One missing one lost

Today was Christmas Day. Despite the fact that it was snowing just yesterday, no snow fell from the cold skies today. It was a bit sad for it to not be snowing on Christmas Day, but it wasn’t unusual as of late. In fact, it was already quite a rare sight to witness snow for three days straight. People went and built snowmen, rode their sledges, or simply played in the snow and threw snowballs at each other. Since it was holidays, most people had a lot of free time and positive energy.

But “most people” did not mean everyone...

A man with a hunched back and his face covered by a hoodie was walking on the street slowly and unsteadily, sometimes almost tripping over his own feet, yet always managing to keep his balance. Shivering on the sidewalk from the dreadful cold, he looked, and also smelled, like a vagrant, so others on the street kept their distance.

The man preferred it that way, anyway. He always avoided trouble, keeping his head low and knowing his place in this world. As he saw it, that was the only way for people like him to survive their cruel reality.

Get up at five in the morning, be at work at six, stay there until eight in the evening, go home, sleep and repeat.

It was a harsh and painful life, but the man, Mister Troska, endured. He had to, even if he desperately wished he didn’t, if he wanted to bring even a little food to the table.

Even though his first name was Otec, hardly anyone knew it—or cared enough to learn it—so he just started calling himself by his last name, Troska, instead.

For many, the holidays signified a joyful and cheerful time, but for Troska, it was especially brutal. That was exactly because other people were enjoying their time with their families and loved ones, having a nice vacation, that Troska himself had to carry that much bigger of a workload on his shoulders.

Troska’s job wasn’t especially hard or complicated, so it paid very little. For that reason, he had to work many more hours than others, practically never taking a day off. But he had to. He even wanted to. For one simple reason. He still had someone in this world he cared about. Troska had a son.

His son was hiding it, but Troska knew that he was stashing thrown-away food from his school.

‘Thank God he’s so capable...’ Troska thought, a bitter smile appearing on his soot-covered face.

He was thankful that his son could somewhat provide for himself, easing his own workload and troubles, but at the same time, he was much more ashamed and hated himself because his son was forced to do so.

Maybe if Troska had tried more, worked harder, was a better father, his son wouldn’t have to take the responsibility of staying alive and being fed and warm himself, instead relying on his father, like children were supposed to.

Troska was working himself like a bull, but was that really enough? He was convinced it wasn’t, yet unable to do more, leaving him regretful and deeply displeased with himself. In the past, this often resulted in violent outbursts, which drove his son to distance himself and resent him.

When Troska finally noticed the consequences his actions had on the relationship with his son, it was already too late.

His own son was now actively avoiding him, probably even hating him.

Not knowing how to fix the situation, or how to fix himself, Troska stopped trying to reach out to his son.

He hated that, though. Troska wanted to spend more time with him, build a better bond with him and create at least some happy memories. But because of his own actions, he no longer could.

“That ends today.”

It was Christmas, a day families were supposed to enjoy each other's company and have a generally good time, sharing presents and eating plenty of tasty food. Troska couldn’t really provide gifts or plenty of food, but he was determined to finally talk to his son again. No, not try, but actually do it. It wasn’t enough for him to only try. He wanted to succeed. He wanted to have his son back—and to be forgiven, even if he himself didn't believe he deserved forgivness.

After about forty minutes of walking, he finally stopped in front of a brown, somewhat worn-out, wooden door. Troska didn’t make enough money for public transport, let alone buy a car, so he walked to and from work every day instead.

The door was dark brown in color, with a small crack at the bottom, letting a little heat to escape outside. It also didn’t have a keyhole; that part of the door was covered by a small piece of wood, nailed in place by Troska himself.

Looking at the small crack at the door’s bottom, he sighed.

“I really need to fix that part, it's been there for almost a week now.”

Troska opened the door and went inside, swiftly closing it behind him to keep as much warmth inside. He took his hoodie off, stuffing it into the small crack as a temporary fix.

Taking his shoes off, he noticed dirty footprints on the floor, reaching from the door to the kitchen.

Choosing to ignore it, he went to the kitchen and sat down on a wooden chair, leaning back tiredly. Troska stayed like that for a few minutes, simply resting, but also preparing himself mentally.

‘I can do it. I’m definitely going to talk with my son today. And the day after that, and the day after that.’

Troska knew he was a broken man. A wreck of a human being. But he didn’t care. At least not at that moment. He only wanted to be a father to his son again, no matter how pathetic, awful, or full of faults he was. He could work on himself after that, but right now, his son was his number one priority.

Finally getting up, Troska left the kitchen and went to his son’s room.

The house was not small, but also not really big, having one story with four rooms. There were two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom, with a narrow hallway separating them into two parts. The kitchen and bathroom were on the left, with the kitchen right by the door. Right across it was Troska’s room, with his son’s room to its right.

Troska stood in front of his son’s door, suddenly hesitating.

He was scared—terrified, even—that his son would reject him. Again. He knew he deserved it, yet he still hoped for his son’s forgiveness.

But standing in front of the door would not change anything. If he did nothing, his son would not stop hating or avoiding him. Nothing would change if he himself wasn’t brave enough to change it. But if he tried, he at least had a chance, no matter how small.

Taking a deep breath, Troska forced out a weak smile.

‘I feel so silly, being scared of my own son like this.’

Finally, he knocked on the door.

“Hey, Vrak, are you there?”

There was no answer.

Not giving up, Troska knocked again.

“Vrak, it’s me, Dad. I know we haven’t talked much lately, but it’s Christmas. What do you say we have a talk and spend some time together?”

Troska was met only with silence.

‘Is he asleep already? Or maybe he’s ignoring me?’

Knocking on the door for the third time, Troska spoke again.

“I’m coming in, alright?”

He waited a second or two, then twisted the knob. The door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a mostly empty room with only a bed, a nightstand to its left, and a small closet.

It was dark and cold, since Troska couldn’t manage to pay the electric bill.

Troska sneaked over to his son’s bed as carefully as he could, not wanting to wake him if he was indeed asleep. The moon was shining a pale light through the window, so once Troska got close enough, he could finally see the bed clearly.

Its mattress was white and strangely clean, considering the state of the room it was in, with a thin blanket and a single pillow.

And laying under that blanket and resting his head on the pillow... Was nobody. The bed was empty.

Troska frowned, looking around the room in suspicion. He knew that Vrak had a habit of sneaking out, but he wasn’t nearly stupid enough to do so on a cold winter night, with almost no clothes to cover himself with.

His shirt, pants, socks and shoes were tossed on the floor beside the bed, and there was an empty plate and a glass of water on top of his nightstand. Troska also spotted an empty wrap from a protein bar, making him grimace a little at the sight of it.

“Vrak, are you here?”

Speaking louder than before, Troska lifted the covers of the bed, finding his son’s underwear lying in the middle of the bed.

His frown deepened.

‘He definitely wouldn’t sneak out bare naked... right? No, of course he wouldn’t.’

“Vrak?!”

Troska was almost yelling by that point.

He exited the room with wide steps, searching the entire house and calling his son’s name the entire time. But, to add to his concern, his son was nowhere to be found.

Troska almost sprinted out into the cold, but eventually forced himself to calm down, trying to assess the situation.

‘If I go look for him now, at night and in the cold, I’ll never find him. Maybe he really is just wandering somewhere. I mean, he has more than one set of clothes. I’m probably only overreacting.’

And so, Troska put his hoodie and shoes back on and rushed out the door, completely disregarding his thought process and decision to wait until morning came.

So what if it wasn’t the smart or logical thing to do? So what if he was only overreacting? So what if he was acting on impulse and wasn’t thinking straight? Troska couldn’t care less at that moment. The only thing he cared about was knowing his son was safe.

And so, he searched the whole night without sleeping, forgetting all about his earlier exhaustion. He looked for his son the next day, as well, and the next, not caring about skipping work. But, after two days and three nights, Vrak was still nowhere to be found. It was as if he simply disappeared into thin air, without leaving a single trace behind.

*

It was nine in the morning, December 27th. Christmas had already passed, but the holidays continued. And so, Brusinka was sitting idly on her sofa, covered in a blanket and slowly sipping on a hot chocolate. The sky outside was clear, with the sun shining brightly upon the world, yet not bringing any of its heat along.

Brusinka liked to call the sun the “fake sun” on days like these, simply because it felt fake to her. The sun was supposed to be a star burning at thousands of degrees Celsius, so she felt betrayed when it beamed with such intensity yet remained so cold and heartless at the same time.

But that was of little concern to her right now. She simply wanted to enjoy the peaceful and quiet morning for as long as possible, being in the comfort of her little apartment.

Brusinka lived alone, so her apartment was rather small, with only one bedroom that doubled as a living room, plus a bathroom and a kitchen.

Curled up on her sofa and watching TV, she took another sip of her delicious hot chocolate when her phone suddenly lit up on the small coffee table.

She really didn’t really feel like getting up, though.

“Ugh, it’s probably someone from work. I can’t deal with that crap right now.”

She had her phone muted, since she didn’t want to be bothered by the school staff on her days off, so she simply ignored it and continued watching the new sitcom hit.

The call eventually went into voicemail, so she let the message play out to at least know who the person calling on such a cozy day was and what they wanted.

To her surprise, it wasn’t anyone she knew. An even bigger bombshell was what the caller said, making Brusinka spring to her feet and spill a little of her hot chocolate on her pajamas and sofa.

“Please pick up, Vrak has gone missing! I can’t find my son anywhere! I’ve looked for days, but... but... He’s nowhere to be found! I don’t know what to do. Please, why will no one help...? Someone, anyone, help me look for him, please! Please—”

The man on the phone sounded rushed, desperate, enraged and... lost. Like a person at his absolute wit’s end, ready and willing to try anything and everything.

Before the caller could hang up, Brusinka hurriedly grabbed the phone and answered, not even considering that it might be a prank call or some creepy marketing scam.

“I’m here, I’m here! Don’t hang up!”

Suddenly not knowing what to say next, she just asked awkwardly:

“M-may I know who I am speaking to?”

The man on the other end of the line sighed with deep relief and spoke a moment later, after catching his breath.

“Thank God... thank you so much for answering. I’m Vrak’s father, Otec Troska. Please, you have to help me look for my son. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve looked everywhere—I even spoke with the police, and they put out a missing person alert, but he’s still nowhere to be found. I tried to convince them to form a search party, but they shut me down, saying there’s nothing they can do! Why won’t they help me? Why won’t anyone help me?!”

Vrak’s father, Otec Troska, was speaking so fast that Brusinka had trouble catching everything he said, but she understood the most important part. Vrak had been missing for several days already, with no leads whatsoever.

*

Six months passed since Vrak had gone missing. The police had given up searching for him, not that they really tried to, to begin with. Vrak was still in the missing persons list, at least, which every registered citizen had access to.

For the first month and a half, Troska had gradually and completely lost himself in grief and regret, believing that his son’s disappearance was his fault. If only he had been a better father, if only he had paid attention to his son more...

Despite drowning in self-blame and becoming more lost by the day, Troska had never stopped trying to find his son.

Spending all the spare money he had, plus some borrowed from Brusinka, he printed out flyers, sticking them in the most populated and visited places in the city, as well as a few around his neighborhood.

Troska discarded everything, even himself, in the process, focusing on nothing but the search. He stopped going to work, eating, sleeping, neglecting basic hygiene like brushing his teeth or showering. Eventually, his money had run out completely, and he couldn’t even afford rent and food, let alone more missing persons flyers. He started begging his acquaintances for money to buy more, but everyone had shut him down, including Brusinka.

Even though she desperately wanted to help, Brusinka was starting to see it was hopeless. She still held a sliver of hope that one day, Vrak would once again show up at the nurse’s office, speaking with her casually, ignoring the fact that she was still his teacher. She wished for the broken and lost father to be reunited with his missing son, but there was simply nothing more she, or anyone else, could do.

No matter how many flyers Troska put up, no matter how much money he raised or how many people he asked for clues and information, his son was simply gone. Vanished.

Brusinka desperately hoped that Vrak was still alive out there somewhere, but logically, it was highly unlikely.

The teenage boy had no money to speak of, no connections to help him, and was seemingly completely naked in the dead of winter when he disappeared.

Both she and Troska had ransacked Troska's and Vrak’s house many times, finding no clues about his whereabouts whatsoever. The only thing they figured out was that the clothes he had on that day were taken off at some point, and no other clothes were missing from Vrak’s wardrobe, meaning that he had probably left naked, without any clothes to keep him warm.

Troska was boiling and overflowing with all kinds of emotions, unable to think straight. Being as desperate as he was, still with no clues about where his son was after two months, he tried to mug people on the street and break into houses, but was caught only after two days and sentenced to six years in prison.

And so, here they were, sitting across from each other separated by a layer of safety glass and surrounded by guards.

Holding the visitation phone, Brusinka spoke after a few seconds of silence.

“Good morning, mister Troska.”

Troska looked up from the table, glancing at Brusinka with a pitiful look. The burning desire to find his son seemed to have vanished. All sorts of overflowing negative emotions he was exhibiting before were gone, as well, leaving the man looking resigned and lost, with a blank expression on his face.

His brown hair and eyes of the same color deeply reminded her of his son, Vrak. They were really similar to each other in appearance.

Picking up the phone, Troska answered her, his voice sounding weak and frail, as if he was suffering from a cold.

“Why bother?”

Brusinka’s brows lowered, and she tilted her head by a millimeter, confused.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, why are you even here? Why do you bother coming to see every week?”

“I..."

Brusinka paused, unsure how to answer. Why was she here? She barely knew the man, and from the little time she had known him, he hadn’t left a really good impression on her so far. But how could he? His son had gone missing. What kind of father would remain calm and civilized in that situation?

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know.”

Troska sighed and remained silent. Not knowing what to say, Brusinka didn’t speak for a while, either.

After about a minute of silence, Troska unexpectedly spoke again.

“Thank you...”

Brusinka looked at him, surprised by his sudden and strange words.

“What?”

Troska looked Brusinka in the eyes, smiling for the first time in many months.

His smile was sad and full of sorrow. It was a painful smile. It was a grieving smile.

And yet, there was still hope. The smile showed determination and resolve. No matter how subtle, it was still there, in the man’s heart, like an eternal flame that refused to be extinguished.

“Thank you for visiting me all this time, I mean. I know I asked why you keep coming, but to be honest, I don’t really care that much. I’m... I’m just glad that someone cares enough about my son to visit his failure of a father in prison. So, thank you for that.”

Brusinka winced, her chest suddenly feeling heavy.

She stared at him in disbelief and lost for words. Her cheek tickled, so she wiped it with her hand. It was wet.

“...Huh?”

Brusinka felt her eyes watering, so she shut them close, not wanting to let Troska see her cry.

She was just Vrak’s teacher. Not even that, she was only the school nurse. What right did she have to cry, when the missing boy’s father had not shed a single tear up until this point? He had not allowed himself to break down—at least not completely—always searching desperately, not even once showing any sign of hesitation.

Yet the tears kept coming. And once it started, Brusinka was powerless to stop it.

She wept and wiped at her face in vain, the sleeves of her jacket becoming soaked in tears and snot.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Brusinka didn’t even know what she was sorry for. She felt weak and fragile, but most of all ashamed. And so, she kept apologizing, over and over again.

Troska’s smile faltered for a second, but he quickly regained his composure, smiling bitterly once again.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for looking for my son.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for trying for all this time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for never giving up hope.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you... for being so kind to my son.”

Brusinka faltered in her endless apologies, staring at Troska with wide eyes. Everything was blurry, so she could not discern the expression on the man’s face very well. There was silence for a few moments. Then, Troska spoke again, making Brusinka cry even harder and making her world crumble.

“Thank you... for everything. And... sorry. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you. I’m... truly sorry.”

Troska stayed quiet after that, while Brusinka cried even harder, not stopping until the visit was over.