The Loop

July 18th, 2024

Three different people had sent me the video, and it was all my friends were talking about in our group chat, but I didn’t give it more than a momentary glance. It appeared to show a man with glowing skin flying a few hundred feet in the air above the desert somewhere in Utah. I was only thirteen, but even I was incredulous enough to know it was fake. Some stupid CGI thing, probably viral advertising an upcoming movie or something. What was more shocking to me was that all my friends were talking about it like it was real. Idiots, I thought. But I wasn’t being fair, and I knew that. I was just distracted and more than a little bit worried.

Earlier in the day, Sarah, my friend from swimming, had told me that her brother, Ben, had gone missing. He had left on Saturday night, telling his parents he was going to a party with some friends on the other side of town, and hadn’t come home since. His friends had said he had shown up to the party, but he hadn’t stayed long. They’d all assumed he was heading back home. That was the last time anyone had seen him.

Sarah’s parents had gotten in touch with the police on Sunday night, after spending the whole day growing progressively more anxious as the hours ticked by without a word from Ben. I had a strange and sinking feeling in my gut that something very bad had happened. I didn’t tell Sarah that, of course; she was enough of a wreck already. But I couldn’t help from feeling like they’d never see him again. And I felt, too, the beginnings of a guilt I couldn’t—or didn’t want to—understand the source of.

My parents had sat me down this morning and told me, all concerned, about what had happened. Of course I already knew from Sarah, and I told them that, but they still acted like I needed to hear it from them. I had sat and listened, stroking the cat in my lap and barely absorbing any of what they were saying.

“Angie,” my dad had said, “I know you’re probably thinking of your friend, but it’s important for you to not worry yourself too much. Sometimes kids Ben’s age just … get it in mind to take off somewhere.”

“That’s right,” said my mom. “He might’ve had some friends from out of town. Or, who knows? He might still be in town, just staying over a couple nights at a friend’s house and his phone died.”

“Sure,” said dad. “The point is, wherever he is, he’s almost certainly safe and sound, and everything will work out before you know it.”

I hated when people suggested that things would just work out. I always had. Nevertheless, I got the gist of what they were saying, but it was all pointless noise. I’d already thought of, and discarded, all of the possibilities they’d presented. Ben wasn’t that popular, and all the friends anyone knew he had were at the party he’d gone to. And while it wasn’t impossible that Ben would forget to tell his parents where he was staying for a few days, he and Sarah were very close. I found it next to impossible to believe that he would be inconsiderate enough to let her worry about him for that long if he was somewhere nearby. If his phone had died, he’d charge it. If he was leaving town, he’d tell his sister. If he was staying in town, he’d tell his sister. If he had the ability to tell his sister what was going on with him and where he was, he’d tell his sister.

Hence, my conclusion: something bad had happened. And part of the blame might have been on me.

And Adam. Why had I listened to him? Why had I even asked him for advice? I never asked him for advice, and why would I? The guy was an idiot. I loved him, of course, but he was an idiot. He was coasting through college with the lowest grades they’d let you get without getting kicked out, none of his relationships had lasted longer than five months, he was too stupid and stubborn to go talk to the one really good friend he had left from high school because of some stupid falling out that I doubted even he understood the causes of.

And worse than all of that was that he was just boring. And I don’t mean that like, he lacked interesting hobbies or pastimes or skills or a sense of humor or charisma. I mean he was safe. He didn’t take chances. He didn’t do anything. He’d had a chance to go on a trip to Australia in his first year of college. One of his professors had taken a liking to him and offered to pay to fly him out there and set him up in a house with a few other students to assist him on a months long research assignment, and Adam had hemmed and hawed about it until the last minute, and then told the professor he couldn’t go because there might be things in Australia he was allergic to.

Of course his advice was to do nothing. It was all he knew how to do. And maybe when I’d asked him, I had known that. Maybe I’d wanted him to give me that advice because that was what I wanted to do already and I wanted someone else to give me permission. Maybe any anger I felt toward Adam was better aimed at myself.

I kept trying to tell myself that nothing was certain yet. That I was just a kid and I didn’t know much. That any of the possibilities my parents had suggested regarding Ben’s whereabouts could be valid, or any one of a million others that were equally bland and innocent and entirely free from danger. I couldn’t convince myself.

The phone rang in the kitchen and I heard my dad pick it up. I was seated in the living room watching the video on my phone again. I had to hand it to whomever had done the CGI, it looked very real. I was trying not to hear what my dad was saying. I was trying just to focus on the video on my phone: a man wearing a ski mask was flying across the frame, he was wearing a full suit and the tie was whipping out behind him, the person filming was saying “Oh my God!” and “Can you believe this?” In the other room, my dad was saying, “I understand,” and, “Thanks. We’ll let her know,” and, “I’m so sorry to hear that.” I was trying hard not to focus on the thing I couldn’t ignore, and focusing too much on the thing in front of me that I was hoping would provide a distraction, and the two became mixed up in my mind to the point where I half expected my dad to come flying around the corner and tell me the bad news: his tie had blown away.

But the video had to be CGI, and the phone call my dad had just hung up had to be unrelated to anything I was imagining. If either of those things didn’t hold true, then the world I’d known would be thrown into complete and utter disarray.

Despite my silent pleading, my dad came around the corner and told me to put my phone down. “I have something to tell you,” he said, “and I want you to know up front that mom and I are here for you.”

I waited to hear what I already knew.

“Your friend Sarah’s brother, Ben. You know how he’s been missing the last few days?”

I nodded my agreement with this simple fact and willed my father to disappear, to fly away.

“The police found him—found his body, I mean. He … Honey, he’s dead.”

My dad’s eyes were shining, but I remained stone faced. I stared at him and wished the whole world would go away, wished I could fly away from here. I imagined myself soaring above the desert, while someone far below looked up and said, “Oh my God! Can you believe this?”

I stood up on unsteady legs and my dad came to me and wrapped me in his arms.

“It’s okay to cry,” he said, but I wasn’t crying, I was flying. I was hundreds of miles away and I was flying.