The third time that I saw Harper Torres was a complete coincidence. I was shopping for groceries at the Safeway near my house when I saw her. She was browsing contently in the snack aisle, adding, what I'm assuming to be her favorite snacks, to her cart. I casually follow her through every aisle until she makes her way to the pharmacy. My mind runs wild with ideas, wondering what prescription she could possibly need. From the outside, she seemed perfect and well put together.
By the time Harper was at the pharmacy counter, I was within earshot, supposedly looking for cold and flu medicine. I just couldn't help but listen. And listen I did. The technician asked her for her full name, her date of birth and the name of the prescription. All valuable information. Harper Torres. August 24th, 1995. Xanax. So she has depression or anxiety, huh? Maybe both. But my mind flashed back to the article. It was her fault. She crashed the car into the tree. And ever since then, her own mother has been paralyzed.
Using the information that I found in the article, I tracked down Ben Torres and Marie Solis. Marie was a teacher for a short time, before the accident, and she continued the work after the accident as well. The school's website flaunted a newsletter that was available to the public. One of the entries had a piece about her, stating that she retired in June of 2018 due to her disability. She's married to Charles Solis and they're both members of The Country Club of Ithaca. There isn't much more on the internet about Marie and Charles.
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As for Ben, after his recovery from the accident, he graduated high school, went to college and eventually attended law school. He moved to New York City to become a lawyer and, at some point, met his now-wife, Olivia Torres. He has tons of social media content. Facebook. Instagram. Twitter. LinkedIn. And that's just the beginning. His online imprint is much larger and more significant than Harper's. I scanned every inch of every profile that he owned, looking for information about her.
I wanted, more than anything, to know what made her the person that she is today. But after scouring all of Ben's posts and shares and retweets, I didn't find a damn thing. Harper was a ghost, according to the internet. That is, until she started writing articles for The Bugle. Week after week was a new story, written by the greatest writer I've ever known. I wait day after day to read her perfect words, to see a trending topic through her gorgeous grey eyes. And her writing has never once disappointed me. Her writing is something that I can count on. Something that brings me comfort.
Suddenly, a clashing noise came from beside me. An elderly woman stood to my right, glaring at me through her bifocals. Apparently my cart was too close to the middle of the aisle. I whipped around, hoping to still see Harper at the pharmacy counter. But she was gone. I wondered how long I'd been in a trance of my own thoughts and memories. I'd been engulfed in her story, in how she became who she is.
It didn't take me long to check out and pay for the few things that were in my cart. Thankfully, the Safeway was close to my house. At home, I'd decided to spend the night browsing the internet once more. But this time, with new information about her. Her date of birth.