We were standing off to the side, not in the way of any pedestrians, but we loitered for a moment before finally one of us said something.

“What are we going to do?” I asked, mainly looking at Darren. Wyatt also stared at him like a lost dog.

“Who knows. Although I do think it’s wise to split up. I’ll go back to the hotel room, and I think you guys should try to find her in one of those parks she recommended to us the other night when we were eating dinner in Little Italy. You guys remember that?”

Wyatt and I nodded.

“Darren, are you sure you shouldn’t come looking for her in a park?” I asked. “If she’s already in a hotel room, at least we know she’s okay. But since you’re, as Wyatt puts it, ‘an old, wise-ass sage,’ won’t we need your help getting her to calm down and return to the hotel room?”

“Gordie, you’re a smart guy. You’ll know what to say. Wyatt, on the other hand? Not so much.” Darren grinned, but neither of us laughed. “Sorry, I meant for that to be a joke. But also, Wyatt can make Amaya laugh like no one else out I’ve seen. So, I think you guys are good. You’ll know what to say. I’ll head back to the hotel. Keep me posted on what you guys find,” Darren gave each of us a fist bump and then turned around to find the nearest subway stop.

Wyatt and I stood there momentarily, trying to gather our bearings.

“Okay, she said the Highline, Washington Square Park, and I think she may have said another one,” I said, cursing myself for forgetting.

“Let’s try Central Park, too,” Wyatt said.

“Have you lost your mind? Central Park is massive. It’s the size of its own city. I think we’re better off checking those other three first… If I could only remember what the third one was called. Let’s at least go to Washington Square Park. It’s close to the hotel, relatively speaking, and she said it’s also close by the subdued one that I can’t remember the name of.”

“Text Darren. He might remember.”

“Good call.” I pulled out my phone and texted Darren, but the message didn’t send because he didn’t have service underground on the subway. “Well, it’s gonna be a minute before we find out. Let’s at least start with Washington Square Park. Gosh, it’s such a beautiful day outside. I’m kinda glad we’re able to be out and about.”

“Yeah, me too.” Wyatt looked down at the ground in defeat.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Just worried about Amaya. Worried she might hurt herself, she has some pretty bad anxiety, you know? I think she might benefit from seeing a psychiatrist or something.” Wyatt wanted to say more because he kept opening and closing his mouth, but finally, he shook his head. “We just need to help her.”

“Try not to think about it too much. She might be back at the hotel. We don’t know yet. Maybe she’s fine and dandy and treating herself to ice cream. Who knows. C’mon, though, let’s get a move on.”

Wyatt and I checked our phones to find a path to Washington Square Park. It was a straightforward route, so we had no trouble navigating. We hopped on the subway, went south, came out of the unbelievably hot and humid underground, and walked over to the park, where the dusk breeze felt much cooler. The process felt like five minutes, but a half-hour had gone by. Darren texted us, and we both got a message on our phones as we walked to the park. It said: Amaya said her favorite park that was a little more subdued was Stuyvesant Square. Also, some bad news, Amaya is not at the hotel. I’ll hang back here, though, while you guys look for her in case she comes in.

“Oh, that’s just real great. I feel like we’re looking for a needle in a haystack. Dammit,” Wyatt grumbled.

“It’s okay. We gotta be optimistic; we might be able to find Amaya at Washington Square Park. It’s better than doing nothing,” I said.

Both of us walked in underneath the famous French arch and into the park, which was filled with people walking around, and clumping together to watch a musician, a magician, or a group of dancers. Hell, even people were talking to some guy who was at a table selling his independently published book.

“Do you really think Amaya is here?” Wyatt asked incredulously.

“No way, I feel like she is emotionally overwhelmed and wouldn’t wanna be in a space like this.” However, we could have spent a couple of hours there entertaining ourselves with the live performances. We looked up Stuyvesant Square on our phone and started walking over.

During our commute, Wyatt and I didn’t really say a word to each other unless we were consulting the map on our phones. As we approached it, we noticed it was far more relaxed; not nearly as many people were walking around, and neither of us saw a street performer. The park was a fair amount smaller, too. If we didn’t find Amaya, it wouldn’t take very long to realize it.

The only sounds in the park were the hootings of pigeons and the tweeting of tiny birds (that were more pleasant to look at). Car noises and car horns could still be heard, but they felt much more distant, and I could tune them out. People were jogging through, sitting around at benches, and couples were drifting along holding hands. The park had a much more welcoming aroma of grass and leaves instead of pavement with hints of the city’s belching exhaust.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

It only took a few minutes of wandering along the path before we saw Amaya sitting at a bench that was covered by trees. She had headphones in, her mouth was quivering, and her eyes were red and exhausted. She was looking off to the side and hadn’t noticed we were thirty feet away. The sun was lower in the sky, and the golden glow lit up her back like a painting.

Wyatt smiled weakly at me. He patted me on the back as if to say, ‘nice work, kid.’ Both of us had our hands ready to wave, but Amaya was still gazing away from us. There was nothing I wanted more than to know what she was thinking. Would she even tell us what’s on her mind?

I texted Darren and told him that we found her in the Stuyvesant Square and said we’ll update him on what was happening.

Finally, she turned as we approached, and Wyatt said, “Hey, we’re huge fans. We were wondering if we could get your autograph?” Her face went from surprise to joy in a microsecond, as if her mind was hungry for relief. She stood up, eyes getting misty, and reached out her arms for a hug pulling each of us in.

“I’m so glad you guys are here right now. I’m really sorry I didn’t respond to you, Gordie. I saw your text, I just didn’t want you to be mad at me or anything, or I don’t know, I know I’m being crazy and stupid and—“

“Stop,” Wyatt said politely, and she pulled away from the hug and looked at him while wiping the tears away from her eyes. “No one is mad at you. We love you, Amaya. You’re one of our best friends. It’s the four of us, the quadrio.”

I cocked an eyebrow up and side glanced at Wyatt, but Amaya started laughing so hard that for a moment, she forgot why she was stressed in the first place.

“What’s so funny?” Wyatt asked, as she was still trying to compose herself to talk.

“Quadrio isn’t a word, dummy.” Amaya kept giggling.

Wyatt chortled as well. “Gordeño isn’t Gordie’s real name.”

“It’s okay. I like it. That can be our friend group name, ‘The Quadrio!’ has a nice ring to it.” Amaya smiled.

“Hey, I know this probably is a really dumb question, but are you okay? Again I’m aware of the stupidity and the obviousness, but I’m not sure what else to say,” I said, feeling like I was about to cry myself. “I’m not Darren-the-sage.” I shrugged. My voice had fallen apart.

“That’s okay, Gordie. Really, it’s fine. I’m not asking you to be anyone you’re not. Sometimes you just want someone to listen, and you don’t really need to hear or want to hear a response. You just need to get it off your chest, which is how I feel right now. I just want to be listened to. And to answer your question, I’m not okay. In fact, I’m on the edge or verge or whatever you want to call it, of another breakdown.” Amaya shook her head so quickly it looked like a twitch. “I want to tell you guys everything that happened. So let’s sit down on a bench.”

We went to the bench she was at, and we sat down, me in the middle. She rubbed her eyes to remove the tears that kept forcing their way through.

“After the match with 75K, I walked back to the area where all the other players were hanging out, but I couldn’t step foot into the room because I couldn’t stop crying. Because of my anxiety, this invisible force was just keeping me from walking into the room. Then I felt like I was just being shoved out entirely. I felt like I couldn’t control my thoughts, my mind was racing like never before, and the whole experience felt like a bad psychoactive trip. Nothing but nonstop tears and numbness overcame me.

“Even waking up this morning, I wasn’t feeling too great. There was just some part of me in the back of my head that felt off. Whatever it was that bothered me, it really bled into my gameplay. Honestly, I think it’s the pressure to perform at a high level all of the time, to almost be like a robot, but then these emotions come in, and all of these dramatics overwhelm me. I’m not the same person.”

Wyatt and I stared at her and nodded along. It made Amaya smile for a moment, and then she sighed.

“I should probably see a psychiatrist again. The last time I saw one was in college, and it was for free, or at least I paid for it through my expensive tuition. But I think I should have like a weekly or semi-weekly meeting with a psychiatrist. I just hope you guys don’t think any differently of me or think I’m crazy or anything.”

That’s when I started shaking my head. “Amaya, there’s nothing wrong with talking to someone for mental health.”

“My parents might think it’s wrong.”

“But, do they have to know? You live in Chicago, far away from them. They are not going to drop in on you on a whim. The three of us highly support the decision to see a psychiatrist. Hell, when I go back to school for my senior year, I’ll probably try and see one because...” My lips trembled and my voice disappeared. “The loss of my brother has really messed me up.”

“I’m sorry, Gordie.” Amaya paused and smiled at me. “I just can’t tell you how much it means that you guys came looking for me. I mean, I’m not magically feeling back to normal, but the fact that you’re here means more than you could ever know.”

“Of course!” Wyatt beamed. “I fully support your decision to see a psychiatrist, or if we are making things worse, we can leave you alone too.”

“No, you guys are the best friends I’ve ever had,” Amaya said, and then she frowned. “Then there is the pressure of tomorrow. The doubles tournament. Oh gosh—“

“Amaya, it’s okay. We don’t have to play tomorrow if you don’t want to. I know my mom bought me a pass and everything, and I’m sorry I just mentioned that, but please don’t feel pressured to play if you don’t want to be there. It’s totally fine, even if we rearranged our flights and left tonight, I don’t care. Your well-being is far more important,” Wyatt said.

Amaya nodded. “We can see how I feel tomorrow. I don’t wanna make any promises yet. Obviously, I would like to play tomorrow, and I know my sponsors sure as hell want me playing tomorrow, but we’ll see. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is!” Wyatt said, reaching his arm around me and touching Amaya’s shoulder. When he pulled his arm back, he looked at a guy dressed in a tweed suit walk by with his yorkie dog on a leash. “Get a load of the suit. Isn’t he dying in that thing? It’s August, geeze-o-peats! Hey, Gord, Amaya, what’s that guy’s story? What’s goin’ on in his life? He’s gotta be dressed in tweed in this sweltering heat? Does he just get off on sweating?” Wyatt cracked himself up. “Wanna get that game going again?”

I chuckled, but more importantly, Amaya was giggling. “I’m so glad you guys showed up,” she said.

We sat there, and people watched for fifteen minutes when we decided to get up and leave to reunite with Darren and go out for dinner. I kept thinking about how the following day would be a long, tiresome, but exciting time.