Amanda And Me

• Lulu Boyd, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2020

“Amanda Hurlghton, 19 years old, was reported missing last night by her mother, last-”

The TV flickered, and the girl’s image was replaced with a match between the local footy team.

“Depressing, ain’t it? The missing girly.” The bartender gestured towards the TV with a vague hand wave, obviously too intoxicated to notice the channel change.

“Huh? Oh, yes I suppose so.” I stared with little interest at the footy match, watching the team in red score a goal.

“She’s quite a nice girl, that Amanda.” Pausing, he added, ”has a great set of lungs on her.”

I grunted in agreement. She had been in the church choir and could belt out some mean high notes.

We sat in a silent comradery after that, watching the TV, only the soft clink of the ice on the edge of our glasses breaking the quietness between us. I looked over at him, curious. Every time the red team scored he would take a swig of beer, and whenever blue got a shot in, he would squeeze the glass that little bit tighter. He was a slender man, clean cut; obviously having shaved a day or two ago, scratches of a razor covering his barren wasteland of a face. His lankiness was really highlighted by his shirt, which looked like it was wearing him more than he was wearing it. The most interesting thing about him by far though was the long red scratches that wrapped snugly around his arms, like bracelets on a wrist.

“Mishap with the razor?” I asked, head gesturing towards his cut up arms.

“Cats. I love ‘em.” He chuckled, a smile gracing his face and stretching his jowls out. “My old cat recently passed, and I got a new one just last night; a feisty bugger she is, scratching up my arms like nobody’s business.”

The liquor was particularly strong tonight, I thought, fogginess growing in my head and the strength in my muscles disappearing.

“Oh,” I slurred, eyes blurry. “Got a picture of her?”

“Ah, sadly not yet, no.” His eyes had turned from the game now and focused on me, glasses glinting from the light on the TV.

“That’s a shame, I’m quite fond of cats myself. Decided on a name yet?” I stopped looking at him and had turned back towards the game; it was even between the teams now, the next team to score would win.
“Came with a name when I got her.” He was looking between me and the game now, waiting for red to score the winning goal.

“And what was it?”

The red team scored and the pub erupted into a cacophonous cheer of delight; the game was over, blue had lost and the place quickly emptied, leaving only the two of us. I laid my head on the table, everything spinning, about to pass out. And as I closed my eyes, he grinned a feral grin, and looked me straight in the eyes as he spoke.

“Amanda.”