budlong woods

On October 28th, 1999 my boyfriend disappeared. Three months ago he left me a message.

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He never had a childhood, not really. It wasn't fair, but he never once complained. #budlongwoods #budlong #missing #abandoned #abducted #danny #salvation #childhood #found

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SR 46

SR 46 - We called them "The Monsters"

His name was Frank, but we called him “The Monster.” He lived three trailers over from mine. His lawn was always impeccably trimmed and was the only mobile home with a water feature. He was rail thin with a widow’s peak of dirty blonde hair. Bookish with sunken cheeks and double-wire prescription aviators. Looked like the kind of guy who could grow a mustache at fourteen years old and never…

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We were always halfway to somewhere. #budlongwoods #budlong #missing #abandoned #abducted #danny #lost #searching #help #mourning

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#2

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I think this was the only job he ever had. #budlongwoods #budlong #missing #abandoned #abducted #danny #sloan

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40° 18′ 6″ N, 87° 28′ 34″ W

I have a driving problem.   As different exits zoom past me, I find myself feeling regret.  What about that city?  What lies there?  What about that town?  I think about the possibilities, the stories and maybe the answers that lie within each town.  Each off-ramp I see falling behind me causes a pang and a slight panic in my gut.  The urge to turn around, diverge from my path, overtakes my thoughts.   While driving, I have to steady myself often.  Think of the destination, tighten my grip and sally forth.   It's easier here in Chicago.  I can walk most places, take any detour I want and do my best not to over-think missed opportunities.

Irrelevant anyway.   I've been spending all of my time in one place in the city, but every so often I retrace my steps. Hit the road.  Follow the map. The Midwest and I have become uneasy friends.   It's funny...or maybe something else...I spent so long waiting to leave the Midwest.   When I finally got out, I assumed it would only be harbor at Christmas, Thanksgiving and inevitable funerals.   I talked to Shelly again yesterday.  She says she's good.  Her kids are good.  I wish I believed her.

She asked me,  "What do you think you'll find?" "You remember that day they jumped me in the locker level bathroom?  Bruised my ribs and split my lip?  How I kicked and yelled and spat?  How he heard the noise, because he was never in class, and came running in?  With the craziest eyes I had ever seen?  He lunged at one of them and then another and they went running."  

"He helped me up...cleaned my face.  Smiled, lit a cigarette and said, 'It's 'cuz you're so small...gotta teach you how to use that.'  He stubbed out his cigarette and took great caution in kissing my lips.  Didn't want to hurt me anymore than I already was.  

'It will change,' he said. 'There's no other option.'   And in that moment, I believed him.  I felt purposeful.  Destined.  I felt...I was beginning.  That's what I'm hoping to find."

We sat silent on the phone for a good two minutes.  

"Good luck,' she said, hanging up without a goodbye. This morning I rented a car.  Now I'm heading back to Cookville.  Mourning all the exits along my way.  

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40° 18′ 6″ N, 87° 28′ 34″ W

40° 18′ 6″ N, 87° 28′ 34″ W

I have a driving problem. As different exits zoom past me, I find myself feeling regret.  What about that city?  What lies there?  What about that town?  I think about the possibilities, the stories and maybe the answers that lie within each town.  Each off-ramp I see falling behind me causes a pang and a slight panic in my gut.  The urge to turn around, diverge from my path, overtakes my…

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#1