Saturday, December 20, 2008 at 10:29pm

So I guess it’s my fate in life to shed light on things. I wonder if that’s because of my name? During my mother’s pregnancy the name she had picked for me was “Rebecca.” As soon as she saw me she said, “Nope, she’s not a Rebecca, she’s Cynthia…” Cynthia means “Moon Goddess” in Hebrew…something about shedding light on things…maybe that’s why the full moon seems to effect me so deeply?

When I checked into my hostel in Bondi on Thursday evening, the beautiful young girl in my room was named Rebekka, and we had a conversation about our names and how we got them. We had a really great conversation about a lot of things – Christmas, home, friends, work, and finally, the extremely strange girl sharing our room. “I’ve worked in a mental institution for 3 years, crazy people don’t scare me, but this girl – I just don’t know what she’s capable of…she’s very weird. I think she’s into witchcraft or voodoo or something…she stares at me when I’m sleeping. I was going to change rooms, but now that you’re here, I feel safe.” 

She wasn’t kidding. “Don’t sleep there. That bed is cursed.” Was the first thing the odd one barked at me when I came in the room, so I could identify with what Rebekka was on about. Details aside, suffice it to say more strange exchanges unfolded, and the stories my new mate relayed to me were enough to make you a bit wary of her to say the very least. In any case, we went about our business. Rebekka decided to go to a hot yoga class. It would be the first time she ever tried it. She asked me about every single piece of clothing she was wearing. “Is this ok? Is it appropriate?” Purple pants, orange shirt, brown shoes. She was a very attractive, bright girl. “What’s the time?” she asked. “7:15.” “Ok, see you! Have a good night!” 

That was 3 nights ago. Her stuff is exactly as she left it. Her bedsheets tangled. Her toiletries left beside her bed. My eagle eye and practically photographic memory can attest…she hasn’t been back to that room. Her stuff is untouched. 

I had to go opening my big mouth. There are times when you shut it, and you move on with your day, but this doesn’t sit well with me. Can’t shake the bad feeling. I feel like I’m in a really bad movie. It’s like I’m reading the script each step of the way. Ugh. When I came home late last night and saw she still hadn’t come back, I alerted reception. “Rebekka hasn’t been here for 3 nights and p.s. the other one is realllllly weird.” They thought she was off too, so they gave me another bed for the night and kicked out the other one first thing this morning. Ok, so fine, they got rid of the troublemaker, but what about my new friend? Weren’t they going to do something about her? Pretty, young girl travelling alone. Wasn’t there some kind of protocol? We’ll leave it for another few days.

Fuck that. You can sit around on your lazy arses if you like, but I’ve got to do something about this. I searched through her bags, found a number and an address. Her friend picked up the phone when I called one of the numbers…”We haven’t seen her in days either….” Sweet Jesus help me. 

I just got back from the police station. Told them everything I could think of. What clothes she had on (why the fuck did we have such a detailed conversation about her clothing??) what time I last saw her, where she was going, her name, her address, her suspected number. Oh, and also mentioned about the mysterious one she had been put off by. While I did say, for what it was worth, about seeing her sitting there staring at her hands on the night Rebekka disappeared, I left out the part about the odd dreams I had about her and how I had a vision of a girl screaming. Figured they might not take me so seriously then.

SO. Now I’m supposed to just go on with my day. Yeah. Awesome. I’ve never felt so thankful to be named Cynthia in my life. Cross your fingers she shows up.