Girl With Many Names

"Tag!" I'm tapped on the shoulder. "Aw man!" Roy is already sprinting the other way, but closest to me is Alice. She sees me and starts down the hill, screaming and laughing. "Come here!" As she reaches the bottom, she screams, but this time, it didn't sound like the playful kind

as she was grabbed by an old man with a white van who put a hand over her mouth so she’d stop screaming. She flailed her arms to ask for help, and we chased after her, but the van drove off. And that was the last we saw of her.

We never played tag again. For years, the sight of any white van made me sick. But then, this morning, I swear I saw the same van as the one that took her away. I followed it, becoming more certain with each mile driven that it was the exact same one & that Maya was still inside.

The chase led me to the edge of the town, where nothing but empty, dilapidated barns sat in overgrown fields of green. The van pulled into the dusty driveway of a red barn, its paint peeling under the hot sun. I stopped on the opposite side of the road, waiting for their exit.

As the sun lazily swept across the sky, I couldn't help but remember the good old days. "Why are they called tootsie rolls Mama?" "They just are, hon. They just are." She would have been a 9th grader by now. If only I could have done something to stop her. If only I'd known.

My sweet Tootsie. My first crush, and first heartbreak. She had a sweet tooth, and took the cake name “Swiss roll” way too literally. The last anyone saw her, she was rolling down the Alps.

Her story had inspired the world and an Olympic sport. I visited the mountain annually. On my 15 year visit I stopped by a local chocolate shop only to spy a familiar face. Turns out she had not rolled down the mountain, after all. She had lost interest and left town. Oh well.