Snake Bite Heart With a Bubble Gum Smile

Hands on knees, I crouch over in front of the candy store David works at. My breath comes out in labored spurts. It seems my ribcage may explode from the violent banging of my lungs and heart. I straighten, though my breath is still uneven, and walk into the store.

The candy store, whose name I've never learned even if it is in bright pink on the store walls, is covered in vibrant colored candies, plush models of popular candy brands, and neon colors. There are Christmas candies on sale in one section and Thanksgiving themed candies in another. The store is empty. David stands behind the counter, staring at the store computer.

"Welcome," he greets, not looking up.

"Well that's not a very warm welcome," I comment.

"Feeling better, I assume," he says, but still doesn't look up.

By now, my voice must be recognizable to him. I walk to his counter and pull my body to a sitting position on top of it.

"No."

He looks up when the blunt answer has left my lips.

"Why?" he asks.

"Everything is just stupid," I say.

I lack the ability to properly put my own feelings into words.

"What happened?"

"There's a missing child poster with my face and information on it in the music store down that way," I motion toward the street. "And I saw one of my brother's band mates. He recognized me and decided to call Alex. I ran here to avoid the brother-sister confrontation."

He stares at me. It's unnerving.

"What?" I inquire.

"You're going to get found," he states.

"I don't want to get found. Nothing has changed there. I don't want to go back."

"How do you know nothing has changed?"

"I just know."

He shakes his head.

"Don't say it," I tell him.

Don't tell me to give it a chance, open my mind, or any stupid shit like that.

"Fine."

Our conversation ends. I swing my legs, a habit I have and always have had. A nervous habit, of course. I can't help being nervous. The idea of my family trying so hard confuses me and excites me to no end. Why would they try so hard now? There has to be some reason. Are there rumors flying around that accuse them of murdering me and hiding my dead body in the basement to rot? Do they feel bad for missing out on sixteen full years of my life? Did they just realize that I ran away?

That last one might be it. I did date the note I left. I know now they went in my room and apparently searched it enough to find my pictures hidden under my bed.

Maybe they decided, for one second of their busy lives, they wanted to see what their only daughter was doing.

"You look happy in this picture," David's voice pulls me from my thoughts.

He turns the computer screen towards me. MySpace is pulled up. All Time Low's photo album labeled "Mini Gaskarth- please find" is open. My dance picture from three years ago is on view. I'm smiling wide, my eyes holding a happy glint. Blue eye shadow matches the altered Dorothy outfit. The red heels sparkle. My hair is in the custom Dorothy pigtails.

I remember that show clearly. It was my solo, the one I was performing for the most important competition in our state, the one I wanted my family to see. They didn't go to the show. They were all too busy. I wanted them to participate, to come out as the three different characters Dorothy meets. Modernized like my short-skirted outfit, of course. My father would have been the tin man; my mother, the scarecrow; and my brother as the lion. It would have made the performance that much more special. They shot that idea down. I guess they didn't support my dancing like my naïve, thirteen-year-old mind had thought.

I got first place.

And a nasty cold the next day from crying myself to sleep.