If I Disappear, Will She Notice?

Author: Randall Conrad

Chapter 4: Alone in the City’s Shadow

I went downstairs and wandered the streets, aimless. The city felt huge and empty, the lights blurring through my tears.

In a city this big, where could I go? I walked past closed shops, neon signs flickering.

If I really died, would she even care? Would anyone notice, or would life just go on?

Headlights flashed as a dusty white van sped past me. The engine roared, echoing in the still night.

The glare blinded me. I shielded my eyes, heart pounding.

The van drove past, then backed up. My pulse quickened, a warning bell in my head.

It stopped next to me.

"So many stories about kids being snatched lately—so scary."

My parents' words echoed in my mind. My heart jumped, and I started to run. My shoes slipped on the icy sidewalk.

But a heavyset man from the van blocked my way. His breath steamed in the cold air.

"What are you doing!" A familiar voice shouted from not far away. "If you don't leave, I'm calling the cops!"

At that, the man jumped back in the van and sped off. The tires screeched, leaving black marks on the pavement.

I looked up and saw the old lady from the soup cart under the streetlight. Her face was lined with worry, hands shaking.

She hurried over, worried. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

All the pain burst out. I hugged her and sobbed, tears hot against the freezing air.

"It's okay, don't cry."

Her voice sounded just like Grandma Carol’s.

Like when I fell as a kid and Grandma would come over, pick me up, and scold the chair that tripped me. She always made the world feel safe.

"Bad chair! Bad chair! Made our girl fall—it's okay, don't cry."

The old lady made me a big bowl of chicken noodle soup. She set it in front of me, her hands gentle.

"Had a fight with your family?"

Few people ever took my side. Most just told me to get over it, try harder.

I told the old lady everything. The words spilled out, messy and raw.

All the pain and humiliation poured out. My voice shook, but she listened.

"It's okay, don't be afraid."

She stroked my head kindly. Her hand was warm, steadying.

I asked her, "Ma'am, am I really that ugly?"

She laughed. "Let me ask you—do you think I'm ugly?"

"No," I said, cradling the bowl and looking at her gentle face. "How could you be ugly?"

"When I was young, people called me ugly too." She sighed. "Being ugly isn't your fault. But the world is like that—beauty is a kind of resource, like money. People envy the rich, and some like to mock the poor, but being poor isn't a crime, is it?"

"Besides, you're so sweet—how could you be ugly?" She ladled more soup in. "Eat up, then go home."

I was stubborn. I didn't want to go home yet. The thought of that cold apartment made my stomach twist.

"Even if I disappeared, my mom wouldn't shed a tear."

"How could that be? All moms love their kids."

Yeah, what mom doesn't love her child? I wanted to believe her, but the words felt hollow.

I sat at the soup cart, chatting with the old lady, letting time slip by. The city quieted around us, the streetlights buzzing.

It was late, the moon high, when my parents came running down the street. Their faces were wild with worry, hair mussed, shoes untied.

My mom's hair was a mess, her face anxious. She looked ten years older than she had that morning. Tired. Scared.

She was still in pajamas and slippers. She spotted me right away. Relief flooded her face, followed by anger.

She ran over, fast as she could. Her arms opened wide, trembling.

I thought she'd scold me, hit me, punish me. I braced myself, ready for the worst.

But she didn't.

She hugged me.

Tightly, like she was afraid I'd disappear if she let go. Her arms squeezed me so tight I could barely breathe.

She hadn't hugged me in so long, I'd forgotten what it felt like. I melted into her, half from relief, half from exhaustion.

I’d watched her hug Savannah, stroke her face, look at her with pride.

She'd never done that for me.

But now, she held me gently.

And then, she cried.

"It's all Mom's fault. I misunderstood you."

"I shouldn't have said those things—you know I have a bad temper. I'm sorry, baby."

Turns out, I didn’t hate her after all.

All I wanted was an apology.

All I wanted was for her to say it: "Mom loves you."

I went home with my mom. The walk back felt different, lighter somehow.

My dad brought me a present. "Our Ellie is amazing—first place in math!"

He bought me that $56 pen, wrapped in tissue paper—the kind of gift I’d never gotten before.

New clothes, a new backpack, a new pencil case. The tags were still on, the colors bright.

So many new things—not hand-me-downs, not leftovers. They were mine.

"Dad, I don't need all this."

What I needed was to be treated fairly.

To feel loved.

"Mom already signed you up for the next math competition class. Your teacher told me you have real talent." My mom gently brushed my hair. "I'm so proud of you."

I’d waited my whole life for those words.

"I just want you to see me—not just my appearance, but all the things I can do well." I wiped away my tears. "I studied so hard, did so many math problems, just hoping Mom would see I wasn’t useless."

"It's my fault, baby, you're not useless." My mom wiped my tears. "You were so hard for me to bring into this world—how could you be useless?"

"Our little girl is the best—so smart! Where would we find another like you?" She smiled gently. "You'll go to a good middle school, a good high school, a good college, and keep getting top grades—all the way to a PhD!"

"Wow, our family could have a PhD!" My dad marveled.

"It's okay if you don't get a PhD. As long as you're happy and healthy, that's what matters."

"I know you both work hard. I want to study hard, so you don't have to work so much."

She hugged me tight. "Such a good girl."

"Baby, is someone bullying you at school?"

"The kids in class make fun of me," I leaned on her shoulder. "They say I'm ugly, call me a tank."

"Help! Somebody help me!" The words echoed in my mind. What was that?

"Who dares bully you?" My dad jumped up, grabbing his phone. "I'll go to school and beat them up tomorrow!"

"Help! Help me! Please let me go!"

What was that sound?

"Baby?"

My mom shook me.