Beside the worn furniture that stood worn watch, the room was empty, except. Except, except. Every moment of my life had built up to this heavy moment, drenched with anticipation. I called for her in the slight gloom. There was a fire in the hearth that gave the room a light glow. My voice barely made a dent in the heaviness of the heat of the space.
I called again, and my mind fluttered back to the last time Emma and I were alone together. I had followed one of her tricks again, and I was rewarded with dinner on a rooftop restaurant I’d dreamed about going to but never felt fancy enough for. I hid behind my mask of just above cheap level clothing, Target-brand lipstick on my thin lips, and a very poor attempt at styling my hair. I’d hoped that it was enough to keep people from noticing and pointing me out to say, “Hey you! You don’t belong here.”
Emma certainly did. She wore long curls in her red hair, and they laid perfectly on her shoulder and trembled demurely when she laughed. Her lips were cherry red, and they made the perfect accent to the skintight white dress that clung to her large curves and thin waist. She smiled at me over her wine glass and sighed with contentment. She always seemed so content, so pleased that this was her lot in life. Who would not be?
My eyes were on every part of her because every bit of her dazzled. Her diamond ring was the centerpiece as it sparkled in my eye every time she held up her glass to her lips. It was not an engagement ring, for it was on the wrong hand, but it made her look chosen and known. Emma was mesmerizing, and I hoped that by watching her enough, my own features would slowly begin to emulate hers. I took a sip of my white wine, trying to pucker my thin lips as sensually I could.
“I know you’ve always wanted to come here. Isn’t it marvelous, hun?” Emma had always given me pet names since we were teens, and I hadn’t the courage to stop her. Plus, it felt like we had an inside joke together. She was Emma, and I was hun, dear, cutie, and sweetheart.
I nodded. Of course she knew.
“I’m glad you wore lipstick. Your lips need a bit of plumping, girl. If only we could add to your curves as well. Body in all the right places from hair to butt is the order of the day here.” She moved her hand around to bring attention to the room. She finished her wine and then jingled it in the air, her silver bracelet making lovely, light tinkling sounds against the thin glass. A waiter rushed to her side to take the glass. It came back to her empty waiting hand, filled anew wordlessly. I was in awe.
My mind returned to the present. I was about to have another experience with her like that. I just needed to find her first, and my anxiety to do so was increasing with each moment. I called once more into the hazy room but there was still no call back. I stepped forward into the living room, my mind entirely focused on finding her, and a wet sound beneath my feet stopped me flat. I felt a clench in my throat and a chill fell over my skin.
Emma was everything. She was everything I’d ever wanted to be. Everything I ever wanted to encapsulate. But here she was lying on the ground, cold and white, laid out for me to see –as if presented. The blood, her blood I remembered, was spread wide on the living room floor, and I looked down to see my white shoes sticking to it. I crinkled the letter more tightly in my hands. My clue, my connection, my reason for coming this way.
Emma’s lovely, white throat was cut, and now that some time had passed while I’d looked for her, it appeared just like a dark red line, angry at me, accusing me. But why should it be angry at me? What did I do? I was merely following orders. She always made me do what she wanted, and I followed along, a puppet to her commands.
I was frozen. Heart in my throat—what a morbid joke. I smiled. To my surprise, I was quietly pleased in some way. I was horrified at my thought, and my eyes widened as I stared at her, taking it all in. Strangely, the feeling of satisfaction didn’t go away. It merely pressed on, pulsating at the side of my mind.
I felt….relief. It was over. All over. No more chasing, no more comparison, nor more pointless yearning. She was captured, my Emma, the firefly in the jar. I had caught her. Not me, surely, but someone did if my eyes were to be believed.
Someone to whom I should be grateful. I swallowed, relishing the flavor of my odd feelings. I never expected to be happy at the discovery of my best friend’s death. Was that what she was? But best friends should know each other’s names, right? That’s what I’d always thought. It’s what I’d seen in movies and read about in books. Friends knew each other’s names, their identities. Emma's name was certainly tattooed on me in every way.
Without my control, my mind delved into the recent past. It was like I was watching a scene from a film but I was the character. I had been in this cottage before. I had come, looking for Emma. I found her, just as the card had told me to, and she’d smiled and laughed gloriously at my success. She was in the living room, and she had opened her arms wide. “You are a gem, you know that? You always follow. Come, let’s go to the restaurant. Congratulations! You earned it, --” She tried, she really did. I could see that. I loved her. Sweet Emma. She tried to finish the end of the sentence, but nothing seemed to come to mind. She didn’t say hun, or girl or pal or anything.
I think she was honestly trying to fill the blank with my name, but it didn’t come to her. Instead, she stood before me, her beautiful mouth opened in surprise as she blankly stared at me, trying to finish her sentence.
I had felt a darkness in me then. It had brewed for a long time, but for some reason at that time, I let the door open. I beckoned it in. I said back to her, “You don't know my name, do you? What is it, Emma?”
I asked clearly, calmly, feeling bold for the first time. Surely my friend, my idol for all of these years would know my name. The woman who I had given everything for, who I’d followed whenever I could, who I wished I could break myself down into a carbon copy of. Surely she of all people should know my name, who I was, after all the time she called for me and I came running. But she didn’t. Her voice croaked as she tried to find the word. Who was I? In that moment I knew. She thought I was nothing, not even worthy of remembrance. My name was only one syllable, and she couldn’t remember one syllable, one beat in the vast rhythm of existence. I had been swept away in all that occupied the mind of Emma. My deepest fears of nothingness were realized and justified.
Then the darkness had taken over and I lost the memory. I was back in the bedroom of the cottage staring at the body.
As I allowed my strange thoughts and memories to build, billowing into a dark cloud above my head, my satisfaction drifted away, and I began to feel queasy with the headiness of it. I backed away from the body, my face twisted in horror at what had happened. Things were becoming clear.
As if I’d been asleep and was rudely awakened, I felt the memory of the cold blade of a knife tingle in my hand, and I unfurled my fingers, turning in shock to see it on the ground, blood spattered around its point after the blow. It was so near to me. I knew this knife. It belonged to the kitchen of the cottage.
The knife loomed in my vision as the realization hit me. Could it really have been me? Could I have done so cruel a thing? Me - who was nothing? Empty of everything except what I wanted to be?
I stared, open-mouthed, and I fell to my knees in the blood and clutched at my chest trying to catch my breath. There were two beings inside of me battling for the truth. There was the side that wished Emma alive again, laughing and pointing at me telling me all the things I needed to be. Then there was the other side, who screamed at the way she’d known me for so long but didn’t know me at all. I curled into a ball next to her body, watching the line on her throat.
I couldn’t move. I had snuffed out the firefly in the jar so that it no longer glowed. I laid with that thought for a time until a new thought emerged in my consciousness spreading like ink throughout my brain.
I had snuffed it, but now it was mine, forever. She was eternally beholden to me, the woman whose name she could not recall but who’d loved her with a passion unmatched by anyone else. As I lay beside her, tears streaming into the rough carpet of the bedroom, which also held her blood, I felt a comfort and a power. I am not now so weak as you supposed. Are you proud of me now, my friend?
My heart began to beat in a new rhythm. Em-ma, Em-ma, Em-ma. I reached out for her cold hand, stroking my finger along hers. A name is everything. It is the beginning and end of a person. I will remember you, and I will always remember your name. Emma.
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