Fragile

A short story by

Kyra Phillips

*****

November 24 was the first day Jackson saw his life flash before his eyes. He was sitting quietly in his English class when his teacher called him out for 'not paying attention.' She asked him the most horrifying question he could possibly imagine: "What is a conjunction?"

His vision grew fuzzy. Everything around him was spinning; molding together into a multicolored haze.

"I, I..." he stammered.

This was humiliating for him. Of course he knew the answer! Jackson had tested in the 98th percentile in the country for language arts last year. Why couldn't he remember?

He felt like his lungs were shriveling up, as if his breath was being squeezed out of his body by one of those hydraulic press machines he had seen on social media.

Jackson, quite honestly, thought he was going to cry. He had never been the shy or nervous type. Twitching and trembling, he shook his head.

"I can't remember," he stammered.

His teacher, Mrs. Bentley, did not seem too concerned at his lack of knowledge. She knew he was easily the brightest student in the eighth grade.

"That's alright, Jackson. Just remember that a conjunction is a word used to connect clauses or

sentences, like 'and' or 'if,'" she smiled as a reminder.

To his luck, a familiar tone sounded just as she had finished her sentence. Saved by the bell... he thought.

Jackson haphazardly gathered his class materials and walked quickly into the hall. He was breathing heavily; like he had just barely saved himself from drowning. He leaned back against the wall and hit the back of his head before closing his eyes. Jackson was exhausted.

He hadn't realized this at the time, but November 24th was the day Jackson had had his first panic attack.

*****

It was now September 1st, just short of a year later.

He had identified the triggers of his anxiety disorders, but was still struggling to manage them. He had also developed depression from the stress of coping with social and general anxiety disorders, (SAD and GAD).

Every wrong answer, misstep, and over-evaluation created a burning sensation in his chest. He would get the worst migraines imaginable and his hands were always fidgeting with something. He had broken numerous mechanical pencils and pens because of this.

Of course, not everything was terrible. Some days were okay. In fact, some days were even a little better than okay. Jackson did his best to focus on things that made him happy and feel safe. His favorite was Abigail Adams.

She took away a lot of his anxiety, but also added to it at the same time. Jackson was alright with this; he had come to terms with his feelings. He had been deeply in love with her since third grade.

Abigail was a smart, witty, and beautiful girl. One might even go as far as saying she was drop-dead gorgeous, which Jackson wholeheartedly believed. To put it bluntly, he felt like she was "out of his league." She was tall and athletic, with hair the color of a bright, golden sunset. He, on the other hand, was scrawny, nerdy, and incredibly self-conscious of his looks and disorders.

Possibly best of all, Abigail was an outstanding friend.

Her support carried Jackson through most of his rough days.

At the same time, however, he suffered a heavy burden that was sometimes all-consuming. Of course, he didn't want people to know he was constantly anxious and depressed, but everyone always found out. He was also being crushed by the incomparable weight of loving someone who did not feel the same way about him.

*****

The first day of school was the second of September. The freshmen class shuffled into the crowded gym for orientation at 7:55. Jackson was already overwhelmed. There were too many people all talking irrelevantly.

Annoyed, he scanned the raging sea of humanity to find the love of his life. Finally, he noticed Abigail and his mood instantly changed. His eyes widened and his posture perked up. Maybe the first day at Oak Park High wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Hey, Abbi," he said quietly, once he had reached her in the far corner of the gym.

"Oh, hi Jackson," uttered Abigail, without looking up.

"You okay?" he inquired, concerned.

"I guess so." She forced a subject change. "Who do you have for your homeroom teacher?"

"Um," he shuffled uncomfortably. "I thought that's what we were here to find out." Jackson looked down

bashfully.

Abigail winced. "You didn't pick up your schedule?"

"No." Everyone can see right through me, he thought, anxiously. I can't believe she puts up with me, knowing how messed up I am.

He felt blood rush to his face and his heartbeat began to quicken. Jackson recognized the same familiar quivering of his lungs that exemplified a panic attack.

What do I do? What do I do?!

"It's okay," Abigail smiled, reassuringly, "just go up to the table with the new counselor sitting at it. It's right by the door; I'm sure you saw it on your way in. All you have to do is tell her your name and she'll give you one."

"Alright," responded Jackson in a cautious manner. "Will you come with me?"

"If you'd like me to."

Wow, Jackson thought, she is absolutely gorgeous when she smiles like that.

"I would really appreciate that," he said, feeling a little more comfortable.

The two friends stood and walked down the center aisle of the bleachers. They made their way around the hustle and bustle of other obnoxious teenagers and eventually found the fold-out table that Abigail had mentioned. She was wrong about one thing, though: Jackson had not noticed it on his way in. When he knew

he was on his way to see Abigail, nothing else could enter his mind, or even really mattered.

They retrieved his schedule and made it back to their unassigned assigned seat in the corner, just as the orientation announcements began.

Jackson quickly glanced down and scanned his schedule to find his homeroom teacher. He then peered over at Abbi's and, to his disappointment, realized they had not been assigned the same advisor.

However, he knew they would be in biology and geometry together. Typically, these were classes returning sophomores would take, but Jackson and Abigail were smarter not your average students. They

had taken 9th grade science and math the year before.

Jackson's racing thoughts were interrupted by the over enthusiastic voice of the school principal, Mr. Marcus.

"Who's ready for a GREAT NEW YEAR?!" he boomed into the microphone.

Jackson's eyes could not have rolled further back into his head. Absolutely not me, he reflected, irritated. The entire gym was dead silent. Not one student cheered or applauded. Nobody even said they really didn't want to be there. Nothing.

"Well, I'll just make this brief." Mr. Marcus sounded embarrassed. "We're going to spearhead the first day by

starting everyone in their first period class. You'll just sort of go through the rules and expectations from each teacher," he voice continued to trail on monotonically.

Jackson was no longer paying attention. He was completely entranced by Abigail. She kept looking down and smiling; occasionally brushing her hair out of her face. She was so good-looking that it was almost unimaginable. She was a drug and he was addicted.

"Alright," Mr. Marcus interrupted Jackson's intrusive thoughts. "You may now head to your first class of the day. Have a great year everyone!"

It seemed all of the freshmen all got up at the same time and tried to squeeze through the two doors in the

gym. Then, they all split off in different directions to find their friends or head to class.

Jackson's first period was English. Because he was in advanced English, he was surrounded by upperclassmen. Immediately after entering the stuffy classroom, Jackson could sense the recurring choked up feeling of panic. He felt so incredibly overwhelmed and inferior to the other students. He quickly paced to the back of the classroom and sat in the far left corner of the last row of desks. He was trying to stay hidden as much as possible.

He tried a few different seating positions and adjusted his posture. Jackson realized he was overthinking

how to sit in a chair, but he truly felt like everyone's eyes were on him. He was startled when he heard the late bell ring. His teacher, without saying anything beforehand, began to take attendance.

Louis was there.

Emily was there.

Ryan was present.

"Jackson?" she called.

Jackson's heart was pounding so quickly that he could actually hear every dreadful thump.

"Here," he winced. His voice had cracked, just like any last shred of confidence he had. Worst of all, a few juniors were giggling in the front of the class.

At least six people turned back and made faces of disgust at him. Jackson was so embarrassed and anxious that he was ready to run out of the room. His teacher didn't seem to notice, or even care in the slightest.

She continued taking attendance and went over her classroom regulations. Jackson tried to relax, but his hands were shaking and his leg was bouncing uncontrollably. He was so focused on trying to calm down that every word said in the classroom went in one ear and out the other.

When that hour of torture was over, he rushed to meet up with Abigail.

"How's it going?" he asked, quietly.

"I'm alright," she responded.

It was then Jackson decided to make the most rash decision of his life.

"Hey, Abigail?"

"Yeah, Jackson?"

He clenched his fists and took a deep breath before cautiously asking, "Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?"

"Like a date?" she asked foolishly. They had been out to dinner many times before.

"Yes," responded an anxious Jackson. This was easily the hardest thing he'd ever done. "What do you think?!"

"Oh," she swallowed, "I--I'm really sorry Jack, but I

just don't feel that way about you. I think we'd be better off as friends."

"Yeah, I understand," he murmured, breaking her piercing gaze. "Forget it." He sauntered down the hallway without looking back. Devastated and heavy-hearted, he avoided Abigail for the rest of the day.

*****

After he returned home from his first day of school, Jackson cried for the rest of the night. He sobbed into his sweater, his pillow, and ugly, maroon couch cushions. Every time he thought he had calmed down, Jackson's emotions took control of him again.

He abandoned his homework responsibilities and

refused dinner--something he never did. He took a quick shower before crawling into bed. He then curled into a ball and covered his head with his dense comforter. Jackson was prepared to turn in for the night at 8:30.

After awhile, however, he couldn't tell whether he was suffocating from his blanket or if it was just his anxiety choking him. Jackson threw his covers aside and tried to slow his breathing. He ran his right hand through his still-damp hair and closed his eyes.

The back of his head smacked against his bed frame and made him a little nauseous. Just when he had recovered from that blunt trauma, he was washed over by the realization of Abigail's rejection.

Jackson eventually fell asleep with tear-stained cheeks, severely damaged self-esteem, and a major crack in his heart. The last thought to cross his mind was:

You never notice glass unless it's broken.

*****

Jackson awoke to the blaring sound of his alarm clock at 6:30. He sat up and stretched, excited to see Abigail at school. During the night, he had dreamt of winning her over. Abigail would come running to him, apologizing profusely. She had realized her mistake and would love to go to dinner with him as more than friends. He had also devised a plan, inspired by this dream, in his groggy, just-waking-up stage. He was determined to

convince Abigail that he was the man for her.

However, when he arrived at school, Abigail was not there. Ordinarily, she had perfect attendance. In fact, to Jackson's knowledge, Gail had not missed a day of school since she contracted mononucleosis in first grade.

Perplexed, he looked around campus for any trace of the one that got away. Jackson asked nearly a dozen people if they had seen Abigail, but the responses were all vague and inconclusive.

Jackson's knee did not stop bouncing during the classes where he was required to sit. In gym, he was so distracted during dodgeball that he was pelted right in the side of the face and fell to the ground! His thumb was constantly tapping each of his other fingers to make

sure they were still there. These were all tell-tale symptoms of his GAD.

Jackson was told many times that Abigail was "probably just sick," but he felt uneasy about the whole situation. He knew something was wrong. Really wrong!

Once at home, he plopped on his couch and grabbed his laptop off of the table. Setting it on his lap, he opened the cover to see a tab pulled up to her Instagram page. He smiled when he saw Abigail's most recent photo: a picture of her with a softball trophy, grinning from ear to ear. Don't get distracted, he told himself.

He opened a new window and looked up the most recent missing person reports on the local police website.

His hand flew up to cover his gaping mouth. It was then Jackson saw eight words that would change his life forever:

Abigail Adams

Missing since Wednesday morning, September 3.

*****

Jackson was in shock. There she was; the same picture he had been staring at just seconds earlier was being used as a reference photo to find a lost girl. His worst fear had been realized.

I have to find her, he pondered. Slowly, Jackson took his phone out of his pocket. He scrolled through his very short list of contacts and pressed on the name Abbi. He sat uncomfortably, waiting anxiously for the dial tone to

end. All he wanted was to hear her voice--for her to tell him she was okay.

The line rang upwards of ten times before transferring to her voicemail. Jackson couldn't even leave a message because the inbox was full. His heart sank.

Recalling the events that had led up to this point, Jackson realized, rationally, that this predicament was not his doing. However, his social anxiety begged to differ. That little voice in the back of his head just kept chanting, "It's all your fault, Jack. She definitely hates you."

He felt demolished. Jackson was already an extremely fragile boy; Abigail's absence just made everything worse.

What can I do?! Jackson looked at the missing person report frantically, beginning to sweat. I know, he thought. I'll do the only thing I can do--I'll just go look for her.

Now, Jackson knew that this was a completely irrational quest to pursue. However, Abigail had always been his top priority. Even the burn of rejection couldn't change that fact. Whatever the cost to save her, he would do it.

He closed his laptop, pulled on a windbreaker, and grabbed some food from his pantry. Nearly forgetting a charger for his phone, he bundled up the cord and shoved it into his pocket. He grabbed his wallet from on top of the piano and put all of his supplies into a satchel.

"Mom!" Jackson called downstairs. "I'm going out."

"Alright," she shouted, obliviously from the laundry room. "Have fun, honey. I love you!"

Jackson rolled his eyes and dashed out the door. Then he started running.

*****

He ran for three miles until he made it to town, his bag smacking against him every step of the way. He did not stop once. Jackson may have been scrawny, but he was also an amazing sprinter. He was the fastest runner on the middle school track team and also ran cross country. He was very excited for high school CC to start.

The first place he searched for Abigail was the public library. If she wasn't at one practice or another, she most definitely had her nose in a book.

He had never been so great with approaching people to ask for help; but his current state of anxiety had made this even more difficult. Jackson nervously asked the librarian if she had seen Abigail, to which she responded with a monotone "nope." She hadn't even bothered to look at him.

He winced and thanked her, even though that was certainly not the answer he wanted to hear. He then thought for a moment about where to go next. Jack was a bit tired from running so far; he got exhausted much sooner than usual when he was out of practice. Thinking quickly on his feet, Jackson decided to get a bus ticket to Redford, a nearby town. It was a 40 minute ride, but

he knew it would take three times as long if he ran. There was no time to wait. He had to get there, and fast.

When Jackson stepped onto the bus and showed the driver his ticket, he noticed how peculiar the man was. He immediately felt uncomfortable in the presence of the sketchiest man he'd ever encountered, but the bus doors had already closed, and Jackson did not want any trouble with him.

He sat in the front seat, diagonal from the suspicious bus driver. He made sure to identify all of the emergency exits, as well as judge everyone else on the bus to see who was "most trustworthy." These were just some of the usual precautions Jackson took to make sure

he would survive a highly-unlikely, but still possible, dangerous situation. He knew if he needed to, he could get out fast.

About five minutes into the ride, the bus was cut off by an erratic vehicle. This caused the driver Jackson was so uncomfortable around to swerve into oncoming traffic! They were able to avoid hitting anyone, but Jackson and his anxiety completely ignored this major victory. All he could think was, I almost died. I'm going to die. I won't even know whether Abigail is safe or not!

That's right. Abigail! The whole reason he was on this awful, panic inducing journey was to find her. He was able to stop hyperventilating and rested his head on the

cold window.

"I'm coming, Abbi," he whispered, dramatically. He was saddened by the fact that he was speaking to someone who couldn't even hear him.

*****

"Next stop: Redford," grunted the driver of what Jackson now referred to as The Murder Bus.

Jackson's ears perked up at these words. He straightened out his slouched back and took out his phone. 57% battery, he noted. There were no notifications except for a reminder to call his doctor and cancel his upcoming appointment.

He groaned and put the hood of his jacket over his head. Jackson stuffed his hands into his pockets and

stood as the bus slowed down to a stop. Redford Bank, he read on a sign behind the overhang of the bus stop.

Jackson thanked the driver and walked down the steps in a determined manner. Just as his back foot had hit the pavement, the bus sped away and splashed water from a nearby puddle all over him.

Jackson cursed and opened his drenched bag. He took out an apple and a sleeve of crackers and sat on a bench to strategize and nourish himself.

He took a bite of the apple and looked around the unfamiliar town. It was relatively close to Oak Park, but his family didn't get out much.

He soon realized how idiotic of him it was to waste time checking the library for Abigail. If she had been

there, why would there be a police report saying that she was missing?!

You're so stupid, he told himself. Jackson sighed before eating the rest of his tart apple. He walked briskly down the sidewalk and observed the darkening sky. He opened his crackers while he walked alongside the navy skyline on the purple horizon. It was getting late.

Jackson was tired, but decided he would not rest until he found Gail. When he had swallowed his last few crumbs, Jack started to run again.

He ran to Abigail's favorite restaurant in Redford, Geo's Grill. It was a small, family owned place that she talked about all the time. He thought to look here because of how highly she praised it.

Once inside, and out of breath, Jackson asked an elderly woman at the front desk if she had seen a girl his age come in by herself.

"A lot of young women stopped in tonight," she smiled, sweetly. "Could you be more specific with her description?"

"Oh, right. Of course," Jackson responded. "She has long, blonde hair. It was probably down--she likes it best that way. She has the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen. They're like deep, dark pools. She has a few freckles on her cheeks that she's really self-conscious about, but I think they're adorable. She's a little taller than me and her body is perfectly proportioned. Honestly, she looks like a goddess."

The old woman beamed and Jackson noticed a twinkle in her eye.

"My husband used to talk about me like that," she recollected. "You didn't get stood up, did you?"

Jackson's eyes widened. He didn't quite know how to respond.

"No--well, yes. Something like that," he trailed off. Refocusing, he continued. "Her name is Abigail. She could have come in any time today. Have you seen her?"

"Oh, sweetheart!" chuckled the old woman. "I knew who you were talking about right when you described her eyes. Abigail Adams comes in with her mother all the time; but today she only came in to drop off an envelope."

"What do you mean?" questioned Jackson, confused.

"She walked in and handed me an envelope," the lady repeated. She ducked behind the desk for a moment and pulled out the package she had mentioned.

"Come to think of it," she continued, "she looked pretty nervous coming in here."

Jackson snatched the envelope out of her shaky hand and grasped it tight.

"When did this happen?" he demanded.

"Heavens if I know!" she exclaimed, turning around to deal with a nagging waitress. "Have a nice evening, young man!"

Jackson dashed outside and frantically tore open the envelope. Inside was a crumpled letter that had been

folded a few times. Very anxiously, he read:

To whom it may concern--

I wanted you to know that we did indeed pass through Redford, but we are not stopping here. I have enclosed $5o cash to help you follow me. I have left a trail along the way and I will continue to do so. You have to keep looking for me. I need help. I am writing this in the back of a black minivan. I did not catch the license plate and I do not know where we are headed. He keeps asking me to do things for him I have no idea what this all means. I am very scared. PLEASE COME SOON.

~Abigail Adams

Jackson wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. This was even worse than he had previously thought. She hadn't run away--Abigail had been kidnapped!

Jackson looked around for the trail Abigail had described, but it was too dark to see anything. His mind had been going a mile a minute all day, and he was utterly exhausted. Jackson needed to turn his brain off for awhile. All he wanted was to take a hot shower to wash off the events of the day.

Briefly putting Abigail on hold, he checked into a nearby 24 hour motel to get a few hours of rest. After cleaning the sweat and dirt off of his body, he wrapped himself in a musty blanket and fell asleep as soon as his

head hit the pillow.

*****

Jackson tossed and turned restlessly while he slept. At two o'clock in the morning, he gave up his futile efforts and checked out. He had only spent forty dollars at the rundown motel.

He knew the bus line wouldn't be running that early in the morning, so he decided he would attempt to hitchhike from Redford, Michigan to wherever Abigail's trail led him.

It was still pitch black outside, so Jackson sat beneath the shelter of a bus stop. He plugged his charger into the outlet and began to power his phone. He was now wide awake with nothing to do but wait, so he played his

favorite Spotify playlist. He closed his eyes and listened to the quiet, soothing melodies that he put on when he was feeling anxious.

Jackson lost track of time and was broken from his music-induced trance by the ringing of his cellphone.

"Shoot," he muttered, audibly. It was his mother. She's probably worried sick, he thought. He hadn't checked in once. It was shortly after 5:00 AM. This was about the time when she would be heading off to work at the hospital.

"Hello?" Jackson answered.

"JACKSON ALEXANDER COX!" shouted his mother.

Really? My full name? He took a deep breath and thought about how he was going to explain himself.

"Where are you?!" she demanded before he could say anything else.

"I'm in Redford," he said, calmly. "I found out Abigail went missing."

Her voice instantly changed tone as she asked, "Abi--Abigail Adams?"

Jackson looked down and quietly confirmed, "Yes, mom. Abigail, the girl who comes over all the time?" He heard his mother gasp and begin to cry.

"How terrible!" she managed, between sobs. "She was such a sweet girl! You're not at her funeral, are you? Was there a memorial I didn't know about?!"

"No. No, mom," he interrupted. "She's not dead--I never said that. I'm trying to find her."

"I'm sorry," apologized his mother. "That's very admirable of you, Jackson, but I'm not sure that's the best idea. Maybe you should come home."

"No," he said, flatly. "I'll see you when I get home."

Jackson hung up, blatantly ignoring his mother's suggestion. She just didn't understand. He collected his things and shoved them into his satchel. It was now bright enough to look for Abigail's clues. He noticed a dashed red line just next to the center road lines.

Pretty sure that's illegal, he chuckled to himself. Then he smiled, a little less annoyed.

"She's so quick-witted," Jackson uttered, apparently audibly.

"You talk like an old person," scoffed a voice next to

him. Jackson jumped, startled. He hadn't noticed anyone beside him.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Naomi," she responded. Jackson now detected a strong smell of cigarette smoke, which no doubt was from her. However, Naomi was heavily doused in perfume. She's probably trying to cover it up, he thought, trying not to gag.

"Not to be rude," Jackson paused, "but how long have you been sitting there? I didn't even notice you until you said something."

Naomi rolled up her leather jacket sleeve to reveal an antique watch.

"Stole it," she winked, smiling. "I've been here for, like,

an hour."

Jackson gulped. "So you..."

"...heard you on the phone with your mom?" she interrupted. "Yup."

Jackson put his head in his hands and sighed. "I was a little aggressive, wasn't I?"

"A little," shrugged Naomi. "Who's Abigail?"

"She's my--" Jackson hesitated, "--girlfriend."

Naomi raised a penciled-in eyebrow.

"Is she?"

Jackson shook his head, embarrassed.

"No," he smiled, softly. "I wish."

Naomi put her cold hand on his shoulder, affectionately.

"Where you goin', kid?" she asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. "To Abigail? This whole situation baffles me. Evidently, she left me a trail."

Naomi rolled her eyes.

"Back at it again with the old-people talk," she said, sarcastically.

Jackson frowned, but handed her Abigail's folded letter anyway.

Her eyes widened as she read it. All she said was "wow."

"Well, I'd better be going," he said to end the conversation. Luckily, a bus had pulled up, so he could forget about trying to hitchhike. He ran on the bus and threw fifteen dollars at the driver.

"Drive," he commanded.

*****

Jackson took a few deep breaths and made sure to keep his eyes on the road. Naomi, he thought. What a creep. She's got nothing on Gail.

Fortunately, the bus followed the spray painted line Abigail had left for about an hour. When they had reached the border of Michigan and Ohio, the driver stopped.

"This is as far as that money will get ya," warned the bus driver. "Pay up and I'll take ya a bit farther."

Jackson shot a look at the man. Did no one have sympathy anymore?

"Fine," Jackson stated. "Let me off."