In the woods, the trees were getting green again, and the sun filtered through their new leaves in an ever-changing pattern of light. I picked my way over dead logs and fallen branches, trying not to crush the occasional batch of emerging wildflowers.
It took me almost an hour to make it to the fence. There was a sign, its wooden post embedded deep in the earth, telling people to stay out, and ancient frayed caution tape strewn across the barbed-wire fence. Someone had clearly made an effort, a long time ago, to keep people out. Now, though, the sign and the tape functioned as little more than a tepid suggestion, particularly since not far away, a section of the fence had been cut and curled in on itself, providing an easy gateway to the heart of the quarry.
As I stepped through the wire, my foot hit a beer can, which rocked slightly and made a hollow sound. There were a lot of cans and bottles scattered around the dusty rock of the quarry, accompanied by the occasional fast-food wrapper or cigarette butt.
I slowly made my way toward the base of the quarry, staring at the ground as I walked. At first, I hoped I might find the button from Anna’s dress or some other sign that she’d been here that night, but the longer I walked, the more I hoped I wouldn’t find anything. Because it was an ugly, sad place. This wasn’t somewhere you took someone you cared about, someone who wrote poems about you. This wasn’t anywhere I wanted Anna to have spent her last hours.
I shouldn’t have expected anything else, I told myself. It was late and dark and she went to meet someone. It shouldn’t matter where they went. It shouldn’t.
And then I thought back to us passing the beer between us. How it had briefly felt like we were embarking on something new together—both experiencing something more adult, more complicated than we’d known before. And I wondered if maybe I’d had it wrong, if I shouldn’t have stopped her from leaving that night, if instead, I should’ve headed out with her, had some guy of my own waiting. And I could’ve simply suggested that we just go—quietly, quietly—out the back door.
Except that hadn’t been on the table. Not really. She’d known I wasn’t ready, that I would’ve wanted her to stay inside with me. So instead, she’d had Lily. Lily, who’d been ready for the same things she had, who’d usurped me as Anna’s best friend, her confidante, without my even knowing it had happened. Things might be changing now, but I would always be two steps behind, running after a ghost.
I shook my head fast, trying to snap myself out of it, to keep moving. No crying, I thought. Not here, among the bottles and the condom wrappers and the gray rocks.
So I continued to hike toward the bottom, looking for a tiny button in a vast quarry, looking for a sign of something that may well not have happened. Button in a quarry, needle in a haystack. This was not, I thought, behavior that Mrs. Hayes or my parents would approve of.
By the time I reached the bottom, I had almost fallen twice, had scraped my hands from catching myself on the rocks, and had, I was fairly certain, a deep bruise forming on my left thigh. I had not, however, seen anything even vaguely useful.
Some small branches lay scattered around a large pool of water, presumably victims of a strong wind that had pulled them off the trees. Other than those, the only debris was more trash. After three meandering loops, I stood by the pool of water, trying to gear myself up to start heading back through the rocks to the trail. I stared down into the pool’s muddy depths, its layers of dead leaves and rainwater. I picked up one of the branches and half-heartedly poked at the leaves, trying to push them aside so I could see how deep it was. The leaves swirled around the stick, circling it before settling. Nothing but dirt. Dirt and leaves and rocks and—
I paused, unsure of what I’d seen. I pushed the leaves aside again, using a gentler sweeping motion. There it was, a metallic glint. The rounded edge of something. I tried to carefully brush back the leaves again, but they settled back too quickly for me to get a clear look. It was too far into the pool for me to easily reach it, so I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my sleeves and pant legs. And then I waded in, treading lightly in case there was broken glass in my path, and plunged my hand into the water where I’d seen it.
At first, all my fingers encountered were leaves and mud, and then the rock underneath them. Then they hit something firm. I reached around it, and then, even before I could see it, I knew what it was. A phone.
I pulled it out and held it in my hands. It had been a nice phone once, in a plain black case. I stood there in the pool of disgusting water, holding the dripping phone, and suddenly I began to laugh. Good job, I thought. You’ve solved the case of the drowned phone. Here it is. The phone some drunk kid lost—probably eons ago—you’ve found it. Well done. Gold stars all around.
I laughed until I was no longer sure if I was laughing or crying. Then I made myself take a series of long, slow breaths, and I tucked the still-wet phone, my treasured prize, into my pocket. Anna, if only you could see me now, I thought. You wouldn’t know whether to laugh or cry either.
I backtracked out of the pool without stepping on any glass
