Gone (Ianthony)

Two Months, Three Weeks, One Day, and Thirteen Hours Before

Anthony:     

In seventh grade, I had to do a research paper on dementia and how it affected older people.

And, of course, I didn't do the assignment. My twelve-year-old self decided taking an E and dropping a letter grade in the class would be better than learning about why old people lose their memories and go insane at some point. 

But right now, I really wished I had done that assignment. Or even knew anything about dementia. 

Because as I stared at the old woman in front of me, Ian's grandma I hadn't seen in years, I had no idea how to ask her what I needed to.

"Hey, so, my best friend and your grandson is missing and could be dead but I really think he's alive and wants me to find him and I think he wanted me to find that old painting in your daughter's house and figure out that you painted it and find out where he is from you. Can you help?" No.

"You remember your grandson, Ian, right? Well, everyone thinks he's dead but I know he's not and I need your help finding him." Definitely not.

I decided to start off simple. I cleared my throat.

"Hi," I choked out.

She just continued staring at me, like she had been the whole thirty seconds or so I'd been sitting in silence, trying to figure out what to say. Thirty seconds - well, scratch that, I had to wait five whole days before I could even get in to see her, and "hi" was still the only thing I could come up with.

I smiled at her. She looked like she attempted to smile back - the corners of her pale lips just slightly turned up and the crinkles around her eyes gained more depth. I couldn't see any teeth though. Maybe she didn't have any left.

I waited a moment to see if she would say anything. When she didn't, I let my smile fall.

"Do... do you know who I am?"

She stared at me for a moment. I think she might have shook her head. She didn't look like she could move much. I felt bad. She didn't even look all that old. At least she was still alive. My grandma died when I was fourteen.

"I'm one of Ian's friends. Your grandson. His best friend, actually." I bit my lip. "We've been friends for a really long time. I used to see you a lot - I would come to family dinners and stuff. It's been a while, though. I won't be offended if you say you have no idea who I am."

I smiled again. She still only stared. God, Ian's mom didn't tell me she didn't talk, either.

"Okay, um..."

I scanned the room, looking for something, anything. But as my eyes sweeped around, it looked like any old, cliche retirement home room. An uncomfortable-looking bed, a small table and dim lamp beside it, a tiny wooden desk on the other side, plain gray tiled floors and an open window in the middle of a boring white wall. No signs of Ian.

Maybe this was all a big misunderstanding. Maybe I read the clue wrong. 

Or maybe there was no clue in the first place. Maybe Ian really was dead and I was just clinging onto some false sense of hope because I was a selfish bastard who just couldn't accept that the most important person in his life had really killed himself.

But, I had waited five days to come here. It was worth a shot.

I sighed.

"Look, this might mean absolutely nothing to you or you could know exactly what I'm talking about, but... Ian's missing and I think you might know-"

I stopped. I watched her.

She smiled. She did have teeth. They were yellow and looked like they hadn't seen the magic of the dentist in decades, but she had them.

"Anthony?"

Her voice was shrill. Fragile. Soft.

I nodded. Slowly. 

She reached onto the bedside table next to her, where a small piece of paper sat by an untouched glass of water. She handed it to me. Her hand was small, shriveled, and shook even worse than mine did when I first saw Ian's note.

I took it, gently grabbing the other end, and looked at it. It was in Ian's handwriting.

I smiled.

There were three numbers on it - a combination, it looked like.

34-17-11.

I stared at the numbers for a long time. They were familiar. I knew them from somewhere. 

"Do you know what this means?" I asked, shooting for one more miracle of the day.

But, she had returned to her statue-like state.