Missing Like You

FIVE

SCOTT DONOVAN
FRIDAY JUNE 17, 2022

Isabelle Donovan is missing. My wife, Isabelle. My wife is missing. I say the words aloud, trying them out in my mouth, seeing how they sound. It still doesn't feel real.

She has a lovely sounding name, my wife. A delicate name that rolls off the tongue with ease. Isabelle Donovan. Three syllables for both first name and surname. There's some eloquent symmetry there that Isabelle probably found great comfort in.

I remember the first time I ever saw Isabelle. We were in our sophomore year of high school, and it was the very first day. Homeroom was the most important class in my opinion because however that class went would determine how the rest of your day went.

I walked in with one of my friends and we found seats near the back of the room. Some of the girls we knew were seated back there as well. I remember the teacher standing at the front, giving his introduction to the class. Then all of a sudden, the door opened, and in she walked. Late, as usual, I would soon learn. Everyone stopped and stared as she walked by. I watched her as she looked around the room for an empty seat. There were only two left in the entire room, and she somehow ended up choosing the one directly in front of me.

I stared at the back of her head for the majority of the class, mostly because it was more fascinating than whatever the teacher was saying. She had dark red hair, a shade of crimson or auburn. I willed her to turn around so I could see her face, but she never did.

The next day, she sat in the exact same spot. I tried to brainstorm ways in which I could get her to turn around. Eventually, I tore out a piece of paper from my notebook, bunched it up in a ball, and threw it at the back of her head. She turned around immediately.

I got a good look at her face, finally. Mind you, she was scowling at me, a look of pure annoyance. But she was beautiful. Tiny round face, soft features. She had green eyes and faint freckles that fell in scatters across her cheeks. Her lips were gorgeous, even when they parted and said, "What the hell was that for?"

My eyes went from her mouth back to her eyes. "Sorry," I said. "I was aiming at my friend."
She rolled her eyes and turned back around. And it was in that moment that I knew I would do almost anything to get her to turn around again.

After class, everyone got up and swarmed the halls to head to second period. I caught up to her and matched her stride.

"Hey," I said, smiling down at her. She was shorter than me by almost a full foot. "I'm Scott."
She glanced at me. "Can I help you, Scott?"
"I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I probably seem like an asshole."
"You probably are an asshole."
I laughed. "You're probably right." I stared at her as she walked with her eyes forward. "What's your name?"
She took a moment to answer, probably debating whether to give this random asshole the time of day or not. Then she surprised me by meeting my eyes. "Isabelle," she said. "But my friends call me Iz."

We began sitting next to each other in homeroom. But I soon learned that only seeing her in class wasn't enough. I needed more. I would go to my following classes and spend the rest of the day looking forward to homeroom the next morning just so I could see her.

During homeroom, we would work on our assignments together. Isabelle always came to class prepared and had everything she needed, including a water bottle. I'd steal it from her and take sips from it throughout the morning to taunt her. She didn't get mad or annoyed. Instead, she started bringing two water bottles to class every day.