Thursday, May 26, 2011
Josh is nowhere to be found.
I hesitate to use the word missing, because of the scenarios it brings to mind, but he hasn’t come home in three days.
The part of me that can vividly recall being a terribly persecuted teen knows deep down in my heart that he’s OK and probably holed up somewhere with a bong and a pack of Marlboros.
But the grown-uppity part of me who can see my friend’s heart being torn out through her throat is fearful of that small chance that something happened.
I want to find Josh and I want to slap him across his thoughtless little 15-year-old face. More than anything, I want his mama to know that he’s safe.
And...I get it. For the first time, I can really understand what I used to put my own parents through. The sleepless nights, the judgmental looks from neighbors, the worry and the fear. The helplessness.
So, for what it’s worth, I’m going to offer my parents the opportunity to slap my thoughtless 34-year-old face. Twenty years late is better than never, right?
In all seriousness, though, for those of you who live in the Minneapolis area, please keep an eye out for Josh. For those of you out of state, prayers never hurt.
And if there are any teenagers out there who read my blog, then for fuck’s sake give your parents a hug. You are their hearts.