Sk8erboi169

Sk8rboi169

“Hey, I’m Ryan. I was browsing and I came across your page. I think you’re absolutely beautiful and I hope that we can be friends.” She glances at his profile. The layout consists of a collage of Tony Hawk photos, with various videos of his famous tricks. His headline reads, “Tony Hawk rules,” She looks through his pictures. Her favorite is the one where he stands in an empty pool, wearing khaki cargo shorts and a snug black Ed Hardy t-shirt that curves against his muscles. His light, brown hair sways in the wind; his hazel eyes twinkle. Intrigued, she responds.

* * *

She received the pink laptop as a birthday gift earlier in the year. Her mother warned her not to use it for mindless surfing, but she did not listen.

“Now this computer is for school. I don’t want you doing anything illegal like downloading songs on Lemonwire, or you’ll ruin it.”

“Limewire, mom,” She replied, already browsing. Seconds later, a news alert appeared on the screen. A seventeen year old girl ran away from home. Police suspected that she was kidnapped by someone she met online. How could she be so stupid, meeting up with a complete stranger? She thought; that will never happen to me.

When she told her friends she received a computer, they suggested that she create a MySpace page. It would be a way for everyone to stay in touch and meet new people. Hesitant, she refused. One of her best friends then explained that she met her current boyfriend through MySpace. She never had a boyfriend. Curious to explore the possibility of finally finding one, she created a page that same day. Within twenty-four hours she was hooked, obsessed.

                                                                  * * *

The first exchanges between her and Ryan are casual, icebreakers. Soon after, he asks for her screen name. Reluctant at first, she asks for his. He gives it to her: sk8rboi169. She slowly reveals more information, and eventually there is not a topic that cannot be discussed. Their first conversation lasts until 5:30 the next morning, only ending because the battery on her laptop dies. After promising to chat the next day, she goes to sleep, only to wake up for school thirty minutes later.          

         As soon as she arrives home that day, she logs onto the computer, without removing her book bag. This becomes her daily routine: she goes to school; comes home; then sits in front of her computer until her tired eyes lose focus. The hours spent staring at the computer become days, which then turn into weeks. She grows to like him, a lot. What’s not to like about him? She thinks he listens to me; he understands me and everything I feel; and never judges me like everyone else does. He makes me feel special. I’ve never felt this way before          . She deserts her concerned friends, who warn her not to get too close. Though they encouraged her decision to create a page, they see a change in her demeanor. She does not hang out with them as much as she used to, and never returns their calls. When they confront her, she angrily tells them, “Why can’t you just be happy for me?  Finally I have a guy that really cares about me and all you can do is tell me he’s not right for me! You’re just jealous!” She storms off.

    “Are you okay? You seem quiet.” A message appears on her screen later that day.

    “No, I’m fine. I’m pissed off because my friends think I spend too much time talking to you.”

    “Please, don’t get upset. If they can’t support you in your decisions then they aren’t your true friends.” She believes him, hanging on to his every word. She isolates herself from the outside world, defending her actions by saying: I don’t need anyone in my life, except him. He’s all that matters to me.

         A few days later, he writes her, “I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. I think I’m falling in love with you.”

    “Oh Ryan,” she responds, “I feel the same way.”

    “I really want to see you,” he replies.

  She hesitates, “I don’t know. Maybe we should wait.”

    “Okay, there’s no rush. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

    “I will.”

         Days pass. One afternoon, she quickly scampers to her room, anxious to talk to Ryan. Instead, she finds her mother standing there, with a manila folder in one hand, and her laptop in the other. 

    “Hey mom, what are you doing?” she asks.

    “I thought I told you I didn’t want you getting into any trouble.”

    “Mom, what are you talking about?” she replies nervously.

    “My computer got a virus, and I came to use yours. You received a message that said,    ‘Hey sweetie, I’ve been thinking about you all day. How’s your day so far?’ I was curious, so I went through your documents and found these,” She holds up the manila folder, disgust plastered on her face, “I read the emails you’ve been sending to this, ‘Ryan’.”

    “Why are you going through my stuff? That’s an invasion of privacy!”

    “I’m your mother and this is my house. I can do what I want. Now, you are not to talk to this boy anymore. It could be dangerous.”

    “It’s not dangerous! You don’t know him like I do!”

    “You barely know him yourself!”

    “I love him!”

    “Love? You don’t even know what that word means! How can you be in love with someone you’ve never even seen?”

    “True love knows no limits.”

    “Do you hear yourself? You’re fucking delusional! You’re grounded for a month. That means no phone; no TV; you are to come straight home from school; and you can kiss your weekends goodbye. Oh, and I’m taking your laptop.”

    “Ohmigod, mom, you can’t!”

    “I think I just did.”

    “What about school? I do need a computer for school mother,” she says, with ice dripping from her trembling voice.

    “You can use the family computer in the den, but you will be under constant supervision.”

    “Fine!”  Her mother leaves, as she cries into her pillow.

         That night, she sneaks onto the family computer. Ryan sends her a message the instant she logs on. She immediately apologizes for not talking to him earlier, and tells him about the argument that took place between her and her mother. Supportive, he offers help and advice. She breathes a sigh of relief, and she expresses her desire to run away. He responds with an offer that she does not refuse.

    “We can escape together,” he suggests. She agrees, recommending they meet at a nearby park.

    “Hey, that’s right by my house!” he says.

    “Me too. So I’ll see you in…about an hour.”

  “Yeah, definitely,” She logs off; packs a few clothes and her favorite teddy bear; and leaves a note on the table. It reads: Mom and Dad, I’m so sorry for everything. I just want everything to be right between us, which is why I’m leaving for a little while. I’ll be back soon so don’t try to find me. I love you. Tears form in her eyes as she writes the last three words. She takes two hundred fifty dollars from her parents’ hidden stash and leaves, just as the 11:00 news begins with an amber alert for that missing seventeen year old.

    “Where are you?” He texts her.

    “I’m on my way,” she replies.

    “Well, hurry up. I can’t wait to see you.”

    “Me too,”

    “I love you,” he responds; her heart skips a beat. She walks quickly, increasing her pace with every step, until she finally arrives at the park. She enters. Her eyes sweep over the small sandbox, which, when she was younger, seemed infinite. She walks further, past the jungle gym, on which she spent most of her childhood. Finally, she reaches the swing set. She sits there, patiently combing her fingers through her auburn hair. She wraps herself in her father’s oversized, black jacket, as the menacing wind sways her back and forth. The swings have the perfect view of the parking lot, where she is supposed to meet Ryan. He told her that he would be waiting in a black eclipse, but she does not see it. Maybe I’m early, she thinks; shivering as the ghastly wind howls in her ear. Scanning the parking lot once more, she notices a black van. It is an old van, and the windows are painted white. That’s a weird looking van. I wonder who it belongs to. She waits. Behind her, the light sound of rustling leaves alerts her.

    “Finally, you’re here,” She begins. A hand clasps her shoulder. She turns, but the seventeen year old Tony Hawk fan is not there. Instead, she sees someone older, a monster. He stands at about six feet. His once white, mustard-stained undershirt barely covers his stomach. He wears torn, black basketball shorts with dirty, black sneakers. Covering his receding hairline is a black Yankees hat. Unshaven, the gray hair on his face stands out against his olive oil complexion. His eyes, black as coal, burn with an intensity that she has never seen. Though he is not completely visible in the limited light of the park, she knows that this could not possibly be Ryan. This isn’t the guy I love, a chill passes down her spine he’s older, disgusting.

She has no time to speak. He covers her mouth with a forceful kiss; his breath saturated with alcohol. She tries to fight him off. His rough hands tighten their grip, as he whispers into her neck the three words that she would give anything to hear her parents say to her once more. He drags her to the black van with painted windows. She kicks and screams, but no one hears her, no one cares. He shoves her into the back and drives. She notices that the van is furnished with a small television, microwave, and a computer. She realizes with horror that the stranger lives here. In an attempt to distract herself from the desolate fate that awaits her, she tries to concentrate on her childhood memories, all of which seem hazy as they slowly fade. Her eyes focus on the television. She silently prays that someone would help run away, help her escape.

         Suddenly, the van stops. The door opens and in comes the man who took her.

    “Why are you doing this?” she pleads.

    “True love knows no limits,” he replies, slowly climbing in, stalking her as a lion stalks his prey. Her lips part; a gasp escapes.

Overwhelmed, she makes one final, futile attempt to break free and fails. The last images seared into her mind before she loses consciousness are: this monster unzipping his pants and climbing on top of her; the news broadcaster in the background breaking the story of that now dead seventeen year old; and her kidnapper repeatedly whispering the words “I love you,” as he lowers himself onto her. She clutches her teddy bear as the world fades to black.

                                                                  * * *

         She wakes hours later to find herself lying naked on the road, in an unrecognizable place. She tries to move but the throbbing, knife-like pains prevent her from lifting a finger. She hears a car approaching and tears slowly fall; she prays that he has not come back for her. She turns her head, inhaling the blood that surrounds her. She searches for her teddy bear, the only thing that has ever shown her unconditional love. Brown, with a blue and white, striped hat and scarf, the teddy bear was a gift from her parents when she was born. She spots it, lying a foot away. She reaches for it, but cringes in pain. The bright headlights swiftly approach, stopping before her. A middle-aged couple emerges the green minivan that almost hits her. The man lifts her, carries her to their car, and rushes her to the hospital. She wants to thank them for their kindness, but as she opens her mouth, a cough of blood is released. She hears the radio broadcaster telling the story of that murdered seventeen year old, who was kidnapped and then raped repeatedly by someone she met online.

    “But we must remember that with every death, there is rebirth,” he says.

         As I lay in the car, I think about that girl found dead in a pool of her own blood, murdered by someone she thought she knew, realizing that it has been me the whole time. “With every death, there’s rebirth,” I whisper to myself as the darkness that once surrounded my world is gradually replaced by a warm, bright light. I am home.