I Think About You Ronnie Anne

13

16-year-old girl missing. Long black hair, Mexican descent, purple clothing, height around 5'3". Royal Woods, MI.

       So they finally did it. I'm guessing her parents finally told the police, or perhaps they told the police and privately investigated, only to find no leads, so they've sent out their last ascending flare for help. I show my phone to Ronnie Anne. "They're talking about you." She smiles in a sardonic way that is almost to tell me subliminally "In your face." She sits up straight and says, "My family wouldn't forget about me. Did you seriously think you'd get away with this?" I laugh, and after I laugh I think about why I laughed. I don't know why I did and get a little frustrated because of it. "Are you hungry?" I ask. She nods and says in another mocking tone: "Yes, I am. Hurry up and make something before the cops get here." She was weeping and whining and tearing and crying, and now she's acting like she's in control. Why can't we just talk, Ronnie Anne? What stubborn headache is holding you back from just talking to me, telling me a secret, or even just giving me the respect conveyed through eye contact? I go upstairs and look in the fridge. Nothing but old leftovers and expired chicken. I put on my coat and walk down the street, coming to the gas station and entering inside. "Back again?" the man asks. "Yeah. No markers this time. Can I just get a can of spinach or something similar to that?" He shakes his head in dishonor. "No, sir, I'm sorry. We don't have canned foods. We have granola bars, power bars, candy bars... well about just any kind of bar, really." I ask for three granola bars and he rings me up, bagging everything and handing it to me. I thank him and go back home.

       "Here, Ronnie Anne." I toss the bag down in front of her and it makes that horrible plastic swishing and crackling noise that thin bags do. She struggles to get her tied hands into the bag so I take one out for her and hand it to her. She struggles to tear open the packaging so I do that for her as well. "How can you smile at me and make fun of me when I am practically your only tool left that's keeping you alive? I could leave you in this basement to starve, and then you'd be wishing me back like you were wishing on a shooting star. Mind yourself, Ronnie. You're not the wolf. I'm the wolf." I go upstairs and she gnaws on her snack, barely paying attention to what I just said. I decide to go to sleep, despite the sun still being up in the sky, because I have nothing else to do. I wake up the next morning, put on my backpack, and shuffle down the sidewalk to get to school. After I get to the school building, I notice something extremely off. There are several police officers standing in a group, and Clyde is standing right next to one of them and saying something to them. I try to squint my eyes and focus on his mouth, failing to read his lips for a possible clue or message. Attention is drawn to me, however, when Clyde turns, surveying the grounds, and pointing to me. That's when all the police officers, but one, walk my way. Next thing I know, there are three cops in front of me.

       They ask me a few simple questions. Where was I on Monday and Tuesday? Did I know Ronnie Anne? Was there anyone I knew who was close to her? All sorts of things like that. Of course, I lied for some of the questions, (mostly just a fabrication that stretched from the truth). "Yes, I did know of her and thought she was quite pretty, but she's not my type!" Hopefully, with answers like that, the cops will bite their tongues and buzz off. After they finish, I head inside late for second period, and the day goes on like any other. I head home and decide to have a little chat with Ronnie Anne. I crouch down in front of her. She brazenly stares me down, claiming "I'm not afraid of you anymore." I shake my head in disagreement. "Yes, you are Ronnie. I can tell, no matter how hard you try to hide it." Once again, she shouts in my face, "I'M NOT SCARED!" I breath in and sigh. "You are scared. Your eye keeps twitching. You see, everybody has a nervous tic, Ronnie Anne. Yours just happens to show when you stare right at me, and I look right back at you." I stand up and dust my pants off. "The police were at school today. I'm just telling you to give you an ounce of hope. The more hope you have, the more hopelessness to come. I love you. Goodbye." I walk back up the stairs. She screams an insult at me. I smile.