Jumping in puddles is more fun when you don't land face-first.

I swear I had just closed my eyes. Had it really been four hours already? I hoped, in my half-asleep stupor, that perhaps I was dreaming the Banging of the Pipes this time.

That worked for about five minutes, and I finally surrendered to the noise and opened my eyes. It sounded kind of strange today, as if someone had run the racket through surround-sound in my apartment. Maybe it was just how tired I was, but man was that bothersome. I swear it was louder, even. And there was some other weird noise infiltrating the normal pipe banging. Like scraping metal.

For a brief second, I couldn't hear any of it, though, since an enormous clap of thunder interrupted everything. Crap, was it raining? Since the living room's in the middle of the apartment, there weren't any windows in sight. At least not from my limited, lying-on-my-back-on-the-couch position. I groaned and sat up. Fuzzballe had vanished at some point in the night, but not without leaving a copious amount of cat fur at my feet. I brushed off my socks and walked into my bedroom.

Ha. Was it raining? Maybe I should have rephrased my question a bit. But it was too early for gloomy sarcasm, even for me. Point being, it was incredibly stormy. My memory woke up at that moment, and reminded me that I was a mailman, and therefore would have to be out in the storm all day. Ugh. What a miserable way to start a morning.

An impressively loud meow greeted my ears over the roar of the rain, metal, and shower pipes, and I obligingly shuffled my cat-hair-endowed sock feet into the kitchen to feed Fuzzballe. I scratched her between the ears. I reassured myself that at least the cat was happy. Probably because she had free food and didn't have to push a shopping cart through a tropical storm. (I actually don't know if it even was a tropical storm. I was too scared to check.)

I had a pressing urge to go up to the roof, even in the downpour, just to see whether or not the people were still there. At first I tried to talk myself out of it, since it was really rainy, after all. But the other part of my brain laughed and told me to suck it up, since I would have to get used to it later anyway. After my short mental debate, I walked up the stairs to the roof. It occurred to me as I passed the ninth floor that I hadn't ever been on the roof and had no earthly idea how to get up there. Ah, sleep deprivation. What a lovely anticatalyst for forethought. Thankfully, I didn't really have to look that long, since the door was bright yellow and labeled "ROOF ACCESS: NOT AN EXIT."

Technically, I thought, it was an exit. Just not a safe one. I hoped nothing would come to that point. I stepped through the door and shivered slightly at the heavy rainfall. It didn't take long for my clothes to soak all the way through. But I was on a mission!

Sure enough, there was a little tent on the roof. (How on earth had I managed to see that from the pet store?) Over the rain, I could hear snoring emanating from behind the fabric, which made me feel strangely creepy. It was still really dark outside, so of course they would still be asleep. What was I up here for? My curiosity was still unsatisfied, however, and I tiptoed towards the tent. Dang, someone was an accomplished snorer. But I'd seen two people on the roof. I found myself wondering which of them snored, and laughed to myself that it was probably the woman. I crept around the side and opened the flap just wide enough to put one eye up to the gap.

In addition to horrifying myself as to whether or not this espionage qualified me as a full-fledged stalker, I was baffled. Only one silhouette lay snoozing in the early morning light.

I'd had about enough of this nonsense, though; I didn't want to be staring into someone's tent when they woke up. I moved away from the tent and walked back across the roof to the access door. Strangely enough, an array of colors caught my eye from the edge of the roof. The normally deserted field behind the parking deck next to the apartments was filled with 1, 2, 3, 4-- twelve tents. That was odd. I was starting to get goosebumps from the rain, though, and I quickly pulled myself away from the spectacle and back to the alluring yellow door.

I headed back down the stairs to the apartment, where I made myself some coffee and had a nice warm shower. I tried fervently and unsuccessfully not to think about how cold and miserable I felt after just a short time outside, and took my time under the stream of warm water. I think I was trying to imprint the warmth on my body or something. Alas.

I got out of the shower and put on dry clothes, a luxury I was to be without for the rest of the day. I put on my mail jacket and a couple of extra layers and headed out into the stairwell for the second time. I descended the stairs to the wonderful tune of the torrential hell that gleefully awaited me. As I exited the building, my hair started dripping into my eyes almost immediately, which almost prevented me from marveling at the scene before me. Downpour and all, there were some Jehovah's witnesses out in the early morning light. I waited to cross the street, and two of them approached me. 

"Did you know," said the first one, a tall man with bushy eyebrows (he was blinking a lot, since his eyebrows were dripping in his face), "that in Revelation it says storms are an indicator of the Second Coming of Christ?" I gave him what I hoped was a look of withering condescension and replied "No, I wasn't aware." He completely missed my intent and quickly went on a tirade about how now was the time to repent and be redeemed, since the Savior would surely arrive promptly and I wanted to be among the blessed who accompanied him on his return journey to the Father. His friend, a slightly less tall man who seemed to be playing the role of Jehovah's Padawan, nodded and occasionally inserted outbursts of "Matthew 24:6!" and "It says so in Revelation!"

I listened as politely as possible, but was nonetheless relieved when the light turned green. I continued on my way to work, and two more Witnesses accosted me not a block later with tales of earthquakes, repenting, Satan tempting us into sin, and Jesus. I wanted to tell them that Satan was probably no match for my boss, and that I needed to go, but the weather was somewhat mellowing and I felt that it was a tad too early for conflict. I nodded and smiled, and when one of them took a breath, I said, "Thank you so much for your time. I need to go-- uh, pray now," and walked briskly away.

As I passed the theatre, I noticed a poster advertising some new play entitled "The Producers." With all the rain, I figured the poster wouldn't be up for much longer, since the corners were already dripping. The visual of the unfortunate sopping paper reminded me that by now, all of the remaining MISSING DAUGHTER posters were probably toast. Of course, I didn't know how many had been taken down by my mysterious Flier Snatcher, so maybe it wasn't an issue.

Unfortunately, I hadn't managed to fend off the Jehovah's Witnesses fast enough, and I was fifteen minutes late by the time I walked into the post office. Mr. DuBolaire was waiting for me in his usual fashion, and no sooner had I set one squeaky shoe inside the building that he bellowed, "CHEN!" Ugh. I wasn't in the mood to deal with him today, but what with him being my boss, I really couldn't avoid it. I drew myself up to full height, which wasn't that much, and tried to put on my intimidating face.

Childhood flashbacks don't frequent my thought process, but I was briefly reminded of my mother laughing at my wholehearted, seven-year-old-style attempt to look foreboding in the face of punishment. (I'd borrowed my dad's shoes and stomped in some mud puddles.) As I recalled that slightly embarrassing incident, I realized my current situation wasn't that different-- I was sopping wet, failing at intimidating an authority figure, and probably about to receive a punishment despite my best efforts.

Mr. DuBolaire, sure enough, was unfazed by my facial expression. "Are you scowling at me, Mr. Chen?" He threw his head back and laughed uproariously. He sounded like a squawking bird. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me that his scornful laughter felt more insulting than my mother's good-natured chuckle. After he'd had his fill of bellowing guffaws, he stopped abruptly and got right up in my face. Well, he got right up in my face for a few seconds, then noticed the puddle forming at my feet from my dripping clothes and backed off a bit. "I thought we'd had our little run-in with tardiness already," he said. "I suppose you haven't learned your lesson after all. And just when I was about to give you a raise, too!" Lies. This man wouldn't give me a raise if I threatened to email porn videos to his grandmother. Actually, that's probably because he already sold his grandmother into the industry, with the evil mindset he's got. "Chen, I'm disappointed in you," he went on. "Since I'm sure you are dying to redeem yourself, let's say you skip your lunch break today to make up the time you've lost." Ooh, starving his employees. That was a new form of torture. I noticed that very few people were in the post office today, and fleetingly wondered if they'd all quit or been fired. Honestly, I was shocked that the asshole hadn't fired me yet, and the possibility of everyone else leaving would have explained that.

He walked calmly back to his office and slammed the door. I found it ironic that the poster on his door is one of those motivational ones, emblazoned with the word "PRAISE" and a picture of a man patting his dog. I couldn't read the small text beneath it, so I thought a slogan up myself: "You can't spell 'praise' without 'raise,' and frankly, we don't have enough money." Not one of my best, I admit, but neither was my day so far.

I gathered up a couple things and went over to Forever 21 for my daily shopping cart loan. The woman at the counter recognized me, and we made some small talk about the pesky Jehovah's witnesses and the crappy weather. As I wheeled my cart towards the exit, I was struck with a wave of spontaneity, and turned around. She saw me stop and looked up. "What is it?"
"You wouldn't have happened to see my daughter in the store at all, would you? She's blonde, medium height, and athletic?" The girl giggled. "That's, like, every girl who comes in this store, I swear. Sorry, though."

Well, that was stupid. I took my cart and left before I could ask any other stupid questions. The automatic doors shut behind me, and a bolt of lightning lit up the sky in the distance. I realized suddenly that the mail would get ruined in the cart, and I needed some way to cover up the letters. At this moment, I remembered the campers behind the parking garage. Maybe they'd have some extra rain gear or something. I hoped they weren't crazy people or anything, since I didn't even really know what they were doing there.

I ran as fast as I could with my cart, being late and all that, and arrived at the parking garage to hear people chanting from the field behind it. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but it scared me a little bit. I went around to the back and realized it was an Occupy group. The notion of Occupy Castle Apartments amused me, but I was on a mission. I went up to one of the chanters and awkwardly tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, do you have any extra rain gear, like a poncho or something?"

"WHAT?" he yelled. It was really loud with all the chanting.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY PONCHOS OR RAIN GEAR?" I yelled back.
"WELL, THERE'S AN EXTRA TENT," he replied, and we moved away from the crowd to hear better. "Ask around, but I don't think anyone's sleeping in the blue one. No one seems to know how it got there."
I took a quick survey in the crowd of chanters. The tent didn't seem to belong to anyone.

Two women were standing on the opposite side of the crowd, chanting back at the crowd. When I walked up to ask about the blue tent, one of the women informed me that the Occupy movement was stupid. "That's lovely," I told her, "but I'm not with them. I was wondering if you knew if the blue tent belongs to anyone." She didn't think so. So I walked up to the tent and peeked in. There was no one in there, and no belongings. It was one of those dismal tents with no bottom, the kind you have to use a separate ground pad for. Ironically, that kind of tent was exactly what I needed, since it would fit nicely over my shopping cart. I dragged it over to where I'd left my cart and tied in on. I unzipped the front of the tent so that I could still use the handle of the cart. Perfect. It looked ridiculous, I'm sure. But some days are the tent-on-wheels kind of days, and I ignored the AquaCart's outward appearance in favor of its utility.

I ran with my blue pyramidal masterpiece back towards the post office, right past a couple more Witnesses. (One of them was missing a shoe, come to think of it.) They moved out of my way and looked scared. That was probably a bad sign. Maybe there's something in Revelation about crazy Chinese men with wheelie tents.

Without further ado (although I'd had my fair share of ado already, thank you very much), I gathered my envelopes and packages and set out on my mail route. The rain had let up a bit, and now it was pouring rather than gushing. I was starting to shiver a bit from being outside so much. Oh, and I was now an hour and forty-five minutes behind schedule. That was just peachy.

I slogged through the streets, which were essentially giant rivers by this time, and made my way to the orphanage. I had a package to deliver. When I knocked on the door, the same guy who had helped me with the copy machine opened it almost immediately. He looked a little paler than he had before, and was a little out of it. I had to ask him twice before he came out of his thoughts to sign the package. I hurried off with my tent-cart, and I think he yelled something after me, but I was running so late that I didn't turn around.

A few blocks later, on Sobchak, there was an enormous block party blocking my path. It slowed me down considerably as I tried to deliver the mail to the shops on that block. When I came out of the liquor store, having delivered a couple of bills to the establishment, my eye caught a familiar face in the crowd.

Xiu Li?

I bolted towards her, cart and all, but she turned around and ran. Maybe it wasn't her after all, but I had to know. I didn't even stop to consider that the sight of a strange man running towards you with a blue tent on wheels would make anyone run. As I pushed past a huge fat guy, I tripped all of a sudden and fell face first in a mud puddle. I rubbed the gunk out of my eyes as fast as I could and looked up, but the blonde girl was gone. She was replaced by a huge circle of people who were all staring at me and laughing. I brushed myself off and stood up with a squelch. My cart had fallen over, and a few letters had flown out into the mud puddle, too. Oh, joy. The crowd got quite a laugh out of the sight of me picking wet, filthy envelopes out of the small lake I was standing in. I couldn't really read the ink on most of them. Ugh. What was I supposed to do now? I pushed my cart forlornly down the street, shivering. I hadn't thought it possible to be any more wet than I already was, but falling in the puddle had disproved my little theory. My nose was running, too. I went back down the street and into Casa D'Waffle to warm up and grab a quick bite to eat.

I washed the rest of the mud off my face in the bathroom and then ate a hot waffle. I'd set the wet letters on the stool next to me, hoping that maybe they'd be able to dry some before I had to go back out into the rainy mud pit. I was three-fourths of the way finished with the waffle and adding syrup to the last part when the bell on the door dinged behind me. In came Mr. DuBolaire. I had completely forgotten his ultimatum about no lunch, and immediately began hoping that he hadn't seen me, which was ridiculous, since I was sitting at the bar. Maybe I could convince him that this didn't count, since it was breakfast. He walked right up to me.

"Hello, Chen," he hissed. I'd noticed that he'd done me the courtesy of dropping the "Mr." altogether.
"Hello, Mr. DuBolaire," I said.
"I see it's break time, hm?"
"Uh, yes, sir." I decided my breakfast retort probably wasn't going to work.
He looked down and noticed the letters on the stool. "What are those?"
Uh-oh. "Letters, sir. They got wet in the rain."
Mr. DuBolaire turned purple and looked like he was going to explode. "I should fire you, Chen. But I won't." (Again, my theory about my fellow employees... just saying.) He continued, "Instead, you get the privilege of staying until 8:30 tonight. And those letters had better get delivered."
The rest of the customers in Casa D'Waffle were staring at both of us, and I had no intention of causing any more of a spectacle. "Okay, sir. I'll be there."
To my great relief, he left.

I felt like punching something. Staying late again? I still had another week's worth of pay in order to get my truck back, and I was having to work my ass off just to get my regular salary. A man sitting at the other end of the bar looked up and said, "Bosses, huh?" I think I would have normally been reassured, had I not had so much else to worry about.

Like a missing daughter. I vowed at that moment that I was going to talk to the mysterious tent people tonight. Well, person. However many there were. Even if they didn't know anything about her, it was worth a shot. I refused to consider the possibility of my roof interview being a dead end. Something in the back of my mind told me that I'd been jumping to conclusions yesterday, and I probably shouldn't have been so suspicious. But I was really worried about Xiu Li. I still hadn't managed to decipher my memory well enough to determine if I'd seen her or not.

The rest of my mail route was fairly uneventful. Except the rain, obviously. The only thing I really remember is that the Occupy people had procured a megaphone and were yelling something about corporate greed. Their message is fine and all, but if they were really the 99%, would they have time to take out of their workday to bitch and whine? I realized sadly that someone in the city could probably find my situation envious. The thought depressed me.

Near the end of the route, I delivered a letter to Alfonso at the pet shop. I asked him if he'd seen anyone like Xiu Li around, and he said no. He did, however, make me the "irresistible" offer of two mice for the price of one. I reminded him that I had a cat, and he got that suspicious look again. He asked me where I'd gotten the cat. I was going to tell him that it was none of his business, but I stopped myself. I still had a bit of a hunch that maybe Fuzzballe had come from the store, so I lied and told him I'd found the cat on my mail route, and that it was a stray from behind the roller rink. Before I left, I took a look up at the roof again. Through the rain, it looked like there was at least one person up there. I hoped they wouldn't kill me or anything when I talked to them later.

At long last, I finished my mail route and went back to the post office. Well, not before I returned the blue tent to the Occupy lot. I should've done that earlier when I passed the parking garage, but I didn't want to risk ruining the last few letters. I dragged the tent, now brown and blue from the mud I'd added, back to its previous spot, and left without anyone seeming to notice me. 

I searched around in the post office for something to clean the ruined envelopes with. I managed to find a hairdryer, which made no sense. I let my imagination take off as to why the post office had a hairdryer, and set about drying the sopping letters with it. I resented having to work after hours, but at least I was inside now. Even so, I wished that I'd had a chance to check the police station to inquire about Xiu Li.

After the letters were dry, I brushed the dirt off of them as best I could. I managed to read the addresses on all but one. Six of them were for the apartments, and one was for the park. The last one was stained with mud, and I couldn't even tell that it had had any writing on it in the first place. The water seemed to have overwhelmed the seal on the envelope, though, because when I turned it over in an attempt to figure out which side was the top, the letter fell out onto the floor.

I then faced the awkward dilemma of whether or not to read the letter. That didn't last long. I picked it up, promising myself I would only read enough to figure out who it was for. I unfolded the letter, and a bunch of money fell out into my lap. Oh, wow, that was tempting. But I would've felt like a total asshole to ruin someone's letter and then steal their money, so I added a second promise that I would deliver the money with the letter. The note itself was for someone named Dmitri, and the rest of the note was in Russian. Well, that was helpful. I picked up the envelope again, knowing which way was up, and was able to decipher the marking "castel aprtmnets" on the front. At least I could leave it in the lobby for this Dmitri person. I only hoped he would find it. I stuck the letter, money and all, into my pocket.

Now to deliver the remaining seven letters. I went back over to the apartments and stuck all the embarrassingly soiled letters into their respective boxes. I then headed for the park, and realized that I'd forgotten to leave Dmitri's letter. Oh, well. I would have to go back there later to sleep anyway. If I didn't drown first in the flooded streets.

Something stuck to my shoe as I walked down the sidewalk towards the park. It was one of my MISSING DAUGHTER posters. I picked it up sadly and carried it with me. At least it hadn't been stolen, I suppose.

I delivered the letter in the park. It was dark by this time, and the park was dimly lit. Especially remembering that I was carrying money, I moved as fast as I could in hopes of not being mugged. But even with my breakneck walking pace, I managed to notice the slumped figure at the edge of the woods. That wasn't good.

My heart rate increased to that of a small rodent as I crept towards the person. From the looks of it, they-- no, she, I realized as I got closer-- was either sleeping or unconscious. I wondered how she'd gotten there. I took one more step, and I suddenly realized who it was: the girl from Forever 21 who'd let me borrow the cart. I took a deep breath. That was pretty scary. I'd talked to her that morning.

I then indulged myself in a brief moment of panic. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't just leave her there, but I had no clue what to do with her. I poked her awkwardly in the shoulder, but she didn't budge. She appeared to be breathing, and I confirmed with a quick touch to the wrist that she had a pulse. I finally made up my mind that I would just take her back to Forever 21.

I picked her up like a baby and managed to carry her for about three yards before I finally gave in to my own lack of upper body strength. She wasn't fat. She wasn't even a large person. But I'm a mailman, not a weight-lifter. Then I remembered the cart. I picked her up again just long enough to put her in the cart. I took a look at my handiwork. It looked a bit like I was too cheap for a hearse or something. She was wedged in the cart at a pretty awkward angle. I unceremoniously began wheeling the cart down the road, which was, of course, the bumpiest road in the city. I tried to move quickly so that I could drop her off before she woke up.

Too late. She stirred, and then sat up suddenly and screeched at the top of her lungs. I was so surprised that I screamed back. I wasn't even finished screaming when she shouted at me.

"Where are you taking me?"

I hadn't even thought about what the whole scene would look like to her. I'd been worrying too much about bystanders watching me. What was I supposed to tell her? Crapcrapcrap. She probably thought I was kidnapping her or something.

Still running with the cart, I said, "Look, I-- uh--"
Oh, fabulous, that was smooth. I tried to reassure her. 
"I'm not a bad person--" Nope. 
"I saw you sleeping--" Ooh... even worse.
"I mean, I found you all alone--" Ugh. What was I doing?
"What I mean to say is that I remember you from before!" The last sentence was a bit of an outburst. Maybe she didn't recognize me, but even if she did, I'd done plenty to creep her out by this point. I was hardly surprised when she started squirming to try to get out of the cart. Unfortunately, she managed to wrench it out of my grasp, and the shopping cart, girl and all, went careening off down the road. I ran after it, panting.

Just when I'd finally caught up to the cart, I reached out to grab it and tripped over a pothole. The cart hit the pothole, too (it was a very large pothole. Remember that part about this being the bumpiest road in the city?), and fell over. I landed in another puddle, face first again. Forever 21 Girl came flying out of the cart and landed on top of me just as I tried to sit up.

OOF.

I finally managed to push her off of me, once she realized what was going on. She stood up hurriedly and asked me, "Mister, are you okay?"

Oh, thanks. That was just what I needed her to say. I was pretty angry by this point, at myself, at her, and at the world. So I yelled, "Does it look like I'm okay? All I was trying to say was that I remember you as the girl from Forever 21 who let me borrow this cart and that I found you in the woods when I was on my way returning from my mail delivery. I didn't want to leave you there, so I was bringing you back to the store. I'm not a pervert or a crazy person. I'm really not."

I took a deep breath. Hopefully that would calm her down a bit. I only hoped she'd believe me. Thankfully, she seemed to. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were helping me that much. And thank you for saving me again, you know, from falling, even though it was your fault for letting go of the cart."

Well, you were squirming, I thought. But I didn't say that. I was just grateful that she didn't think I was a rapist or something.

"You're welcome, I guess," I said. 
She helped me get back on my feet.

"Renshu Zheng," I said.

"Eli Rosenthal," she replied.
We shook hands, which was really awkward, since I was dripping wet again.

We walked in silence for the rest of the block, back towards Forever 21.

As we walked, it seemed to be getting foggier, which was odd. Well, at least, that's what I thought, until I smelled the smoke. Eli was daintily attempting to avoid a puddle (a lost cause, after a day like this) when I saw the flames. Forever 21 was on fire.

"Eli, LOOK!" I yelled, and ran towards the building. She let out a sort of wail and ran after me. We got as close to the building as we dared, and she pulled out her phone. I'd never been in the awkward position of standing around while someone calls 911 before, and so I kept my distance. The fire department arrived surprisingly quickly. I suppose there weren't many fires in this weather. The rain didn't seem to make much of a difference, though. The fire was enormous, and hardly slowed down when the firemen turned their hoses on it. Some police officers arrived, too, and discussed the possibility of arson just loudly enough for me to overhear. Eli was distraught, and I thought it best not to talk to her. She was also holding my Xiu Li poster, which I hadn't noticed before. She must've caught it when she flew out of the cart. Oh, well. I decided to let her have it, since there wasn't any harm.

With all the police officers discussing arson, I suddenly noticed that I had a Forever 21 shopping cart sitting next to me, giving the illusion that I'd been in the store during the incident. Damn. Whether or not it was arson, I hadn't set the fire, and I didn't want to take the blame for it. But if I left now, it would look even more suspicious. I felt helpless. 

I watched the building burn and felt that it was a somewhat appropriate ending to my day. Everything was going wrong. I hadn't even gone to the police station to check for Xiu Li. How long had she been gone now? I didn't even know. That was pathetic.
In a moment of desperation, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. It was soaked, and I was surprised it turned on at all. When it did, I called Xiu Li's phone again, just to hear her voice on the voicemail. (Don't judge me. She's my daughter, and I was really upset.)

To my surprise, the phone actually picked up. But it wasn't Xiu Li's voice on the other end of the line. I heard the rush of the rain, and then an accented voice, saying, "So we forced to sell, you know. Was not good time for anyone." Then I thought I was going to have a heart attack, because Xiu Li's voice did appear in the conversation. It said, "Oh my!" and then my call cut off.

I dropped to my knees and yelled "NO!" and tried to redial. It went straight to voicemail, which had been my original intention, but I didn't want to hear it now, not after Xiu Li's actual voice. She was there, and she was alive, and she hung up on me. And who was that other guy!?

Yelling dramatically was probably not my best idea, though, since it called attention to my presence. One of the police officers came over to talk to me. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I notice you have a shopping cart here. Were you, by any chance, here when the fire was lit?" I had never seen anyone look that accusing before. "No, sir," I said. He scowled. "So you don't know anything about the arson?"
"No, sir," I said again. "I was bringing back Miss Rosenthal in this here cart, because she was in the woods and I had just delivered a letter."
His facial expression changed from suspicious to confused. I wonder if he thought I was crazy. At any rate, I was spared any further interrogation, since Officer Richard came over.
"Don't waste your time, John," he said. "I know this guy. He didn't burn down Forever 21."
An odd vote of confidence from a man who's met me twice, but I was fine with it.

I took this as my cue to leave, and left my shopping cart behind before heading back to the apartments. I ascended the stairs, leaving soggy footprints behind me, and felt like collapsing by the time I got up to the sixth floor. I was greeted at the door by a hungry Fuzzballe, who meowed persistently until the food was in her bowl. While she ate, I sat there and talked to her.

"You've never even met Xiu Li," I told the cat. "You don't know anything about her. You know, she always liked animals." I caught this last sentence quickly, and corrected myself. "She still does. I'm sure she'd like you. She's always been a compassionate kid. She volunteered at the orphanage starting in sixth grade, and used to watch out the window and cry when people ran over squirrels." Fuzzballe just sat there eating.
What was I doing, talking to a cat? I'd made myself a promise to go talk to the elusive Roof People. I changed into a dry shirt and went up the stairs again. It may as well have been a week since I had been up there, with how long the day had been.

I pushed open the yellow door and looked out. A disheveled-looking man was sitting out on the roof. It was only spitting now, thankfully. The smoke from the fire was wafting out across the city, easily visible from up here. The man saw me come out onto the roof and asked, "Why there is smoke?"
I jumped. I'd heard his voice before.
Recently.
On the phone.
Oh my god.
I lost it. "YOU!" I screamed. "YOU KIDNAPPED MY DAUGHTER, YOU BASTARD!"
He looked surprised and then genuinely confused.
"Daughter? What?"

I was kind of ashamed of myself. Was I wrong? "My daughter," I said defiantly, shaking with anger. "Xiu Li Zheng. Blonde girl. Short hair. And you have her somewhere."
Something dawned on his tired face.
"Juli! Yes, she was here. Comes every day, brings food. I tell her stories of home country."
Oh...
"Where is she now?" I was feeling pretty awkward now for yelling at him. But at least I had a clue on where she was.
"Do not know. She leaves, never stays."
So Xiu Li hadn't been kidnapped after all. I briefly felt really relieved, until I realized what this meant. She'd left willingly. What had I done? I blinked back tears, feeling angry and betrayed. I kicked the ground. Ow.

There was a stack of ruined posters next to the tent. I supposed it must have been Xiu Li herself taking them down. That stung.
"Hey..." I wasn't sure what to say to the guy. "I'm really sorry, you know, for yelling at you and all that. I didn't mean to accuse you of kidnapping her."
"Is fine," he said. He actually looked really unfazed.
"Would you be willing to ask her about her father tomorrow?" I blurted out. He looked slightly caught off guard by that one, but he finally replied, "I will try."
I wished beyond all wishes that I didn't have work in the morning. I could even come up here to wait for her myself. But maybe this man could help.

Suddenly, something occurred to me. "Are you Russian?" I asked. Oops, that was a bit rude. Or was it? I can never tell.
"Yes. I am from Russia."
"Can you read this for me? I'm trying to figure out who this is for." I brought out Dmitri's letter from my pocket and unfolded it. I left the money in there, just in case. After all, he might have tried to steal it, living on the roof and all that.

He began to read the letter to himself, and then a big smile lit up his face. "This is letter for me!" he exclaimed. Oh. Oops. "So you're Dmitri?" I said. "Yes, yes," he said. Then he frowned. "Brother says letter had money. Is lost?"
Oh, right.
"No," I said. "It's right here." I gave him the wad of money. He smiled again.

Feeling a little better about myself, I said good night to Dmitri and went back down the stairs. I tried to sleep in my own bed, but I've been sleeping on the couch so much that I quickly figured out that was a lost cause. I lay awake in bed, wondering to myself why Xiu Li was avoiding me and where she was sleeping.

After about an hour of tossing and turning, I got up and moved to the couch. Fuzzballe was already there. Cats can usually tell when something is wrong.

I finally drifted off to sleep, wondering why my daughter hated me.

The Weird Look Immunity Phenomenon

I was in the bowling alley, looking for someone. I couldn't remember who, exactly, but I knew it was important that I find this person. As I walked by the concession stand, I noticed the man behind the counter was staring at me. He looked familiar, but before I could get a second look, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

A woman was standing behind me. She was tall, with dark hair, and old age hadn't found her yet, but she was clearly on its hit list. She looked worn out, as if she'd tried unsuccessfully to pull an all-nighter and woken up halfway through a sleep cycle. That, and she was dressed like the strippers I had seen at Isabella's the night before. It was a very strange overall effect. "Can I help you?" I asked. She just stared at me blankly, like the concessions man had been doing before she distracted me. Then she began babbling. I couldn't understand a word she was saying. Normally I wouldn't have been weirded out by this; when I was a kid, my parents often had their "important" discussions in Chinese, to prevent me from asking questions, but the speech didn't sound like a foreign language. If anything, it sounded inhuman. I smiled at her as best I could with the chills running down my spine, and turned around to walk away. I froze.

Somehow, I was now standing at the other end of one of the bowling lanes, right where the pins should have been. Everyone in the entire building was staring at me now, and the middle-aged alien-speaking stripper woman had vanished. As I stood there, trying to figure out a way to escape this frighteningly mortifying situation, the people in the room stopped talking and slowly moved towards the end of my lane, consolidating into one enormous, glaring mob. I was unsettled by the silence, and my first instinct was to put my hands in the air as if I was being arrested.

I couldn't move.

I began to panic, trying frantically to move any single muscle in my body, but I was completely paralyzed, stuck in the face of the silent, immobile crowd watching me. Oh, but now they weren't immobile! The middle of the crowd parted like a cheesy Moses reference, and I noticed that one person hadn't moved. The concessions man, still staring at me, put down his half-formed pretzel dough and came out from behind the counter. It was only now that I recognized him as Mr. DuBolaire.

"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Chen," he said, and I wanted to scream, "ZHENG!," but my lips were as frozen as the rest of me. He made his way slowly through the crowd, without breaking eye contact, and as he grew closer to the end of the lane, I realized how far away the concessions stand must have been, since I could now see that he was twice as large as a normal man. His monstrous form, hunched over slightly to avoid contact with the ceiling, reached down and grabbed a strangely shaped bowling ball from the machine. He began to laugh maniacally, and the entire congregation of people joined him until it was a cacophony of evil cackles. Lightning struck the building from outside, and sparks flew everywhere, adding a loud banging noise to the laughter, just as Mr. DuBolaire threw the ball down the lane.

With deadly accuracy, the weird ball flew towards me, never even bothering to touch the polished wood. Some kind of yellowish silky strings flew behind it. The instant before it hit me, the room fell silent (except for the banging) just long enough for me to hear a scream.

"DAD!"

The bowling ball was Xiu Li's head.

It hit me square in the chest, and everything went dark. Nothing was left except the obnoxious, jarring banging.

Banging noise?

I woke up, and sat bolt upright. Fuzzballe, still on the couch next to me, looked affronted at me for disrupting her sleep. (Cats are good at that sort of thing.) Looking down at my sweaty hands, I sat there wiggling my fingers for at least five minutes, just to make sure. Wow. I looked at the clock. 4:55 AM. Ah, the reliable racket of room 704. I was still breathing heavily from the nightmare, and my hands shook as I made my coffee. I had never felt so alone in the apartment, especially with the newly chilly weather. It was still dark outside, but I couldn't even see any lights. I figured it must be foggy. I sat down with my coffee and turned on the TV. Again, there was nothing on. Oh, wait. There was a rerun of the same damn slug program. Who the hell cares enough about slugs to watch it the first time, let alone again!? I sure didn't, so I turned it to an infomercial channel. It's pretty pathetic when you intentionally choose to watch infomercials over everything else, but what can I say? I wasn't feeling like slugs.

Fuzzballe had never moved from her spot on the couch, so I petted her as I learned four different ways that a Snuggie could change my life, all the reasons why I was desperately in need of a Personal Vortex space heater, how ChristianCouplez.com found the perfect match for Alexis, 21, from Texas, and that I should ask my doctor about Cialis (but should stop use if I had an erection lasting more than four hours).

Curses upon room 704 and their noisy pipes. I was losing brain cells just watching this crap. Thankfully, after a few more rounds of before/after pictures, it was time to leave. I gathered my stuff (including a lunch this time!) and headed down the stairs. Whoa. It was chilly. I went ahead and put on my blue mailman's jacket as I exited the building. It was foggy outside, too.

The bum from the day before was already sitting outside the clinic. I nodded at him as I went by, and then felt like an idiot. Oops. Well, it was the thought that counted. Rather embarrassed, I walked on. As I neared the end of the block, an enormous silhouette appeared through the fog. A bus was rounding the corner from H Street. As I watched, the bus jolted and came to a halt, blocking the most space possible. The driver got out and looked at the bus. I asked him what was going on.
"Eh. Bus stalled."
Thanks, dude. I hadn't figured that out.
I tried to walk around the bus to get to the police station, but it was blocking the street, and I couldn't cross. Fabulous. There didn't seem to be any way around the bus, and I couldn't see around it well enough for jaywalking. I ended up walking all the way back down the block and crossing the street at the three-way intersection. It's worth noting that this time I told the bum "hi" out loud.

As I passed the apartments on the other side of the street, I noticed a small tent peeking out from above the roof. This mystified me, but by now I was in a hurry to get to work, and there wasn't even time to go ask about Xiu Li. I jaywalked on the other side of the bus, where I could see better, and walked into the post office.

Mr. DuBolaire walked through the main area just as I came in.
"Ah, Mr. Chen," he said. "I see we've learned our lesson about punctuality, eh?" I would've hit him, except that he was my boss, and I was now rather scared of him thanks to a certain dream. "Yes, sir," I muttered grumpily. He walked by me, stopped, and turned around. "Oh," he added, "I've just remembered. Do you have the money for the truck?"
Okay, now I really wanted to punch him. I'd forgotten about the shopping cart fiasco.
"No." I couldn't bring myself to add the "sir" this time.
"Well then, my friend, I suppose you'll be taking another walk today. Won't that be fun, just you and your--" He chuckled before adding, "--shopping cart?"
I left the room. Again, my proficiency at exiting places is overwhelming nowadays.

Well, there wasn't much else to do. I jogged over to Forever 21. The same woman at the counter saw me coming and quickly pretended like she had something important to do.
Oh, right. You have to help a customer this early in the morning. Honestly, girl, the kind of people who spend time at Forever 21 only get up this early if they have to blow-dry their hair. I called after her, "Excuse me!"
She ignored me.
Thankfully, another girl was also there. (Again, there weren't any customers. Why were there two employees there this early? But I wasn't complaining, given the circumstances.)
"Can I help you?" she asked me pointedly.
"Yes," I said, with as much dignity as possible. "I was wondering if I could borrow another shopping cart."
She looked at me like I'd just walked into a clothing shop in a mailman's uniform and asked to borrow a cart.
"What?"
"Well, um, I returned the one from yesterday."
She still looked puzzled. "Why do you need a shopping cart if you're a mailman?"
I thought about it. "Well, my truck is crashed-- I'm out of-- my daughter is-- my boss is a jerk. Let's just leave it at that."
She gave me a surprisingly sympathetic look. "Alright. Just please return it again."
I smiled gratefully and took a cart.

As I crossed the street with my mail "truck," I noticed that the bus was still parked in the same spot. Huh. I went past the pet store, and looked up towards the apartments to get another glimpse of the tent. I was startled. A man was up on the roof next to the tent. As I strained to get a better look, another guy came out of the shop behind me.
"Why are you standing outside my shop?" he demanded. "You look ridiculous with your damn shopping cart, gawking at the apartments' roof."
I jumped. "Sorry, sir," I said. I mumbled something about a basketball being up there that looked like a childhood toy I had, and hurried off halfway through my pathetic attempted lie, for fear of what he would say next.

My route remained uneventful until I got to the coffee shop. I had an envelope to deliver. Apparently, 24-hour just doesn't mean anything anymore, since several people were waiting outside the closed building. The group was mostly adult men, but there were a couple of teenage girls, too. Most of them looked pretty reserved and sullen, but a couple of people were talking. They stopped and stared at me. "Uh, hi," I said. "Is the shop closed?"
One of the girls finally responded, "Yeah. Why?"
"I've got mail for the people who run the place. Could one of you possibly give it to them when they finally open up?"
No one said anything. They all just stared at me. Me with my obnoxious shopping cart full of mail.
Cool, guys.
"Well, alright then," I said, and pushed through to stuff the envelope under the door.
The staring was getting to me now; it was just a tad too much like my nightmare.
I started walking away down the street, and broke into a run after just a few yards. Today was weird. Awkward and weird. That whole interaction meant that now I missed Xiu Li more than ever; she's never awkward about these things. Somehow, she always knows how to keep conversations going, and she doesn't seem to worry about what people think of her. I don't feel weird talking to my daughter. It's everyone else that's the problem. I guess that's why her friends' moms never invite me out to lunch (that, and I'm a much younger father who sometimes calls at 5:30 in the morning... never mind).

I continued on my way, with a quick lunch stop around 1:15. When I finally finished my route, I had started aching again. I didn't know how the hell I was going to make it through my ridiculous shopping-cart-mail-route enough times to get the money for the truck. Everything was hurting. My feet hurt, my knees hurt, and if my self-image was a body part, I'd have been hospitalized. I limped back towards the post office like a plant towards light: longingly, but very slowly. Sigh. I went back to Forever 21, walked into the store, parked the cart, and left. The girl at the counter probably gave me a weird look, but I had essentially received the ultimate vaccine for weird looks over the past few hours, and I didn't register it.

Finally, I was finished with work for the day. I trudged down the block to the police station, suddenly blessed with a lot more energy due to my fatherly worries. I ran through the door with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm, in fact, and slammed into the inner door with a lovely thud. The guy at the main desk was Bruce [The Awkward Clumsy Sleeping Man], who was asleep again. The loud noise woke him up, and almost made him fall out of his chair again. Once he realized that the noise had been my face and torso colliding with the glass door, he tried so hard not to laugh at me that he turned a marvelous purplish color. Sometimes I feel like the God of Awkward Situations has adopted me as his earthly manifestation. I recovered, opened the door, and hoped desperately that the security cameras hadn't caught that little mishap.

Bruce noticed who I was at this point, and stopped laughing. "Oh, it's you." That's a lovely greeting. Why doesn't everyone use it on their Christmas cards?
"Yes, it's me," I said, and bit my tongue to stop from adding, "and that door is dangerously transparent." Instead, I opted for "I'm inquiring about my daughter again."
"Ah." He looked confused. Or maybe that was just his face. He seemed to look like that a lot.
After a pause just long enough to make me uncomfortable, he yelled, "Ricky!"
Officer Richard came out from the back room. "Bruce... I've told you not to call me that." He shuffled a bit, and then noticed the reason for his summons, that being me. "Well, hello again!" he said. Then he faltered.
"Did you, uh, find Julie?"
"Xiu Li," I said, "and no. She wasn't at... the place you said your friend said that I should look because she might have been."
He looked somewhat relieved, and then said, "Well... we haven't really heard anything else. Would you like to leave your cell phone number so you don't have to keep coming down to the station?" Bruce looked up eagerly, apparently happy to have fewer encounters with me.
"Uh, sure." I wrote down my number, shook hands with Officer Richard, and left.

I figured it was about time to take some action of my own on the whole matter of Xiu Li's disappearance. I mean, she must've just gotten rebellious or something, but this was getting ridiculous. Or maybe she was hiding. I forced myself to come up with irrational yet strangely reassuring explanations as to why my daughter was missing, and then gave up entirely and went back to fretting. I decided to make some fliers, like people do for their dogs. I hoped that wasn't offensive.

I headed back home, and crossed the street to take another look at the mysterious tent on top of the apartments. By this time, it was getting dark, so it was hard to see anything. With some very stealthy eye maneuvering, I managed to make out an outline of a person. It wasn't the same guy from before. It looked like a woman. She quickly moved out of my line of sight, but I lingered for a minute, and heard very faint voices coming from the roof. There were two of them. I hoped they weren't up to anything disturbing. But honestly, in this town, there are a lot of strange bums. I decided to be glad for the two of them for having found company in the homeless world. I couldn't pick out what the voices were saying, so I went on my way home instead of lingering to stalk further.

I climbed the stairs with heightened awareness of the load my knees had been taking. I was brainstorming book ideas for my situation, with titles like "The Shopping Cart Mailman: How to Lose Weight, Money, Time, and Children" and "Why Wait for Old Age? Feel the Pain Now!" I must confess that I actually had to sit down and take a breather in between the third and fourth flights. When I finally got into the apartment, I threw off my jacket and shoes and lounged on the couch for a few minutes before inspecting the refrigerator. Oops. I had eaten basically everything yesterday. Bummer. It looked like I was going out to eat. But first it was time to make the fliers.

I found some scratch paper and tape, and then went through the photo albums. That, although necessary, was not a good idea. It made me all the more worried about where Xiu Li was and what horrors she'd been subjected to. I think I was extra fragile emotionally because of my impressively traumatizing day and my growling stomach, but I actually teared up a little. I felt a bit like I'd failed the fatherhood test, as if the orphanage had only let me have Xiu Li as some twisted examination, and I was being evaluated right then and there on how long it took for me to track her down. For the umpteenth time that day, I smothered the voices in my head, and continued flipping through pictures. I found a pretty good one of her modeling her new swimsuit in the living room, but I figured that'd probably be creepy to hang up all over town. I settled on her school picture from the year before, even though I could almost hear her protests ringing in my mind.

I pasted the picture sloppily onto the paper, and then emblazoned the flier with the words "MISSING DAUGHTER: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS TEEN?" and a phone number. I figured that looked like we'd had a fight or something, so I added "she's not in trouble, just missed dreadfully!" That looked even stupider, but I was noticing the correlation between extra modifications and extra failure, so I left it at that. Wait, no... "and she's not a stripper." I didn't want that problem again, but I added the last statement in small letters at the bottom of the flier. Perfect. Now I was finished. I briefly toyed with the idea of making a "FOUND CAT" flier to hang up next to it, but I decided that could wait at least until I found Xiu Li. Fuzzballe was good company, and Xiu Li has always liked animals. Maybe we could keep the kitty.

I took the makeshift poster and descended three flights of stairs before going back up to get a jacket. Damn the whole seasons thing.

I realized almost immediately that I had no idea where to find a copy machine other than the police station. Perhaps the school? I got to the bottom of the stairs, left the building, and changed my mind at least three times about whether I was going to copy the flier first or go eat first. I managed to guilt myself into making my daughter a higher priority than sustenance, and walked down to the school. The doors were just as locked as they had been the last time I checked, but as I dragged my tired feet dejectedly down the street, it occurred to me that perhaps the orphanage would have one. I knocked.

This time, someone answered the door without leaving me standing there. A tall, dark-skinned man let me in, and was surprisingly accommodating to my arbitrary copy machine needs. He didn't ask too many questions about the flier itself, which was wonderful, although he did mention something about having talked to her the night she disappeared. He didn't seem to have much of an idea of where she went, unfortunately. I left with a stack of MISSING DAUGHTER papers and a smile. Hanging up posters as I went, I headed in the direction of Casa D'Waffle. I hung one on the door and then entered.

The place was actually fairly quiet for this time of the evening. I guess maybe other people had some pretty hectic days, too. The service was pretty quick, and I left not that long after, having eliminated four waffles from existence.

Now, with a full stomach myself, my thoughts turned to Fuzzballe. Although this was a welcome respite from constantly pestering myself with worry about Xiu Li, it came with some problems of its own. I realized that no matter how many vermin lived in our apartment (I'm not aware of any, but you never know), I didn't have anything to feed the cat with. Oh, well. I hoped the pet store was still open this late, and I walked for what I hoped was the last time all the way across town. My feet were essentially numb at this point from so much walking, and even if they had bothered me, I assured myself that I would inform my feet of their stupidity, since I was being a good father. I passed the apartment building with difficulty, and promised it that I would return as soon as possible. I then realized that promising things to inanimate objects was probably one of the first signs of insanity. Or maybe that was one of the infomercials on mental illness medicines coming back to haunt me.

I got to the pet store just in time-- Alfonso was just about to close the place. I pleaded with him to sell me some cat food before he left for the night, and he finally consented. I hung a poster on the door, and then followed him inside. I bought the cheapest brand of cat food that didn't smell entirely like garbage. I couldn't figure out why Alfonso was so grumpy, though. He seemed almost suspicious that I had a cat. Ironically, there weren't very many cats in the pet shop. It occurred to me that perhaps the cat was a runaway from the store, but I blocked that thought with a firm belief that since I hadn't stolen it, nothing was wrong. I paid for the food, and then headed for the exit. I pushed open the door with the annoying little "ding" that pet store doors always seem to make, and Alfonso followed me out, locking the door right after I shut it.

I was just about to leave with my newly purchased cat food when something disturbing caught my eye.

The MISSING DAUGHTER poster I had just hung up on the door had already been taken down. Not ripped-- the tape was completely removed along with the flier. I was pretty shaken by this, and asked Alfonso if he'd taken anything off the door when I wasn't looking.

"Nope." He didn't seem to be lying; he mostly just sounded like a cranky guy who wanted to go home and stop being bothered at closing time. I didn't blame him. "Probably got stolen by that dumbass Russian dude who took the rest of the animals." He laughed, rather bitterly, and walked off into the night.

I wondered to myself if the 'dumbass Russian dude' was currently living on the roof of the apartments, barely visible from the store. I decided that wasn't worth chasing him for. I took another sneak peek at the roof. I really couldn't see anything this time, and it was pretty late. I headed back down the block to Castle Apartments. As I went up the stairs, I couldn't help but ponder the matter of the roof. Who was this random, apparently Russian guy, and who was the woman talking to him? More importantly, why didn't they want me to find my daughter? Maybe they knew where she was.

This last thought sent a huge wave of anger through me. Had these two people kidnapped Xiu Li? Were they going to hold her for ransom? I tried applying the brakes on this train of thought, but trains have a lot of momentum, so that failed. After all, this Russian guy had apparently already established himself as a thief. But why my daughter? And why hadn't I heard anything?

There were too many questions, and by now, I'd reached my floor. I went into the apartment and let my worries go for the night. There wasn't anything I could do at the moment, I told myself. After all, I couldn't see or hear anything on the roof after Alfonso left. Fuzzballe came into the kitchen, meowing. That was a welcome distraction.

"Here, kitty," I murmured, and fed her some of the cat food. After that, we lay on the couch and purred (well, okay, Fuzzballe did), and I watched some shameful chick flick that I never would have agreed to see if Xiu Li had been there. But, as it happened, and as I couldn't stop myself from thinking about, she wasn't.

I stayed up way later than I should have, especially considering the inevitable ruckus to ensue sometime shortly before five the following morning. After the chick flick finished, I watched a stupid sci-fi movie, some awful animated kids' show, and I think I may have caught a little bit of the news before I dozed off again. The last thing I remember thinking about was that I hoped I didn't have another nightmare.

Excuse me, ma'am, can I borrow a shopping cart?

I stood on the front steps of the school, staring straight ahead. The group of teenagers that had laughed at me as I ran up to the building now just watched me curiously. I think they had figured out something was wrong. Just for the hell of it, I banged on the doors, yelled dramatically, and sat down on the third step. After a minute, something tapped me on the shoulder. I breathed in, and out, and in again, and then looked up.

One of the teenage guys was looming over me, smelling faintly like something he shouldn't be smelling like. He stood there stupidly for a minute before asking, "Uh, dude. You alright?"

Yeah, that's why I was banging on the school doors.

"Do you know Xiu Li Zheng, by any chance?" At this point, it was worth a try.

"Nah, I don't." He turned around. "HEY!"

His little flock of clones meandered over. 

"Do we know a Julie Chang?"

I'd had enough of correcting names at this point, and opted to remain silent. It didn't matter. One by one, the boys shook their heads. They looked at me.

"Oh. Well, um, thanks anyway," I said.

They stood there awkwardly for a minute. I took this as my cue to leave, stood up, and very gracefully tripped down the stairs. One boy snorted. I ignored him, and walked off down the block. 

By now, I could see a couple of stars. I pointedly did not look at them. I stared at the sidewalk tiles, and counted my steps distractedly. 1, 2. 1, 2. 1, 2, 3. Where was I going, anyway? How exactly does one look for a vanished daughter? I passed the orphanage, and stopped. Sometimes she volunteers there, although she hadn't said anything of the sort about that recently. I decided again that I had nothing to lose, and ventured towards the orphanage. 

I knocked as nonchalantly as possible, and some kid came to the door, opened it, and walked away. I was left standing in the front hallway of the orphanage like an idiot. Eventually I ventured in, accompanying my invasion with a tentative "Excuse me?"

A tall woman came around the corner, looked suspiciously at me, and said, "Yes?"

"Have there been any volunteer groups today?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid. It's an orphanage, you dork.

Her expression matched my inner monologue, and she looked rather sarcastic when she said, "Yes."

"Do you know if Xiu Li Zheng has been here?"

"No."

I wasn't sure what the "no" was in response to. I must've looked confused, because she quickly added, 

"Would you like me to check the records?"

I nodded gratefully, and followed her down the hallway and into an office. She sat down behind a desk, while I made myself aware of the distinct lack of chairs in the office. I paced slowly back and forth around the room. 

"What did you say your daughter's name was?"

"Xiu Li. X-I-U L-I."

She nodded. "Yep, she was here with a group today. Left about an hour ago."

I wasn't sure whether to leap for joy that my daughter apparently did exist, or continue my fatherly duty of worrying as to her whereabouts. I compromised with a smile.

"Do you know where she went?"

She looked at me condescendingly. "No."

I was getting good at exit cues, and took one at this moment.

The weather had cooled down significantly since the afternoon. It felt a lot less like a kiln and more like a toaster oven on the 'light' setting. I wasn't really sure where to look next. I pulled out my phone and called Xiu Li again, but it just rang and rang. I walked slowly back towards Castle Apartments. What was I supposed to do? There were no clues as to where Xiu Li was, and my feet were complaining at me for the extensive walking all over town. I went up the stairs to the sixth floor, and shuffled through my keys until I found the one mislabeled "603." (We're actually in 604, but it really wasn't worth fixing, and besides, it's great for preventing burglaries.)

I staggered through my bedroom door, collapsed on the bed, and tried one last time to call my daughter. I felt helpless. Wild thoughts raced through my head. Kidnapping. Death. Injury. Rape. I tried ignoring the scary images floating around, failed, and closed my eyes. I fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

The daily Room 704 Banging of the Pipes commenced after what seemed like a few short minutes of sleep. I tried in vain to ignore the noise for about ten minutes, okay, thirty seconds, and then sat up grudgingly. Oh, fabulous. They were running late today. It was 4:53. I yawned, and tried to convince myself to touch my toes. When that didn't work, I tried the stretch where you flail your arms like a washing machine. My back made a weird popping noise (I think it did, I felt it, but over the B.o.t.P. I couldn't physically hear...) and I felt like an idiot, so I stopped. I informed my body that I was only 33. It remained silent. I dragged myself out of my room like a hungover zombie.

Since my daughter was missing, I did the most obvious first thing to do: I walked right past her room and made myself some coffee. Call me terrible, but I probably wouldn't even recognize her without caffeine. Did I mention I'd woken up before five? I drank two cups of coffee, and then began procrastinating checking Xiu Li's room. I rearranged the glasses in the kitchen cabinets. I wiped the dust off the TV screen. I shaved. I straightened the rug tassels. I shaved again. After I mopped the kitchen floor, I figured I was getting a little pathetic, and marched over to my daughter's bedroom. I knocked, and yelled "Xiu Li! Wake up!"

This was, of course, ridiculous. I never have to tell her to wake up. She should be crowned Miss Morning-Person America. As expected, there was no response from the room, so I opened the door and forced myself to look in. Sure enough, the bedroom was exactly as it'd been when I checked the day before, complete with a significant lack of Xiu Li.

I sat on her bed, thinking. I concluded that the time had come to start making phone calls, and made a list.

My first call was to Mrs. McMurray, who was one of the swim team moms. Xiu Li is pretty close with Hana (Helen? Havana? Helga?) McMurray, so it made sense to call her first. That, and she was the only swim team mom in my phone. I called her, and when she didn't pick up, I called her again. After the second ring, I was greeted enthusiastically by an impressively grumpy "What do you want?"
I was somewhat taken aback.
"This is Sophia McMurray?"
"Yes, it's me, Renshu, but what the hell?"
"Have you seen Xiu Li?" I was rather puzzled as to her crankiness; she's usually very nice.
"No, why would I have seen her? It's 5--"
She paused, probably to check the time.
"--thirty-one AM."
Ohhh!

Oops.

At this point, I got very awkward about the whole thing, feeling like an idiot for calling people at five-thirty in the morning, and explained,
"Well, see, the people above me were banging-- I mean, not banging, but banging, you know, like, with pipes, and so I woke up, and Xiu Li was at the orphanage yesterday but now she just, uh, isn't anywhere."
There was a very angry pause from the other end of the line, which I didn't know was possible.
"Good morning to you, Mr. Zheng," said Mrs. McMurray, and the most emphatic click I had ever heard ended the conversation.
In hindsight, I have no idea what she thought was wrong with me at that moment. Honestly, I really don't think I want to know.

I checked my pathetic little phone list. The only other people I had to call were the police. I didn't really want to call 911, so I figured I could just go to the actual police station and report Xiu Li's disappearance. Thankfully for me, this was essentially on my way to work. But I was going to need extra time. I put on my blue jacket, grabbed my bag, and descended the stairs with the enthusiasm of a sloth.

I walked out of Castle Apartments, and waited patiently to cross Poplar. (Some people spell it with a "u," like "Popular." I have no clue which one it actually is, since the spelling sort of alternates from intersection to intersection.) I thanked my lucky stars that I wasn't one of the people who had to commute all the way into town before six in the morning. Almost immediately, I realized my stars weren't really lucky, as I had to wake up before five anyway and my only daughter had disappeared.

The light turned, and I crossed Pop[u]lar. Only one other person was out on the streets-- a disheveled-looking bum was rounding the corner from Brownstone. The pawn shop hadn't even thought about opening yet, but the clinic appeared to be. As I walked by, the bum dropped his mysterious bundle and sat on it, right outside the clinic. I took a second look and realized he was blind. He must have noticed I was there, though, since he yelled at me something about how I should be grateful for what I have, because I might lose it. I stopped, and looked at him (an effect which was lost on him, in all likelihood). "I've already lost my daughter," I told him. "I'm out looking for her." He looked surprised for a second, and shrugged.
"What will come will come," he told me, "even if I shroud it all in silence."
It was too early for philosophical statements, so I just kept walking. I walked past the Sawmill Theatre. I walked very quickly past the post office, so no one would think I was showing up early. At last, I arrived at the police station, and ventured inside.

There was an official sleeping at his desk, but no one else was in sight. I walked up to the desk, and stood there for about an eternity. I was about to say something when he startled, woke up, saw me, and startled again. He looked embarrassed for sleeping, and finally asked, "Can I help you, sir?" I realized at this point how creepy it was to stand there and watch someone sleep, and was equally flustered when I answered, "Um, yes, actually. My daughter has disappeared."
"Disappeared?" He excelled at stupid facial expressions, apparently.
"Yes. I was late getting home from work yesterday, and she wasn't there. I checked at the orphanage, where she works sometimes, but she'd left already."
The man (who was either named Bruce or had stolen a uniform from someone named Bruce) blinked slowly, as if searching his brain for an appropriate response. He found one to his satisfaction in there somewhere, and said, "You'll need to file a report. Hang on." He leaned back in his chair like third grade teachers say not to do, turned to yell to the back offices, and promptly fell over like third grade teachers say you will.

I wasn't sure whether I should laugh or help him, so I said, "Are you okay?" and coughed somewhat amusedly. He got up, looking extremely pink and muttering. "I'm fine," he said, and, this time standing, yelled to the back offices.

"HEY! We got a missing kid!"
A slightly overweight, uniformed man came out of his office with a clipboard. "Right in here, sir," he said, and I followed him, somewhat grateful to get away from Bruce The Awkward Clumsy Sleeping Man.

He pulled the door to, and said, "Now, who is missing?"
I explained everything I knew about the situation.
"I see," he said, puzzled. "Well, let's put out an alert. How old is she?"
"Fifteen."
He wrote something on his clipboard, probably "fifteen," and started to ask something else. He paused.
"How old are you?"
"Isn't that irrelevant?" I asked, as politely as possible while trying to change the subject.
"Yeah, I suppose so," he said.
Pause.
"Can you give me a description of your daughter?"
"Sure," I said. "She's 5' 6'', built like an athlete... brown eyes, blonde."
Mr. Overweight Police Guy stared. "Blonde?"
"Yes. She's adopted."
"Oh. So she's white."
"Yes."
"Oh," he said again. "What's her name?"
"Xiu Li Zheng," I told him.
He chuckled, shook his head, and had me spell that for him.

"Alright, let's double-check this. She's fifteen, blonde, athletic, about medium height, with brown eyes, and her name is... white, with brown eyes."
I smirked. "Xiu Li," I said.
"So she's adopted, huh? Are you in contact with the parents?" I wasn't sure if he was making conversation, or if he thought the biological parents had kidnapped her, or what.
"I don't know who the parents are. She was left at the orphanage, but there wasn't any room for another baby, and I was the first person they could convince to take her."
Now it was less about the report, and more about curiosity.
"Really? How old were you?"
Ah, he was still on the age thing.
"Eighteen. I was on my first route at the post office."
"So that's why you're so young!"
Great inner monologue, dude.
"Yeah," I finished lamely.
There was yet another awkward pause in my day while he let my fascinating story sink in.
"Well, we'll put out an alert for her. Let us know if you find her in the meantime," he said, and we shook hands.

I left for work. By now, it was 6:18, so I jogged back up the block to the post office. I ran in to grab my load for the day. Mr. DuBolaire was waiting for me like a vulture.
"Hello, Mr. Chen," he said coolly.
"Zheng," I muttered.
He ignored me, as I'd expected.
"Do you know what time it is?" he asked me, in a sing-song sort of way that made me want to answer, "Bath time!"
"Yes," I told him.
"So you're arriving late, fully aware that you are late?"
"Yes," I repeated, "but I really can explain--"
"Mr. Chen, I've told you. I don't know who your previous boss was, but clearly they were quite the lover of excuses. I don't care why you're late. I just care that you are late, and that I haven't seen any progress towards fixing your mail truck."
Was he serious? I hadn't had any time!
"Mr. DuBolaire, my daughter has disappeared," I said, omitting any segues. "And--"
Oh, lord, the interrupting was annoying.
"Work and family are like church and state, Mr. Chen. They do not coexist. Therefore, I suggest you keep your personal matters to yourself. In the meantime, it appears you don't have a truck to deliver your mail."

He had to be kidding. The post office owned about enough trucks to give every family in Castle Apartments their own mail route. "Why can't I just borrow one?"
"I don't know, Mr. Chen. Why can't you? Oh, let's think. You have already damaged post office property. Why should I trust you with a new truck if you couldn't take care of the old one?"
I opted not to say anything.
"At any rate, you have two choices. You can walk your regular route, and receive half pay for the day, or you can pay for the truck repairs now and borrow another one."
This felt a lot like someone asking me to choose the manner of my death. I didn't have the money to pay the truck damages yet, but on half pay, it would take me more work per day and twice as long to save up to pay the damages. At any rate, there was only one even feasible answer.
"I'll walk," I told him.
"Oh," he said, as if the next words were going to be related to slaughtering puppies, "and you owe me an hour of mail sorting for each minute you were late."
Three hours, plus walking my normal route? I had some words for him more colorful than the impressionist era, but I saved them.

I needed some way to tote my mail around without the truck, so I ran over to Forever 21 for the first time in my life. I asked to borrow a shopping cart for the day. The woman at the counter looked puzzled, but I think I must've looked pissed enough to scare her, since she said, "Uh, sure? Just return it when you're finished."
I grabbed a cart and ran back to the post office. I was already behind schedule, thanks to Mr. DuBolaire's little speech. I loaded all my mail into the cart and proceeded down my usual route. I kept thinking back to what the bum had told me: "What will come will come, even if I shroud it all in silence." That was essentially the perfect way to describe my relationship with my boss, I concluded, while delivering a bunch of credit card solicitations to a Miss Phat in box number 1234.

Lunchtime came and went, and I'd delivered less than half of my normal route's worth of mail. I walked from mailbox to mailbox, cursing Mr. DuBolaire and the stupid privatized post office that allowed him to be the way he was. I must have been quite a sight, a guy in a mailman's outfit running around during lunch hour with a Forever 21 shopping cart full of envelopes. Actually, I take that back. In this town, there are much weirder sights than someone delivering mail from a shopping cart.

It was actually almost dinner time by the time I finally finished delivering my entire mail supply and serving my  three hours' time of mail-sorting hell (not to mention returning the shopping cart). I was starving, having had nothing to eat for the entire day, but I was also deathly worried about Xiu Li. I sprinted to the police station like a maniac.

Thankfully, there was a different person at the desk. This time, it was a middle-aged woman with maroon hair. I don't mean brown. I mean the dyed color that people who want to be redheads use. She looked up at me.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"Yes; I filed a report for my daughter's disappearance this morning, and I was wondering if any news had come in yet." I was surprised at how thin and scared my voice sounded. The crack on the word "yet" was a particularly nice feature.
She gave me what was clearly supposed to be a sympathetic look. It actually looked more like she had eaten a pickled frog and then been forced to pose for one too many yearbook pictures. Thankfully, it was only a fleeting expression, since she yelled to the back room for someone to check the Missing Persons records. She did so without falling out of her chair, which I somewhat appreciated.

The same man from earlier came out of his office. "Oh, it's you again!" he said. This time, I caught a glimpse of his name tag. His name was Richard.
"Hello," I said, and went on just a little impatiently to say, "Anything yet?"
He just stood there. "We-e-ell." He took a deep breath.
"None of our officers have seen your daughter," he finished. He sounded kind of suspicious.
"Really?" I inquired.
"We-e-ell." Apparently, that was a complete sentence.
"Sir, I just want to know where my daughter is," I told him somewhat stubbornly. He looked sheepish.
"One of our guys-- saw a girl who fit the description pretty well... but he says he didn't know her name..."
What kind of bad news was this? The guy was completely circumlocuting the point.
"Where?" I pressed him.
"In Isabella's Cafe." He blurted this out, as if it were a sunflower seed that had been particularly unpleasant to eat.
I was stunned. "You mean in Isabella's Cafe or in Isabella's Cafe?"
He shuffled his feet. "The second, sir."
Well, this was awkward.
"And you're sure she fit the description?"
"According to him, yes, sir."
Yet another pause. Was I wearing a sign or something? Hi, I'm Renshu. Please be as awkward as possible around me. "Well," I said, "I suppose I should go check, then." Oh, god, I was about to have to go into a strip club looking for my daughter. My day hadn't been boring, at least.
"Okay, sir... good evening to you," said Richard.

I left the police station hurriedly and embarrassedly. Fabulous. My daughter was missing, and the only sign anyone had seen of her was in Isabella's Cafe. There was obviously only one thing for me to do. At the same time, there was one thing that I really didn't want to do. Sadly, they were the same thing. With that, I turned and headed towards Isabella's. I was still starving, and I argued with myself on the way there as to whether or not I should eat at the cafe.

I finally got there just as the edges of the sky were turning pinkish. I stood outside the building for about ten minutes, fighting myself. I was not the kind of man to frequent establishments like this, but I certainly wanted to find my daughter. A man walked by me into the building. He stopped and turned around.
"Show's gonna start soon," he said. "Ain't no use standing there with your dignity. Drop it and go inside, or take it and go somewhere else." He swung open the door and went inside the building. After a minute or so, I followed him.

There were, as expected, some scantily-dressed girls in the front of the cafe. At this point, I was struck with the horrifying thought that if Xiu Li really was here, I would have to see her with many fewer clothes than I'd raised her to wear. That thought was disgusting, so I pushed it from my mind. I looked pointedly at the faces of the strippers. There were three of them, and none were particularly attractive. Then again, I suppose the logic of such an establishment is that anyone can look more attractive with fewer clothes on. The faces were tired, sad faces of girls who know that somewhere out there, their parents are ashamed of them. None of them, thankfully, belonged to my daughter. I was about ready to leave when a new girl came out on the stage. She looked really young. She was blonde, and fairly athletic-looking. Now I knew what Richard had been talking about.

But she wasn't Xiu Li. This realization washed over me in alternating waves of grief and relief. A dead end. Now, where was my daughter?

A woman came up behind me and asked if I would like anything to drink. I declined, and left the cafe. As soon as I walked out, I realized that I was still hungry. Gah, priorities. I decided to eat back at the apartment, and walked yet again all the way across town. The sun was about two-thirds of the way below the horizon by now. I got to Castle Apartments and went up the stairs to 604. I ran into the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge. After a few minutes, I sat down and ate a quick but hearty supper consisting of a grilled cheese sandwich, some chicken, an apple, some yogurt, another grilled cheese sandwich, a Pepsi, and three pieces of Hawaiian pizza. At that point I stopped, feeling rather ashamed of myself. I wandered into the living room and flopped down on the couch. This action was met with a resounding yelp from something I was now sitting on.

I stood up quickly. The thing I had sat on turned out to be the back half of a cat, although the front half was what had made the noise. What the hell? Why was there a cat in my apartment? A small part of my brain tried to tell me that my daughter had obviously turned into a cat. I decided that part should be saved for old age or religious conversions, and ignored it. The cat appeared to be young; it was kind of small, and had grey fur.

Why do I always end up adopting random things? I had nothing to do with the poor kitty. It was too late by now to take it to a pet shop or anything, and I actually did appreciate the company, so I decided to let it spend the night. I felt it deserved a name, and made a quick check to confirm some biological factors in that process. I settled on "Fuzzball," then decided it needed a feminine touch and changed it to "Fuzzballe." Having worked very hard at this whole process, I turned my attention to the television. The mystery of the spontaneously appearing feline would have to wait. Fuzzballe purred next to me, and I petted her until sleep finally claimed me.