VI

Now most every morning I stare out the window
And I think about where you might be
I've written you letters that I'd like to send
If you would just send one to me

'Cause I need you more than I needed before
And now where I'll find comfort, God knows

'Cause you left me just when I needed you most
Left me just when I needed you most

"Just When I Needed You Most", Dolly Parton

One Year Later, The Apartment Above Edna's Edibles

Blair Warner was approaching the end of her Junior year at Langley. She was scheduled to graduate the next year with a degree in International Finance, and a minor in Art. She had always loved to paint, but knew her future was with Warner International. In fact, she knew that within a few years, she'd be President of Warner, under the tutelage of her father, who would remain CEO. The position of President was more ceremonial than one that made the big decisions, but she would be in all the big meetings where those decisions were made. It was expected that she would follow after her father.

Yet for the last year, Blair had been a shell of herself. And everyone knew why.

She no longer lived in the apartment that she and Jo had shared near the campus. She was sharing the apartment that Mrs. Garrett, Tootie, and Natalie had. Without Jo in the old place, it was like living with a ghost, and the constant silence was a reminder that her best friend was long gone.

Despite the resources of Warner International, not a trace of Jo Polniaczek had been found since she left. It had hit Langley College, and the Eastland School-which was now co-ed, like a punch in the gut, when the story of Jo became public knowledge. Jo was a legend at Eastland, her academic and athletic prowess still talked about, as was her no-holds-barred Bronx directness, which had rubbed many the wrong way, but had endeared her to far more people than she could ever realize.

Of course, there were some rivals that took great pleasure in Blair's misery-Dina Becker and Brock Worthington being among them. Most notably those two. They still didn't miss a chance to humiliate Blair, or to disparage Jo whenever they had the opportunity. Yet for the most part, all the others who had been rivals and detractors of Jo, like Boots St. Clair, had realized the gravity of the situation, and had tried to reconcile with Blair.

Blair was studying in the living room, some light music on in the background, when Natalie came into the room. Usually she and Tootie were inseparable, but Tootie was rehearsing for an upcoming play at Eastland.

"You want something to drink, Warner?" Natalie was moving directly toward the kitchen.

"We have any Pepsi?"

"Yeah, I think we do. I'll grab you one."

"Thanks, Nat."

Moments later, a very cold can of Pepsi was in front of Blair. She opened it, taking a quick sip.

"Whatcha working on, Blair?"

"Creative Writing", Blair informed her, turning toward her friend and smirking. "Yes, I know, that will help me so much when I'm in the business world, but I enjoy putting my feelings down on paper-or via a computer. It can be cathartic."

Natalie didn't even have to ask what feelings Blair would be writing about. Blair Warner had not been the same person since Jo vanished off the face of the Earth. "What's the assignment?"

Part of Blair didn't want to divulge that information, but Natalie, like the other two, had been rocks for her since Jo left. "This assignment is to write a 'letter' to someone, and to simply put down your thoughts in an intelligent and structured way."

Natalie knew she was treading lightly here. "Can I read what you have, Blair?"

Blair looked at her friend. The look between them was confirmation enough for the younger girl as to the subject matter of Blair's 'letter'. Blair slid the two sheets of paper across to Nat, not looking at her friend as she did so.

Natalie looked down at the letter, then back up to Blair. The blonde had risen, heading toward the window, overlooking the street below. Natalie knew that this letter would hit her hard.

Dear Jo;

It's such a lovely day in Peekskill today. Not a cloud in the sky. The birds are all out celebrating the arrival of spring as if a new world had dawned just for them. The breeze is light and warm, portending to the approach of summer.

Yet I don't see any of that when I look out the window. I see darkness: a darkness that has been constant for the last year. I don't hear the birds, just a maddening silence. I feel a cold, bitter wind, that bites into the depths of my soul. The sunshine that was in my life has been missing for a year.

You took all that light from my life when you left.

I don't know where you are. I don't know what you're doing, or who your with, or what fills your days. I don't even know if you're still alive. Yet I feel you, so deeply in my heart, the pain of your departure beating me down, day by day. There is no joy in life.

You are still, and always will be, my best friend. I didn't realize until you were gone just how indispensable you were to me-how you centered me, gave me a true purpose beyond myself. Why does it take losing something or someone that is so important, to realize that it was taken for granted? I took you for granted, Jo. I wish I hadn't been so blind.

I pray for you, every night. I've even gone to the Church you frequented here in Peekskill, and light a candle for you once a week, and say a silent prayer. I just wish I could tell you how much I miss you-and how much I will always love you.

I'm lonely, Jo. Come home.

Natalie set the letter back down, wiping her eyes, as silent tears had fallen. "That's beautiful, Blair", Natalie said, herself rising from the couch, going over to the blonde. She hugged Blair from behind. "I know how much you miss her. We all do, Blair. I wish I had more than words."

Blair continued to look out the window. "Nat, I wonder if Jo's even still alive? I mean, nothing has turned up on her. And trust me, the company has a lot of resources to do a search like this. It kills me that they have found nothing."

"I know, Warner", Natalie said. "I think Jo's upbringing in The Bronx is helping her to stay hidden from everyone."

It was a weak attempt at humor, but Blair smiled everywhere. "It's the barbarian in her, you know that?" She could feel Natalie nod. "I know I haven't talked about it much, Nat, but...and I think all three of you know this, but I discovered just how much I loved Jo. I'm so empty without her. My heart never stops hurting."

The sobs started, as they often did when Blair discussed Jo. Natalie hugged her harder. "We all love her, Blair." Natalie broke the hug and turned Blair toward her. "But you love her in a way that none of us do. I think you're finally admitting to yourself what Jo admitted to you when she sent that letter to you. You two had such a connection. It was pretty awesome to watch sometimes-even when you were close to killing each other."

That made Blair genuinely laugh.

"I'm not gonna blow smoke at you, Blair", Natalie continued, taking her friends hands. "I wish I could tell you Jo will come home, and you'll get to tell her how much you love her. But whatever happens, keep that light on. Don't ever let it go out, Okay?"

Blair hugged her friend, closing her eyes. "I'll try, Nat. I'm just so lost without her."

The Same Time, Near Sacramento, California

Her hair was a tint of red now, a little longer than it was the year prior. The name on the "expired" Texas Drivers License, said that her name was Patrica Jones, a name that could fit of myriad of women in North America. Sitting virtually hidden next next to an overpass, carrying Interstate 5 overhead, a leftover sandwich in her hand, with a small bottle of whiskey to wash it down. Her eyes were glazed over, almost lifeless, beaten down over a hard, lonely year, far removed from where and who she used to be.

When she had left her home, she had been 5 foot, 5 inches tall, weighing about 140 lbs, most of it muscle. Today, the height was the same, but her weight was down to 120, her body looking nothing like it had when she left. Even in that short amount of time, the twenty-two year old woman had aged, looking older than anyone her age had a right to look.

In her purse, hidden in a compartment she had added to it, was a large wad of money. It wasn't as much as it had been the year before, but still more than enough to get by, and to stay hidden from the world. She made sure she looked like a bum-which she knew, in her heart, she was. She dressed raggedly, she bought cheap booze and only small amounts to eat, sometimes simply panhandling for handouts. She didn't want the world to know she had any money with her. So far, it had worked.

Yet every night, even on the few nights she could find any decent amount of sleep, the pain and agony of her past would haunt her REM sleep. Nightmares of her family and friends heaping scorn on her for who she was, other dreams of being attacked and assaulted for what she was, and even images of the person she had loved more than any other on the face of the Earth, rejecting her and humiliating her. In a word, she never seemed to be able to escape from the Hell her life had turned into-a life she had chosen. She tried not to think about her parents, or cousins, or whatnot, nor of the schoolmates over the years who had called her out for being different.

Despite the harrowing, daily pain, she kept a very small chamber of her shattered heart separate from that pain. It was reserved for one person, who she would always love. Taking another sip of the liquid that burned when going down her throat, tears formed in her eyes.

"I miss you, Blair".

The Bronx

Every day, at 10am, Rose Polniaczek lit a votive candle for her daughter at St. Alben's, the Catholic Church she had gone to since she was a child. Every day, she said her Rosary, silently sitting in a pew, trying to make sense of what had happened to her family. She almost didn't think she had one any longer.

Her Catholic faith had been the backbone of her life-a life that was hard, usually working two or three jobs a day for years, making sure Jo could go to Eastland, and then to Langley. It was an existence in a neighborhood that would frighten most people, with its gangs, the violence, the drug trade, yet she didn't want to live anywhere else. It was her religious faith, and the faith that she believed in the people where she lived, that had spoken that fateful day to Jo.

That had been over a year ago. She hadn't seen nor heard from her daughter since.

Rose had continued to work two jobs, dropping the third because, well, it was no longer needed, but she still needed to make ends meet, and to try and save up something for a retirement that was still years away. She enjoyed her jobs, but she no longer felt that she truly had anything to work for.

As she fingered her Rosary beads-a Rosary her grandmother had given her years ago, she was lost in thought. The Rosary consisted of a metal Crucifix, and a number of beads. The prayer of the Rosary began with touching the Crucifix, making the sign of the cross, then beginning a sequence of prayers, consisting of Hail Mary's, Our Father's, Glory Be's while touching different beads, and meditating on one of the twelve mysteries. It would end where it began, with touching the Crucifix, and making the sign of the cross.

Some people said the Rosary out loud, but as with most things in her life, Rose simply said it silently. It gave her some comfort, but each prayer also gave her a stab of guilt for how she had turned on her daughter, which in turn had driven her daughter away, not to be heard from since.

Rose still went to Church every Sunday for a full mass, and kept the love of her Faith, yet even in Church, she found no peace. Despite the support from her family, friends, neighbors, and her congregation, she still could see, with furtive glances out of the corners of her eyes, the looks from others, who in their own minds, were judging her for what she had done.

She had not seen a counselor, or even talked to the Pastor of St. Alben's, Father Kowolski. He had been watching her closely over the year, and he, too, felt ashamed of what had transpired, all in the name of Dogma. On this day, as Rose prayed silently, Father Kowolski approached her as she stood up to depart.

"Rose, my dear", the older priest intoned quietly, "may I have a word or two with you over in the Rectory?" He said the words in a conversational tone, hoping that Rose didn't suspect what the subject would be, yet he knew he wasn't fooling himself, or Rose.

When they arrived in his office at the Rectory, he poured her a hot coffee as she made herself comfortable. After a few sips, and the usual opening pleasantries, he got down to what he wanted to discuss.

"There's still no word on Joanna?" His voice was soft and caring.

She shook her head. "No, not a word, Father. Even with an APB out all around the country, and with...with Blair Warner's father putting the resources of his company into the search, nothing has turned up. It's hard not knowing where she is, what she's up to, or even...even if she's still alive."

The priest nodded his head. "I've been thinking about Jo and your family a lot over this past year, Rose. I look back and wish I had done things differently myself. Jesus taught us about love and compassion, and, well, I certainly didn't live up to His teachings that day."

Rose was shocked to hear her Pastor say such a thing. He had always been a very sure, passionate advocate for his beliefs. The Father saw her confusion. He smiled.

"Don't misunderstand me, Rose. I will never abandon my faith, but I've thought so often in the last year that, perhaps, there are times when we truly need to question what we've been taught. Let me ask you something", he said, looking right at the woman, "do you believe The Bible is literal?"

That question had never been asked of Rose, and it brought her up short. "I would have to say, Father, that, with how I've practiced my faith over the year, I tend to think of it more literal than not. Why do you ask?"

"I believe the New Testament is an account of Christ's life among us. I truly do. But the Old Testament? I've come to think of it more as a giant parable, and in some respects, we have to remember who truly wrote it, and what books were included after the Council of Nicea: a bunch of men, one being Constantine, who wasn't even a true believer. He called the Council to bring order to the Roman Empire, remember. And if you look at The Church over the centuries, with the Crusades, the Inquisitions and the like, and even today with terrorism from those of the Islamic faith, more blood has been spilled 'In the name of God', than any other cause.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is sometimes we can't see the forest for the trees. So Joanna is a lesbian. I know what The Church's stance on that is, but should that stance be so cold that it shuns her? Should it make it so she feels no one loves or cares for her? We're all God's children, Rose. I wish I could take back my part in this."

"As do I, Father Kowolski", Rose said with regret. "I truly was only trying to do what I thought was best for Jo. I think I let my religious faith blind me to the most important lesson Christ taught us-and that's to love one another, and to let God judged in the end."

"Have you had any contact with Ms. Warner?"

Rose shook her head. Despite her confession to the priest that she believed she and Charlie had done wrong by Jo, she still had trouble with Jo's words in the letter sent to Blair, that she was in love with the wealthy young woman. It still ran up against a lifetime of religious teaching.

"No. We were briefed by the NYPD, and Warner International's Vice-President for Security when the search began, and he has kept us updated once a month, just to keep in touch, but...I still have trouble getting past how Jo feels about Blair. It doesn't have as much to do with Blair as a person", she hastily added, "because Blair, despite being raised completely different from Jo, is really a delightful young lady, and she and Jo have been good for each other as friends. How do I get past my own stubbornness?"

"I wish I had the answers, Rose", Father Kowolski said sadly, "because it's something I struggle with every day. I do know, if and when Jo returns, that you, me, Charlie-all of us who turned our backs on her, will have to spend the rest of our days making it up to her. It hurts me to think that a child I baptized, who I knew so well, is out on her own like this. I hope the Good Lord forgives us when we meet him, Rose."

"Amen", Jo's mother said, almost in a whisper. "I just miss her so much, Father."

"Our faith makes us strong, Rose, but sometimes it makes it so we can't see the good that is right in front of us. It's a daily struggle. Jo is one of the beautiful, good things in life. We just have to hope that, some day, she'll return home."

The two went back out into the Church, each lighting a candle for Rose, then praying together, asking God for Jo's safe return.