I Think About You Ronnie Anne

6

My father told me a story while he was on his deathbed, three days before he died. Poor guy had a stroke and they didn't know what was up with him. Turns out it was stress, which was the exact thing that hospital bed filled him with. It's ironic that his death was from being in a hospital, technically. I was sad about it initially, but it's been a year. Anyway, the story he told me was about how he originally met my mom. Being that close to death with the uncertainty of whether you'll live or not was the perfect reason to reminisce. To temporarily escape the thoughts of death closing in on him, he told me all the details of his and mom's history. All of it was a time that meant so much to him. Let me summarize it for you: My dad went to a bar one night and ordered a drink. He was having an especially awful night (the reason, I won't disclose) and he was low on money. He ordered a shot, gulped it down, and that was all he could afford. That's when a lady sat down next to him. My dad asked her, "Can you buy me a drink?" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small dandelion. "This is all I have. Sorry." They both laughed and talked for a while. For whatever reason, they clicked together well, and the lady decided to come over to my dad's place.

My dad expected nothing of it, he just enjoyed the comfort of the lady. She laid down on his couch. "You've got a small place," she said looking up at his low ceiling. "Well, I don't have a very impressive job. Where do you work?" At first, she didn't respond, so she must've thought about it for a minute before telling him: "I do taxidermy." He asked "Taxidermy? Does that pay well?" She told him it didn't. He proposed that they share a glass of wine and that they toast to poverty. They got their glasses, he poured red wine delicately into each cup, and they clinked them together. "What's your name?" she asked. He lied and told her "Markus." Later he would tell her the truth, but he always stressed out about something. He must've been scared to tell her his name. That's what a lot of people knew my dad for. He was always scared of something, whether it had claws or not. He always saw a monster we didn't. (That's talking figuratively. Unless he did see a monster and never told me, but I strongly doubt that. After three years, she had already moved in with my dad. They shared an income and they imagined themselves married to each other. They actually expected to be married the very next year, but financial costs wouldn't allow a wedding. It wouldn't be until they both upgraded jobs and were able to support a family that they finally tied the knot. They did have a family together. A very, very big family.

That lady was my mom. I'm sure you already knew. At the end of the story, covering many years of his and my mom's history, he came to a moment right before I was born. She was an hour away from giving birth, though she wouldn't know it at the time, and my dad asked her, "What will you name this one? Our first son, I was thinking maybe Rudy." She replied, "A long time ago, back when I was still a taxidermist, I was sold a deer carcass by a local hunter. I bought it from him for only a few dollars which made me skeptical. Who would sell a whole deer carcass for so little? I cleaned it, stuffed it, and hung its head up on the wall against a wooden plague. I always named the animals I stuffed, just 'cause I thought it was kind of a cute thing to do. I decided that deer head looked polite, and the first name that came to me was 'Lincoln.' Subconsciously, I must see something special in that name, because it popped right back up just now. What would you think of naming him Lincoln?" My dad smiled. "I think it's perfect."

~

...I like the name, too. Plan? Oh yes, I remember. I said something about having a plan to get Ronnie Anne to see me. Well I know I told you this long boring story about my parents and I'm sorry you had to sit through it. The truth is, I told you that story because I had nothing to do. I have to just wait here in Ronnie Anne's closet until she falls asleep. That's the plan. When that small face of hers grows dreary and drifts off to a dream world, I'll use a strip of tape, some rope, and a bag. A very big bag. I'll take her across the street, down a few houses, and right inside my own home. The basement, specifically. I'm not going to hurt her. Do I have to tell you that again? Remember, I love this girl with all my aching heart. I have no reason to hurt her... but then again, she had no reason to hurt me either. Yet she still did.

...

Someone's finally snoozing.

I have to go now.