureen had a way of twisting words until they flowed, making everything bad in the world disappear. That's why she did her protests - only she could pull off something like that.

But Maureen would never read this, Joanne would never let that happen. Maureen was gone, and if Joanne reacted like this, writing depressing songs everytime she saw the girl, Joanne could only hope she was gone for good.

Joanne logged onto her email, shoving the music under a stack of papers. She had several emails, most from her coworkers. She opened the first one.

From: Cindy; .com
To: Joanne; .com

Subject: were r u jo?

were the heck r u jo? u havent answered ur cell, ive emailed u lik 50 times, n u havent responded! wats up? plezzzz email back!

-cindy carter

She thought about replying, but changed her mind. Instead, she found her bedroom curled up in a ball, and cried herself to sleep, still wearing her suspenders, button-down shirt, slacks, and shoes.