The next ten days passed by in a whirlwind of last-minute travel arrangements as I tried to prepare for my trip to London.
The night before I left, I woke up with the feeling that someone was watching me. Turning my head to the side, I startled at the sight of a small figure standing next to my bed in the dark.
“Mason?” I asked, squinting blearily at him. My heart was beating fast; I could feel my pulse pounding in my throat. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Daddy,” Mason whispered. “I wet the bed.”
I reached over to turn on my tap light. Taking a second look at my son, I saw a wet spot on the front of his Superman pajamas. “It’s okay. It happens,” I said, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Go put on a clean pair of undies and PJs and put the wet ones in your hamper – don’t just leave ‘em on the floor. You can sleep in my bed the rest of the night.”
“Okay, Daddy.” I watched him shuffle out of the room with a lump in my throat, wishing I could go help him clean up and change his sheets like a parent should. But since I was stuck in my bed until morning, the best I could do was tell him how to help himself so he didn’t have to wake Dawn in the middle of the night.
Mason wandered back in a few minutes later, wearing a pair of Halloween pajamas that were too small for him. Where in the hell did he find those? I wondered, hiding my smile. “Y’all good now, baby boy?” I asked as he climbed into bed with me.
He nodded, nestling closer to me under the covers. I wrapped my arm around him, hugging him to my bare chest like I had when he really was a baby. He was so much bigger now; I couldn’t believe he would be five in a few months. It had been at least a year since he’d last wet his bed. I wondered if something was wrong. Was he getting sick?
“You feeling okay?” I held my wrist to his forehead, trying to tell if he had a fever. He didn’t feel too warm.
“Yeah.”
“Did you have a bad dream?”
“No.”
“Well, are you worried about something?” I asked, remembering reading somewhere that stress and anxiety could cause kids to regress and start bedwetting again. “Like Daddy leaving tomorrow?”
“I dunno,” Mason mumbled. While I knew he didn’t have any conscious memories of his mother, I had always wondered if he had been traumatized as a baby by watching his parents walk out one night and not return the next morning. He had never been a particularly clingy child, but I still worried my trip would trigger that sense of abandonment lurking deep in his subconscious.
“You know I love you, right?” I kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his blond hair. “You’re gonna have so much fun with Mammaw. I bet you won’t even miss me. But if you do, you and Mammaw can call me anytime. And I’ll be back before you know it. It’s only for a few days.”
“I know,” he said nonchalantly, which made me wonder who I was really trying to reassure: him or myself?
I got my answer the next evening when I dropped Mason off at my mom’s house. The only tears shed were mine. Mason seemed excited about spending the week with my mom, who had jumped at the chance to have him stay with her while Dawn took a well-deserved week off. Meanwhile, I couldn’t keep myself from crying as I backed out of the driveway, waving one last goodbye through the windshield.
I made sure my tears had dried before I met up with Keith at the airport. We took a short flight from Lexington to Atlanta, where Brian joined us for our connecting flight to London. It would be the first time I’d gone overseas since my accident, and I was nervous about the long plane ride.
“Chill out, would ya?” Brian chuckled when he saw me check my watch for the third time in five minutes. “You’re making me nervous. We still have over half an hour until pre-boarding begins.”
He didn’t understand. “Sorry,” I said, glancing up at the screen over the gate counter. “I just don’t wanna wait too long and miss the pre-boarding call… but I also don’t wanna wear the thing any longer than necessary.”
“Why not just go put it on now? What difference is half an hour gonna make?”
“I guess you’re right.” I looked from Brian to Keith, wondering which one I should ask to accompany me to the bathroom to help me hook up the catheter bag I would wear during the flight. Neither of them knew what he was doing, so it was just a matter of who I felt least embarrassed about exposing myself to: my best friend or my cousin. In the end, I decided to go with family. Blood is thicker than water, right? “Will you come with me?” I asked Brian. “I can’t do it by myself.”
I saw his eyes widen with a flicker of… fear? Disgust? Whatever it was he felt, he quickly masked it with a smile. “Of course. You lead the way.”
Wondering if I’d made a mistake, I wheeled myself toward the family bathroom in between the men’s and women’s restrooms. Thankfully, it was unoccupied. Brian held the door open for me as I went inside. I reached around to remove my Wylee bag from the back of my wheelchair and set it in my lap, rummaging through it until I found what I was looking for.
“This is a condom catheter,” I said, handing the small package to Brian. “It goes like on a condom and connects to a tube to drain my piss into the leg bag.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And you need me to… put it on you?”
I nodded, hoping he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. “I don’t have the dexterity to do it myself. Sorry – it’s either this or try to cath myself multiple times on the plane, and I really don’t wanna mess with that.”
After imagining the hassle of transferring to an aisle chair for trips to the airplane lavatory, which would hardly be big enough for me to do my business in, or the awkwardness of trying to discreetly drain my bladder into a portable urinal from my seat, which seemed downright indecent, I had decided a leg bag was my best option for bladder management during the eight-and-a-half-hour flight to London.
Brian looked like a deer in headlights, but he managed to follow my directions as I talked him through the process of putting on the catheter, connecting the tubing, and strapping the leg bag to my calf. I had brought along the largest-capacity bag I could find in hopes I wouldn’t have to empty it until we landed in London. “Thanks, cuz,” I said gratefully as he rolled down my pant leg to cover it. “I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, flashing me a crooked smile. “I’ve never felt closer to you, Kev.”
I laughed. “This is exactly why Dawn needs to come with us this summer – so none of y’all get stuck doing this for me every night.”
Brian’s eyes widened again. “You wear one of these every night?”
“Yup. Otherwise, I’d have to wake up in the middle of the night to cath myself so I don’t piss the bed,” I said, thinking of Mason. “This is a lot more convenient.”
“And Dawn helps you with it?”
I nodded.
He hesitated, then asked in a low voice, “Do you ever get hard when she touches you down there?”
“Sometimes,” I admitted, feeling my face flush. “It’s not sexual, though; Dawn knows that. It’s just a reflex caused by the physical stimulation. My dick can still tell when it’s being touched, even if I can’t feel it.”
For the first two years after my accident, I didn’t think I was even capable of getting an erection. When it finally happened, I was both embarrassed and thrilled, thinking it was a sign that I had regained some function below the waist. But I should have known better: my spinal cord injury was complete, which meant the damage was irreversible. A quick Google search gave me a reality check, revealing that reflex erections were fairly common in men with my level of injury and didn’t mean much as far as recovery or sexual function went. I had no idea if I could still have sex as a quadriplegic, having never tried.
“So, your dick really does have a mind of its own, huh?” Brian snickered as he turned to wash his hands. “It must prefer a woman’s touch. I’m real glad it didn’t react to mine.”
“Me too. Trust me,” I said, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t wanna make this any more awkward than it already is.”
“It’s okay,” he said with a shrug, catching my eye in the mirror over the sink. “Don’t worry about it. You can’t help it.” He dried his hands and held the door open for me.
As we left the bathroom, I heard a female voice call out, “Hi, Kevin! Hi, Brian!”
I turned my head to see two young women, probably in their mid-twenties, standing a few feet away.
“Oh my god, it is you!” one of them cried, and they both came hurrying up to us. “We’re big fans!”
My already flushed face grew even hotter when I realized they must have seen us come out of the family bathroom together. Pretending they hadn’t, I forced myself to smile and be polite. “Well, it’s nice to meet y’all. What are your names?” The words felt stiff; I was out of practice. I didn’t encounter fans often in Kentucky, where people either were used to seeing me in public or couldn’t care less about me being in a boyband.
“I’m Stephanie, and this is Brie,” the first girl said, introducing her friend.
“Where y’all from?” Brian asked.
“Indiana.”
“Ah… Hoosiers,” he said, grinning. “What are you doin’ down in my neck of the woods?”
“Connecting,” said the second girl, Brie, smiling back. “We just came back from Cancun.”
I could tell. They were both tan and tired-looking, wearing baggy t-shirts with black leggings and flip-flops, their long hair tied back into messy buns. “Isn’t it a little late for spring break?”
They both giggled. “Not if you’re teachers!”
“Teachers, huh? Good for you,” I said. “What do you teach?”
“We’re both elementary teachers,” said Stephanie. “I teach second grade, and she teaches kindergarten.”
“My son will be in kindergarten this fall,” I said, smiling at Brie. “Mind if we take a picture with a couple of fun-looking teachers?”
They both beamed, their eyes lighting up as they hurriedly pulled out their phones. It had taken me a long time to feel comfortable being photographed after my accident; I still hated the way I looked in a wheelchair. But I knew the Boys did soundcheck parties with meet-and-greets before every show now, so I had better get used to taking photos with fans.
The two girls posed on either side of me, crouching to put their faces close to mine, while Brian knelt in front of me and held each of their phones out to take a group selfie. He made a funny face in the first photo and flashed a peace sign in the second. I just smiled, my arms wrapped loosely around the ladies.
“So, where are you guys going?” Stephanie asked as she straightened up.
I looked at Brian, wondering how much we should reveal. “London,” he replied. “For the European leg of the NKOTBSB Tour.”
“We went to the show in Indianapolis! It was so great,” she gushed. “Are you gonna perform with them again, Kevin? I saw the videos from Louisville on YouTube!”
“Nah, not this time.”
“But then, why are you going to London?” she pressed, exchanging curious looks with Brie.
“Just hanging out with my brothers,” I replied in what I hoped was a casual tone, although I could feel my face burning.
“Are the other guys here, too?” Brie asked, looking around hopefully, as if she thought Nick, AJ, and Howie might be hiding somewhere nearby.
“Nah, they’re flying in from different cities,” said Brian. “Speaking of which, we’d better get back to our gate so we don’t miss our boarding call.”
“Same,” said Stephanie, sighing as she glanced at Brie. “We’ve gotta go to a whole different terminal.”
“Well, it was nice meeting y’all. Have a safe flight!”
“You, too! Thanks for the selfie!”
As they hurried off, giggling together, I gave Brian a grateful grin. “Thanks for cutting them off before they got to twenty questions. I hate to lie, but I didn’t wanna blow the big announcement.”
He nodded. “No worries,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “You handled that well.”
When we got back to our gate, it was almost time to board. “You good?” Keith asked, looking up from his phone as Brian sat down beside him. He was probably wondering what took us so long.
I nodded. “We got stopped by a couple of fans. They wanted to know why I was with Brian.”
“Did you tell them you were taking a family vacation? I mean, y’all are cousins; it’s not weird for you two to be traveling together.”
“Yeah, something like that,” I said with a shrug.
As soon as pre-boarding began, we headed toward the counter, wanting to be the first ones on the plane. The gate agent scanned our boarding passes, and a couple of airport attendants escorted us up the jet bridge. At the end of it, they transferred me to a narrow aisle chair while Brian and Keith tore down my wheelchair, taking off my bag, seat cushion, cup holder, armrests, side guards, footplates, and any other removable attachments that could potentially get lost or damaged in the cargo hold. They put all the parts in a big, empty tote bag before we boarded. As the attendants wheeled me backward onto the plane, I watched what was left of my wheelchair disappear from view, hoping it would be waiting for me in one piece when we landed in London.
“Good evening!” the cabin crew greeted me cheerfully as the attendants turned to wheel me down the aisle.
“Hi,” I said, forcing an awkward smile back at the group of attractive flight attendants. I always felt more like a piece of furniture than a person when I was strapped to an aisle chair, which was barely more than a dolly for moving disabled passengers.
Brian and Keith followed us down the aisle. Keith put our carry-on bags in the overhead bins while Brian placed my cushion in my seat before the attendants transferred me to it. That way, I would have some extra padding to prevent pressure sores from forming during the long flight.
“You better take the window seat,” I told Brian when we reached our row in first class. “You’ll have an easier time climbing over me to get out than Keith will.”
“Okay,” Brian said with a shrug, sliding into his seat first. The attendants helped me into the aisle seat beside him and buckled the belt across my lap. Keith fastened the chest strap from my chair around the back of the seat and across my chest to keep me from flopping forward. Then he took his seat across the aisle from me.
After the airport attendants left, one of the flight attendants came over. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Littrell… Mr. Richardson… and Mr. McGuffey.” Speaking with a soft Southern drawl, she greeted each of us by name, which made me wonder if she had recognized us or simply memorized the manifest. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, the same age range as the average BSB fan. “My name’s Natalie, and I’ll be serving you on this flight. Can I bring you anything to drink before takeoff?”
“Thanks, Natalie,” I said, smiling at her. “Do you have bourbon?” I was hoping a stiff drink would help me relax. I wanted to sleep through as much of the flight as I could and arrive well-rested in London the next morning.
“Yes, I believe we do,” she replied, smiling back. She had twinkly brown eyes that reminded me of Kristin’s, although her hair was several shades darker.
After taking Brian and Keith’s orders, she went back to the galley to pour our drinks. I couldn’t help but watch as she walked away, admiring the way her rear end looked in her red dress. When I caught myself staring, I quickly looked away, remembering how much I hated to be stared at myself. I lowered my eyes to the chain I wore around my neck and ran my thumb over the hard lump of the infinity pendant tucked beneath my shirt.
Natalie returned with our drinks just as the other passengers were beginning to board. I wrapped both hands around my glass and sipped while people made their way past me. After half an hour or so, the steady stream of travelers slowed to a trickle. “All finished?” asked Natalie, reaching out to take my empty glass. “Is there anything else I can get you before we leave the gate?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.” The drink had done its job; I felt warm and comfortable as I leaned my head back against my seat. I wanted to close my eyes and let myself drift off, but I kept opening them whenever Natalie went by. There was something hypnotic about the way her brown ponytail swished back and forth between her shoulder blades like a pendulum as she breezed up and down the aisle, checking seat belts, closing the overhead compartments, and reminding passengers to put their tray tables in the upright and locked position.
Once everyone was buckled into their seats, the flight crew closed the cabin doors and began their safety demonstration. Having flown hundreds of times before, I usually didn’t pay much attention to that part, but I found myself watching Natalie as she stood in the aisle a few rows in front of me, pantomiming how to put on an oxygen mask in case of a sudden loss of cabin pressure. She was pretty in the fresh-faced, natural-looking way I’d always found most attractive. I suppose that was why it was so hard for me to take my eyes off of her. It had been a long time since I’d been captivated by a woman who wasn’t Kristin.
As my mind turned back to my late wife, my hand drifted almost instinctively toward my necklace again. I pushed down on the pendant until I could feel it digging into my skin. The sensation was duller on that part of my body, right at the border of where the numbness began. Below the necklace, I felt nothing.
“You okay, Kev?” Brian asked. I glanced up to find him frowning at me, his brow furrowed with concern. To him, it must have looked like I was holding my chest, as if it hurt.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied, quickly lowering my hand. The pain in my heart wasn’t physical.
As Brian bent back over his iPad, I looked past him, focusing my gaze out the window as the plane pulled away from the gate and taxied to the runway. “Cabin crew, prepare for takeoff,” I heard the captain announce over the intercom once we were in position. The engine rumbled and roared as the plane picked up speed, bouncing down the runway before rising smoothly into the air. I watched everything on the ground below us get smaller and smaller, the bright lights of Atlanta fading away as we ascended further into the dark sky. Before long, it was pitch black outside our window.
“Please, don’t,” I said as Brian started to pull down the shade. “I know it sounds crazy, but being above the clouds like this makes me feel closer to Kristin, somehow. Besides, I’d like to see the sun rise as we cross the ocean.”
“That doesn’t sound crazy at all, cuz,” he said, giving me a sympathetic smile. “We can leave it open.”
The first half of the flight went off without a hitch. As soon as we reached cruising altitude, the flight attendants began dinner service. After dinner and dessert, they dimmed the cabin lights so people could sleep. Keith sat up watching movies with his headphones on, but I reclined my seat back as far as it would go while Brian took the provided bedding out of its packaging, tucking a pillow beneath my head and covering me with a blanket.
“You comfortable?” he asked me before fixing his own bed.
I nodded. If there was one perk to being paralyzed, it was that I no longer worried about not having enough leg room on planes. I would still be stiff the next day from not stretching before I went to bed, but at least I wouldn’t be sore. As long as I didn’t develop any pressure injuries, I would be fine. “‘Night, cuz,” I said, closing my eyes.
It took me a while to actually fall asleep, but once I did, I slept for several hours. When I woke up, the sky outside our window was already starting to lighten as the sun rose over the Atlantic. A check of my watch revealed that it was only two-thirty a.m. Eastern time, but I couldn’t resist raising my seat back so I could look out the window. The plane appeared to be floating on a sea of cotton candy clouds, which were colored with beautiful shades of pink and gold beneath the blue sky. I had taken red-eye flights across the ocean more times than I could count, but that view never got old for me. I had always loved the feeling of flying above the clouds, looking down at the earth below like I was a bird – or an angel.
Since December, Mason had been drawing his mom with angel wings and a halo in his pictures, which made me smile. His preschool had put on a Christmas pageant, and of course, I had read the Christmas story to him at home, so he was familiar with the concept of Heaven. I knew Heaven was probably nothing like the way it was portrayed in his picture books, but there was a childlike part of me that wanted to believe Kristin was watching over us from somewhere not far from here. I looked for her face in every cloud, longing for some sign that she was still with me in spirit.
Suddenly, I was startled by the sound of someone clearing their throat right beside me. If I wasn’t strapped to my seat and paralyzed, I probably would have jumped. Whipping my head around, I saw the flight attendant, Natalie, standing in the aisle next to my seat. “Sorry, Mr. Richardson,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“That’s all right.” Looking past her, I saw that most people around me appeared to be asleep and realized she was probably about to ask me to lower the shade to keep the cabin dim. “Do you mind if I keep this open a little while longer?” I asked, tipping my head toward the window. “I like to see the sunrise.”
“As long as nobody complains, it’s fine with me,” Natalie said, smiling. “I just came to see if you needed anything. Some more water, maybe?”
“That would be great,” I replied, realizing my mouth was dry. “Thanks.” She refilled my water glass and then went back to the galley.
I shifted my weight in my seat, figuring it would be good to sit up for a while. Brian and Keith were both sound asleep. We still had another three hours in the air, but I didn’t think I would be able to fall back to sleep. I fiddled with the screen in front of me for a few minutes, finally finding a movie to watch with my headphones to help pass the time.
With an hour and a half left in the flight, the crew turned the cabin lights back on so they could serve breakfast. “What time is it?” Brian asked when he woke up, rubbing his eyes as he raised his seat back into an upright position.
“It’s about four-thirty our time… nine-thirty in London.”
He nodded, stifling a yawn as he folded his blanket and stuffed it under the seat in front of him. He started to do the same with mine, but stopped suddenly when he pulled it off my lap. “Uh, Kev?”
“What?”
“Did you spill your drink?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“Take a look at your lap.”
With a sinking feeling, I looked down and saw a dark, wet spot on the front of my gray sweatpants. “Shit!” I hissed, feeling my face heat up. “How did that happen?” The whole reason I had worn a condom catheter was to avoid having an accident.
“I dunno.” Brian wrinkled his nose, looking disgusted. “Did the thing come off?”
There was only one way to find out, but I was afraid to check with so many other people around. “Keith,” I whispered across the aisle. “Keith, wake up!”
“What?” he muttered, stirring in his seat.
“Can you come stand next to my seat for a second? I need some privacy.”
Keith seemed to understand. He unbuckled and stood in the aisle with his back to me, using his body to block the view of anyone who wanted to sneak a peek while I wedged one hand down my pants and underwear. I pulled the waistband out far enough to see what was going on down there, grateful for the fact that I had worn something stretchy.
“You called it,” I said to Brian with a sigh when I realized he was right: the condom catheter had slipped off, letting urine leak out. “Can you help me get it back on?”
Brian raised his eyebrows. “Right here?”
I shrugged. “It’s either here or in the airplane bathroom, but I really don’t wanna transfer to an aisle chair in front of all these people with a big wet spot on my pants,” I muttered, my face burning with shame. Here I was, a forty-year-old man who had no control over his bladder and occasionally pissed his pants just like his four-year-old son. I couldn’t help it, but it was still embarrassing.
“All right,” he agreed grudgingly. As Keith continued to shield us, Brian bent over my lap and fumbled around between my legs until he managed to fix the problem. “You owe me big time,” he muttered as he straightened back up, his face beet red.
His reaction made me feel even more humiliated. “Hey, I’m not the one who put it on,” I fired back before I could stop myself.
Brian frowned. “Well, next time, you can get someone else to do it then,” he snapped as he stood up and squeezed past me and Keith, presumably heading to the bathroom to scour his hands with soap and hot water.
Watching him go, I wished Dawn was with me. She would have handled a mishap like this without making a big deal out of it.
“Can you clear the aisle, please, sir?” I looked up to see one of the flight attendants talking to Keith. She and Natalie were wheeling a cart full of food down the aisle.
“Oh, of course… sorry,” Keith said, quickly ducking back into his seat.
I hurriedly lowered my tray over my lap, hoping no one would notice the wet spot. It was all I could think about as I picked at my breakfast. In another hour, we would be landing in London. There was no way I would be able to get off the plane without someone seeing my wet pants. My seat cushion was probably soaked, too. The longer I sat in it, the more I would stink like stale urine. I prayed that the people around me couldn’t smell it.
When Natalie came back to collect my barely-touched breakfast plate, I covered my lap with my blanket. “Are you sure you’re done?” she asked, looking down at my plate. “You didn’t eat much. Was it not good?”
“It was fine. I just wasn’t very hungry yet; I don’t usually eat breakfast this early.”
“I know – these time changes really mess with your schedule, right?”
She had no idea how right she was. Ever since I was injured, my life had revolved around a daily routine. I was starting to realize how hard it would be to maintain that routine on the road, especially when I had to travel across time zones.
Just before we began our descent into London, Natalie came back down the aisle, carrying a drink. “Here’s your apple juice, Mr. Littrell,” she said, stopping by our row. I didn’t remember Brian asking for apple juice. As Natalie reached across me to hand it to him, she suddenly stumbled, and the glass tipped, spilling its contents into my lap. “Oh, my goodness!” she gasped as apple juice dripped down my legs. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Richardson! Let me grab some towels to clean this up. I’ll be right back!”
As she rushed off to the galley, I turned to look at Brian, who hadn’t said a word to me since returning from the bathroom. “Did you order apple juice?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Maybe she did it on purpose,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.
I paused to consider that. Could the flight attendant have been trying to help me cover up my accident with an “accident” of her own? I had to admit, purposely spilling apple juice was a pretty smart way to conceal the pee stain; it was the same color and had a strong, sweet smell.
Natalie came back with a pile of towels, still apologizing profusely. “Don’t worry about it,” I told her as I wedged them between my legs. “Accidents happen. Thanks for the towels.”
“Thanks for being so understanding,” she said with a sheepish smile. But when I caught her eye, she winked, all but confirming Brian’s suspicion. I wondered if he had said something to her when he went to the bathroom or if she had noticed herself. In spite of my embarrassment, I was grateful for her help. Now, no one around me would wonder why my pants were wet.
When the plane landed, we stayed in our seats while everyone else got off. Finally, a pair of attendants from the airport appeared to transfer me to the aisle chair and take me off the plane. As they pushed me past the group of flight attendants who had gathered near the front to say goodbye to the passengers, I glanced up at Natalie. “Thanks again,” I said, giving her a quick nod and a wink back.
She grinned. “You’re welcome. Have a great day!”
My face still felt red hot, but as I rolled off the plane, I tried to forget about my embarrassing moment and focus on moving forward. I was relieved to see my wheelchair waiting for me at the top of the jet bridge. Brian and Keith quickly put the detachable parts back on and wiped down the damp cover of my cushion with disinfecting wipes from my bag before I transferred back to it. As I wheeled myself down the jet bridge, I couldn’t wait to get to the hotel so I could change out of my wet pants.
An accessible van was waiting for us outside the airport. It took us to our hotel, where we checked in and went up to our floor. Keith and I were sharing a room. Thankfully, he was willing to help me change clothes so I wouldn’t have to wait for Nick to arrive. I wasn’t about to ask Brian after the way he’d acted on the plane.
I felt better once I was wearing a clean pair of pants and underwear. “Hey, can you find me a t-shirt and my deodorant?” I asked Keith, figuring I might as well freshen up my top half while I was at it. We still had a full afternoon ahead of us, and although I wanted to take a nap, I knew it would only make the jet lag worse.
As Keith dug through my suitcase, I took off my old t-shirt and tossed it aside. It was as I was clumsily applying deodorant to my underarms that I looked down and noticed I was no longer wearing my necklace. I did a double take, reaching back to make sure it hadn’t gotten twisted around while I was taking off my shirt. But no… the chain wasn’t around my neck. I picked up my shirt and gave it a shake in case the clasp had broken inside it, but nothing came out.
“Have you seen my necklace?” I asked Keith, trying not to panic. “The one with the infinity pendant?”
Keith frowned and looked around the room. “No… why?”
My throat felt tight. I stared at my bare chest, my vision blurring as tears started in my eyes. “Because it’s gone.”
***