Chapter 5 Respond to Me
“I’M LOSING YOU. I’m losing you ,” I sing loudly as I make myself a ham and cheese sandwich.
I’ve been in a really good mood lately. Maybe the new medication is finally starting to kick in—after trial and error with a few others, I think we’ve finally found one without serious side effects—or maybe it’s because I’ve been able to go to the park with my sister these past few weeks without having any panic attacks.
Perhaps it’s a combination of everything.
I set the sandwich on the table and, noticing that the trash can is full, I grab the bag to take it out.
I get to the door, open it, and stop dead in my tracks.
What am I doing?
I grip the garbage bag tightly and peer into the danger of the outside world. I’m safe here, I can’t go out. Kamila and Andy aren’t home—if I have a panic attack out there no one will help me.
I close the door and put the garbage bag back in the trash can. My good mood vanishes into thin air; I guess there’s a lot more progress I still need to make.
“Today I’m going to try to get caught up with some of the messages we’ve received. We’ve had a lot of activity lately,” Kang says later that night.
I’m one of the listeners who’s been sending messages to the program regularly, ever since that first day.
Sometimes he reads mine on the air, sometimes they seem to go unnoticed; regardless, I’ve already gained a reputation for being a loyal listener, like Liliana.
Of course, Kang doesn’t know who I am; I simply sign my messages as K .
“Liliana says she’s sending us lots of love today.
Thank you for the donuts you sent to me and the entire crew.
I want to reiterate that no one should feel obligated to send us anything—just being a faithful listener is the greatest gift—but we appreciate your thoughtfulness.
” Kang pauses. “Today, we also have a message from K that I want to share.” I sit up straight in bed.
“It’s another quote, this time from Benjamin Disraeli, and it reads: ‘There is no index of character so sure as the voice.’ Is that true?
If it is, you guys must know my character better than anyone.
I think that was what K, whoever he or she is, meant to imply.
And, K, feel free share your pronouns with us; we don’t know how to refer to you, and all of us on the team are curious.
I can tell from the quotes you send in that you must be a big reader; something we have in common. ”
I have the urge to write into the show and tell Kang that my name is Klara and my pronouns are she/her, but I hold back. I like being somewhat anonymous; he might as well keep thinking of K as an abstract person he’ll never meet, because he never will.
“Well, before we get to the last song of the hour, I want to let you all know that I’ll be gone next week, taking care of a few personal matters.”
“What?!” I say out loud.
“But I’ll be leaving Follow My Voice in the very capable hands of my fellow radio host Erick, who you may know from the six o’clock program, Riffing with Erick . I’ll be back soon. Try not to miss me too much.”
“No. No.” I shake my head at the phone.
“I’ll miss you guys, but I hope you have a great week. We’ll go now to our last song. This is Kang, your friend and companion, bidding you farewell.”
“No…”
Before I realize what I’m doing, I type a quote from a favorite novel of mine, Gone with the Wind : “Oh, my darling, if you go, what shall I do?” —K.
I send it and then realize what I’ve just done. I cover my mouth with my hand. What was I thinking? The guy has a life and things to take care of. But what am I going to do for a week without him? Kamila was right, I shouldn’t place so much importance on one thing; with Kang gone, I’ll feel lost.
I let out a long sigh. What’s wrong with me? I’m such a mess. I need to wake up to my reality. I should’ve never tried to interact with Kang—what was I hoping to accomplish? I’ll never meet him, so why am I getting all carried away? It’s dangerous; in the long run, I’ll only be let down.
I walk from the bedroom to the kitchen with my shoulders slumped.
I open the fridge to grab a bottle of water and I’m about to return to my cave when I hear a tiny barking sound, or is it a whimper?
I head over to the front door and press my ear against it.
The mini barks continue. I crack the door open, nervous, and the cool night air flows into the house.
My neighbor’s golden retriever puppies are playing on the front yard.
They’re so cute. But what are they doing out so late?
My stomach drops when one of them rolls off the curb into the street and a car passes, almost running it over.
Oh, no! I instinctively rush through the door, but, as soon as I’m outside, I realize that I’m alone.
I look around, searching for some kind of assistance, but there’s no one.
I think back to how soft their fur was and the way they licked my hand through the backyard fence when I played with them on one of our walks to the park.
My heart twists in my chest. I clench my fists at my sides, frustrated with myself for not being able to help them.
The other puppy slips off the curb into the street, trying to follow his brother. I’m hyperventilating now, and I have to look away when another car passes.
You can do it, Klara. Even if you’re having a panic attack, those little dogs need your help , I tell myself. And then I take off running. Desperately.
The puppies are now in the middle of the road, and a car is approaching. Overcoming my fear, I step in front of the puppies and hold up my hands. “Stop! Wait!”
The vehicle screeches to a halt just inches away from me. “Out of the way! Are you crazy?!”
I scoop up the two golden retrievers and jump back up onto the sidewalk, my heart in my throat. I feel eyes on me and, when I look up, I see Kamila and Andy with bags from the corner store in their hands, watching me in shock.
What just happened?