Chocolate Eyes and Warm Hands

Chocolate Eyes and Warm Hands... Part 5

* * * * *

            I became dedicated. I was a fighter, a warrior. I laid down the law to Mom. I was going to skip school, I was going to find Anthony, and what she said about my plan was not going to stop me. She calmly accepted it. I was thankful at her understanding. Also, it was that night I realized how truly stupid I was for hating her. I saw how much I persecuted her and Dad.

You see, I had completely forgotten the first night of the divorce. I heard her sobbing in the next room. They were tears of regret. She had her heart broken too. Despite her best efforts to save the marriage, they both knew it would never be the same again, even though she still loved Dad. I didn’t listen to what the wall had been crying. I was too swallowed up in my own selfish anger and frustration.

She left me her work number in case she was in a meeting and drove to the bank. I did my research. I looked up Smith in the phone book, and to just my luck, there were a total of 66 families in town with the last name “Smith.” It completely slipped my mind that Smith was an incredibly common last name. (I can only imagine how the long the line must be for New York.) I decided to save those for later. I wasn’t ready to face the possibility of talking to Anthony’s parents, or worse, Anthony. I decided to use mental research primarily.

 Anthony would talk about going over to Wendy’s all the time. We would study there on occasion and he’d treat me to a frosty. I decided to head there first. I grabbed my bike and decided to visit there. It was time to interrogate.

I walked up to the worker there while panting. I had never biked faster in my life! It was empty, a slow day at this time, and the tall boy with a nose piercing, probably 18, seemed startled at the sight of a teenager here during school hours, but also must have been glad he had a customer. He didn’t even speak of the subject. Instead, he swiped off the bored look on his face and replaced it with a professionally phony smile, (as if I didn’t see his I’m-so-bored-to-death-please-kill-me look,) and asked, “Welcome to Wendy’s. What would you like today?”

            With a sympathetic smile, I replied, “I’m not here to order.”

Disappointment conquered his emotions, and not caring less about his image now that I was no longer a customer, he scoffed, “Then what are you here for?”

I continued to my topic. “Do you know a guy named Anthony?”

His brain started working hard, trying to match face to name. I pursued, “Messy blonde hair, brown eyes? Always wears a baseball cap?”

Then it hit him. “Oh, Anthony Smith? He’s one of our best customers!”

Finally! A lead! “Yes! That’s him! Do you know what he’s been doing recently? Has he come here lately?”

Now, a good employee would’ve never told me customer information. Either he was not exactly employee-of-the-month-material, or he saw how much I cared about knowing (although I highly doubt it.) “His dad came by and got a small vanilla frosty and small fries, which was Anthony’s regular, especially recently.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Anthony from last year would always come by with a bag from the drug store across the street, and he would order a medium vanilla Frosty and medium fries. The Anthony from four months ago would order a small frosty and fries with no bag in sight. I haven’t seen him at all within the past month or two.”

Perplexed by the strange mystery Anthony left me, I thanked the boy-man (what do you call someone like that?) and left. I decided to head toward Bart’s Drug Store, the one the Wendy’s boy-man was talking about. I felt like a detective, going around with questions on a missing person. But this time, it wasn’t to find out where he is now. I wanted to know what Anthony got here before all this. Before me. I suddenly felt my stomach sicken at the very thought, and almost fell at the real possibility of it all. He could’ve left because of me.

After taking a second’s rest, I walked into the store, still probably a little pale. The man who must’ve been Bart was medium height and fat, and he had a scraggly beard. He must have been entering his late fifty’s. I went up to him and asked, “Do you know Anthony Smith?” I looked at him hard. He had to know I was serious.

“Little Andy? Why, of course! It’s like asking if I know my own son!” His answer was jolly, but he quickly became suspicious. “Who wants to know?”

Now, let me interrupt this dialogue to point something out. I was blown away when Bart answered me. Why? Well, for one thing, his voice was loud. Really loud. A trumpet-with-a-megaphone-slash-microphone kind of loud. Also, he seemed very… dull, at first. He slouched and scratched his butt, like one of those cavemen-like people. (ANOTHER LESSON I LEARNED THAT YEAR: NEVER JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER. EVER.) Thus, when he answered like he was secretly Santa Clause on Christmas Eve, I was… let’s say startled, for now. Back into the dialogue:

I still looked at him the same way I would Anthony, when we first met each other, but more serious. I needed to show him that I meant business. “Hannah Teator. Pleasure.” I stiffly held out my hand. He slapped it like it was a high five and grinned.

He laughed, yet another unexpected mood swing, and said, “Well, I’ll be! You’re Miss Hannah?”

I was startled by the owner’s comment. “How do you know me?”

Bart looked up thoughtfully, like looking toward the heavens would help make the memory clearer. “Well, after one day in November, our little Andy comes in; all dressed up, all dazed in a trance. I could tell it was love right off the bat.” He winked at me. “When I asked how hard cupid hit his head, he simply answered, ‘I met Hannah.’ Those past months he never seemed happier. God, I miss that boy.”

I blushed at the thought, letting my mind waver toward that night, which was one hard to forget. I silenced as my mind drifted off into questions I longed to ask him. Quickly, I came back to Earth and asked, “He was a regular here, right?”

“Came here every week. Would buy the same thing every time. Ever since he was a boy.” He rubbed his hairy chin. “Why?”

I blushed once more. I was caught in the act of snooping. “What was it he would buy so much?”

He continued to rub his chin. “Now, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he would come by here every week to buy hangover medicine. He hasn’t come here in quite a while, I reckon. Of course, I’ve been too busy with taxes and the shop to find out the cause. That’s why you’re here, though, ain’t it?”

I blushed even heavier the third time. He gave his jolly laugh again and patted my head. “Ah, bull’s eye!”

He looked at me again, with tender, fatherly eyes, and said, “I know I may seem a suspicious figure at first glance, and I’m still a stranger to you, and Heaven knows how many reasons why you shouldn’t do this, but I want you to call me if you ever find out where in the world that boy went, okay?” He handed me his phone number. “You’re not the only one who cares about that boy.”

After that, I left the shop. I actually trusted him. I was sure Anthony would agree with me that he was indeed a fatherly figure. I thought over what Bart said. Why in the world did he need hangover medicine every week?

A horrible feeling hit the pit of my stomach, and I rode back to the house. I had to do it. I knew my only option to get the answers I needed were from his family, or himself. I grabbed the school directory and found their names. Anthony Smith, 8th grade. Son of Drew and Sandy Smith.

I looked for the names Drew or Sandy. Once I found them, I dialed their phone number. My heart skipped a beat as the phone continued to ring. I yearned for someone, anyone, to pick up, yet hoped it wasn’t Anthony. Finally, right before I was going to give up, I heard an elderly woman’s voice creak, “Hello?”

“Yes, um… is the Smith residence?”

“It is. May I ask who this is?”

“Oh, I’m a… friend of Anthony’s from school. Is he home?” Shoot! I guess I’m going to have to talk to him now.

My question was met with silence. I grew worried. My heart became so much heavier. “Hello? Are you still there?”

After a moment’s pause, I heard the voice answer, “You don’t know?”

* * * * *