Someone else was missing their Elder. Someone else was putting down the words that held us together. Baamaapii gigawaabamin. In Anishinaabemowin, there was no word for goodbye, only for “see you later.” I hoped that was true. I needed it to be true.

Exactly forty-eight hours later, the door swung open. I was less excited than I should have been, almost indifferent, until I saw Mitch standing there.

“Mitch!”

He cleared his throat, straightening his tie as he did. It always seemed to be choking him. He looked up and down the hallway before stepping inside.

“Hello, Francis. I’m here to notify you that your correction period is up.”

“Yeah, thanks, I guess.” I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to join me like he always did. Instead, he stood a few feet away, as if I were hostile or infectious. He stayed close to the door. It made me sad—so much time wasted listening to his dumb stories, all the days spent looking for, and sometimes finding, little traces of the boy I used to know in his words and gestures, and now I couldn’t even get him to sit down?

“I am, of course, disappointed that you chose to break one of the few simple rules that have been handed down to you.” He shuffled his feet. He was speaking loud, as if for an audience, even turning his face toward the open door as he spoke.

“Yeah, well—”

“But,” he interrupted, “I am happy that you handled yourself well in here. I know that you have spent your time wisely, thinking about ways to be a better Program student.”

Before I could answer, he bent down and leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I know I was the one who forgot the pen in here. Thanks for not telling.”

Then he held a finger up to his lips and cleared his throat again. He went back to the performative voice. “I will work harder to be a better mentor as you progress. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Um, I guess, when can I get back to the kitchen?” I tried to speak as if we were under surveillance as well. “I really want to rejoin the Program.”

He smiled. This was genuine. Had he already forgotten we were acting? “Excellent. Your escort will be by in one hour to take you for dinner service. It should be a fairly easy shift. Perfect to get back into the swing of things.”

He left without another word. My door stayed open, and an hour later, my silent cohort in the grey scrubs meandered down the hall and motioned for me to fall into step beside him.

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

Mitch wasn’t wrong. There were only half as many trays as usual loaded onto my cart. I checked the clipboard. Twenty. That was all. Dread started to fill my muscles. I knew for sure that the napkins hadn’t been found, so no one was in trouble over that, but why was the food being rationed down to half the regular number of servings? Was there some kind of revolt while I was locked up, and people were being denied meals? The other alternative, that there were now only half as many mouths to feed, was something I didn’t want to consider. It was never good when someone left isolation. It wasn’t like they were released back into the wild or enjoying birthday cake in a break room somewhere. They were just gone. Disappeared.