Mexican Postcard

“Andy, let’s go to Mexico, you and me.” Andrew wanted to smile and laugh off Hannah’s silly, spontaneous request as if it were a joke. But he knew that it wasn’t.
“We have finals next week. It’s the middle of January—“
“This summer. Please.”
He supposed it was instinct that made him listen more closely when she spoke, made him notice the tremble in her voice, the barely audible yelling from the next room. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest when she halfheartedly repeated her plea, and suddenly he could see the picture all too clearly.
He could see her shut up in her room with the door closed, shakes racking her small frame – much too small for someone about to turn eighteen – an old postcard clutched to her chest. He knew the postcard well, because she always carried it with her wherever she went. She’d been twelve years old when it came in the mail. Her mother had ripped it from her fingers and torn it in half, but Hannah had snuck downstairs later that night and collected the pieces. The postcard was bright orange, held together by two pieces of Scotch tape, and crinkled from years and years of wear. On the front, big, bold letters shouted, “Greetings from Mexico!” And on the back, someone had scrawled, “I love you Hanny. We will be together in Mexico soon. Love and kisses, Daddy.”
“Hannah.” Andrew tried to keep his voice steady, strong, “He’s not going to be there.” She’d been so excited when she’d gotten that postcard, that she’d packed all her things and waited for another letter, a call, for days. She would never admit to it, but she always kept a bag packed and ready to go, under her bed, even five years later. She hadn’t heard from her father since that postcard. It had taken Hannah a long time to get over it, and Andrew wasn’t sure if anybody really knew the entire story. Even he, who had been around when her parents had gotten divorced, who had been around when the postcard came, and when her mother started drinking and remarried, didn’t know it all.
“I know. I know…” She said, and he could tell that she was only trying to convince herself. “I think. But maybe, maybe he’ll be there. And even if he’s not, then it’ll still be you and me in Mexico. Right?”
“Hannah.”
“I know, Andy, I’m just not having a very good night.” Andrew jumped when he heard a loud crashing noise.
“Jesus, what was that?”
“I’m sorry, it was in the other room. I think everything’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Just… It’s kind of crazy around here tonight.”
“I can tell.” Her silent response tugged at Andrew’s heart, but he didn’t know how else to help. He knew that they could never go to Mexico. They were two teenagers working part time jobs, with beater cars, who lived in Michigan. A trip of that caliber would be costly, dangerous, and hard, too hard. And yet he didn’t have the heart to tell her any of this, to crush her hopes and the only dreams she had left.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called. I don’t mean to drag this all up again, really.”
“Want me to come over?”
“No.” Her quick response brought a worried wrinkle to Andrew’s forehead. “I mean you don’t have to. My house isn’t really the best place to be right now.”
“Then lets the two of us go somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
“Who’s the spontaneous one now?”
“Come on. I can be here in three minutes.” She hesitated, and he could practically read her mind, trying to think of ways that she could sneak out of the house. Ways that she could leave without walking past the kitchen, where her mother and stepfather were engaging in another epic drunken battle.
“Alright.”


“Andy, you know I still want to go to Mexico.” Andrew closed his eyes. Hannah never went a long time without mentioning going to Mexico, or trying to find her father, but it had been almost five weeks now, and he thought that maybe she was starting to give it up and move on. Andrew didn’t have the heart to tell his best friend the truth: that her father was probably dead, and never coming back, no matter how much he’d once loved his daughter. But he was starting to think that she needed to hear it one of these days.
“Of course I know. And we’ll go one of these days.” Lying to her had become a habit of his, and it became easier each time.
“When?”
Andrew remained silent for some time before he smiled at her and pulled her close to him for a big hug. “Soon.”
Hannah hugged him back. “This summer. Let’s go this summer.”


“Happy birthday dear Hannah… Happy birthday to you!”
Her mother had forgotten, again, but Andrew would never forget her birthday. He’d called some of their mutual friends to come to his house and surprise her, and by the time he finished, he had a small party going. Six friends, six presents and two homemade cakes were Hannah’s birthday surprise. She’d laughed when they jumped out and surprised her, and told Andrew that it definitely made up for the disappointment that her mother had given her that morning.
“Now you can open mine.” It was after midnight, and everyone else had long since gone home. Andrew was handing Hannah a small box, poorly wrapped in yesterday’s newspaper.
“I love the wrapping,” she joked with him as she opened the box. The locket inside was white gold. It had taken Andrew months to save up the money to buy it, and then have it engraved, but every time he thought about the smile that would be on her face, he knew it was worth it.
She looked at the small heart shaped locket, and her father’s nickname for her, engraved on the front in a beautifully feminine script, examining it with care. The look on her face was not what Andrew had expected, yet it was worth the money that he’d spent on it all the same.
“Hanny…” she said aloud, her voice small and vulnerable. “My father used to call me that.”
“I know. Do you like it?” She nodded. Andrew looked into her face just in time to see the tear that had slid down her cheek before it fell from her face and into the pile of crumpled newspaper.
“I miss him so much, Andy.” She held the locket gently, almost as if she were afraid to drop it.
“Here, why don’t you put it on?” He watched her as she put the locket around her neck with great care. When she’d finished, he put a comforting arm around her shoulders. The two of them stared off into the distance for quite some time, but the silence between them felt anything but awkward. Andrew knew that Hannah was crying, but like always, he felt like an outsider in her problems, that no matter what he did, it would never be enough. He could be there to listen to her cry every day, but he could never take her to Mexico.
And she knew it.


“Where is she?” Andrew had seen Hannah’s phone number on the caller ID, but he was surprised to hear her mother’s voice on the other end when he answered.
“I—I don’t know.” He stuttered. “I thought she stayed home sick today.”
“Bullshit!” Andrew had waited outside Hannah’s house for fifteen minutes that morning before deciding that if he waited any longer he’d be late for school. She’d turned off her cell phone, and she didn’t answer the house phone (he knew that everyone else in the house would be too drunk or hung over to answer it). And when nobody had come out to the car when he laid on the horn, he figured that Hannah had a bad night, and wasn’t up for school that day.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Welsh, I don’t know where she is—“
The line went dead.


Andrew spent the next three days worried out of his mind. Nobody in town knew where Hannah was, and she hadn’t tried to contact any of them. She was officially a missing person.
Her car was missing, as were a few of her favorite possessions and some of her clothes. Police had categorized her as a runaway, but her mother refused to believe it, and it only confused Andrew. He couldn’t imagine why Hannah would leave without telling him. He could think of a million places that she would go, but couldn’t understand why she’d leave without him when he’d promised so many times that he’d go with her.
He felt a pang in his chest at all those fake promises. He prayed that he’d always been wrong, that she’d never known he wasn’t telling her the truth.
A postcard came in the mail when Hannah was four days missing. The front was orange and nondescript. He couldn’t be sure where it had been purchased, or where it might have been sent from. There was no return address, but the handwriting was unmistakable, and there was no doubt in Andrew’s mind who had sent it, even if there was no signature.
“I’m finally going home, Andy,” it read. “I love you.”
Andrew smiled to himself. She was finally going to Mexico. And he knew in his heart that she would get there safely and find what she was looking for.