Dear Rosie

24 April 2015

It's been 61 days, can you believe it?

I'm writing this at the diner near the pier, with chocolate milkshake in front of me. I get judged look by a little boy who sits on the diner stools with his mom—munching on his breakfast pancakes—probably his mom telling him to not be a loser like me when he grows up. Me, a 25 years old guy, unemployed, writing letters for his missing best friend.

I'm sorry, I couldn't help it.

You haven't answered any of my letters, nor answering my 156th calls. It always goes right into voice mail, and I started to memorize the way to set up your voice mail. Hi, it's Rosie. Probably can't talk right now, send me a message. That high pitch tone of yours, almost sounds like you're talking to a baby, even though I know you hate babies.

Anyway, I also started to look your name up in google search. Trying to find your new instagram account or a secret blog. I know you're not that stupid leaving trails behind. But still, I'm curious. But I only found articles, lots and lots of articles about your disappearance. And I felt a lump inside my heart every time I stumbled upon your name, written in big capital words in the headlines.

Seriously, where are you, Rosie?

Tell me you're not going to be Alaska. The girl in one of John Green's novel, who disappear because she loves mysteries so much so she became one. You know I hate that novel. I assumed you had your reasons to left Kenningston, and your grandma. But tell me, why you had to? Because ever since you are missing, the only answer I have is that you wanted to disappear. Just like Alaska

I still remember the day Grandma Ann broke the news to me. That Wednesday afternoon, when she was out getting groceries, and you're just got back from tutoring the kids. You said you wanted to go for a walk near the woods, so you changed into trainers and a hoodie. You know Grandma Ann, she's almost 70, so her memory is not so good. That's why when the police came and asked if she saw anything weird from you, she said nothing. But in fact, after looking more to it, we realized you also bring a backpack with you.

A walk in the woods with a backpack?

I didn't blame Grandma Ann for that. Some people look at her with suspicion, but I know she had nothing to do with it. I trusted her completely. Because she's the only person you have.

But after quite some time, when the police said her story keeps changing, from 5 pm to 5. 15. From going for a walk to get an errand. I don't know anymore. I haven't seen her since the day I went to Lawson, and I haven't seen you guys interact for so long, so maybe. Maybe there's a chance that Grandma Ann has something to do with it. But I doubted it. I highly doubted it.

So, back to that day. Based on what grandma Ann told the police, you said you went to the woods for a walk at 5 pm. You didn't bring a car, but only a backpack. The last CCTV camera that catches you was at the intersection near the supermarket. The route was weird because if you wanted to go to the woods, you don't have to go to the main street. The woods is near The Pier, which you can go straight from your house backyard. It's been countless times we went there, especially back in Highschool.

But no, you didn't take that route. I saw the CCTV recording, and you just walked, not too fast like you're running away from something. But I can't see your face clearly because you wear your hoods, and I don't know why, because that day was not cloudy at all.

You didn't stop at the supermarket to buy something, but just passed it. And then your silhouette disappears as the next CCTV that should've catches you broke, and you are probably walking on the blind spot. The routes from the main street are too vary, Rosie. From downtown Kenningston, to the freeway exit. So we don't know where you were going.

The police said to me, that they needed time to analyze. Analyze your facial expression on the CCTV recording, and your overall behavior for the last month. They even interrogated me, asking if I find you slightly weird, or if you ever talked about moving out of town. I said to them I only speak to you by phone, and no, you were not weird at all. Sure, our conversation wasn't an hour-long like it used to. But it is because we now have responsibilities. And you never told me about moving out, you love Kenningston. I know it by heart, and you will never leave Grandma Ann alone.

But still, you did.

The police told me you don't look nervous in the CCTV recording. Your body language didn't tell us that you're in danger or anything like that. Instead, you look fine. You look like you know what you're doing, and that made this whole thing even more confusing.

Why do you want to be missing?

The police keep asking me because Grandma Ann keeps mentioning my name throughout the investigation. But honestly, Rosie, I know nothing. I just know that you're now a teacher, and you're enjoying your work. You like to be around people, and because you like history so much you want to teach it. I didn't know your whole routine each day. But to my knowledge, you like to brew a cup of tea every evening and sit on your porch to read. Just that. And if you remember, you would call me when you read something that reminded you of us. We would talk, about my work, about your long day. It used to be an hour-long, but lately it's more than fine to hear about you for a god 5 minutes. I know you're tired, me too. This whole adulting thing is pretty hard for both of us. So I understand if sometimes you didn't want to talk.

But there's one thing I told the police though, about one of our long phone calls, probably a month ago. You told me one of your students came from a very rich family and has a beach house on a remote island, when you assigned her to write about her summer break, she wrote about it. And you said to me, it must be nice to have a beach house that you visit every summer. Like a place to get away.

But the police said it doesn't help with anything because you never mentioned a specific location. Grandma Ann told them you like New Mexico, or Santorini, or even Bali. But that's a place everyone wanted to visit sometime in their life, and it's not a place where you just decided to live permanently, at least that is what I was thinking.

So again, nothing. We have no clues about where you are now. One day, you go for a walk near the woods, but you didn't actually go to the woods. Your silhouette was on the mainstreet CCTV, and you didn't look scared or anything.

Oh, and the police are looking at your bank records. They said your savings were still there, untouched. But it's not much. They asked Grandma Ann if she ever saw you withdraw a lot of money to purchase something, but she said the only times you used money is only for food and books.

So I thought, you probably had cash on you. And you hid it safely from Grandma Ann. I hope you bring it with you, because I couldn't imagine you getting cold and hungry in the street.

And I hope, I really hope you left clues for me. Anything. I know you're probably didn't want to be found, but Rosie, I can't stand seeing Grandma Ann cry. At least tell her you're okay, so that she can continue to live.

PS. I left this letter glued under our regular table at the diner. I know it's near impossible if you're still in Kenningston. But who knows? I plan to left one letter in every place that are meaningful to you, to us. Hoping that one day you miss it, and when you do, I want you to know that I miss you too.