Where Darin Went

01: DARIN GOES MISSING

        THE FALL OF 2004

        TYBEE ISLAND, GEORGIA

Need to talk, but no one will listen?

Are you in a tough spot in your life right now, and you think no one out there's willing to lend their ear to you?

Well, think again! If you need advice, just ask Darin McDowell!

If you're thinking of writing to "Dear Darin," please send your problems to this following address...

Emme reaches with short, stubby fingers for the magazine on her father’s coffee table.

✎

DEAR EMME,

OH, MY SILLY, CRAZY, SPECTACULAR EMMELINE.

✎

        TEN YEARS LATER

        JANUARY 21ST, 2014 – 4:51 PM, EASTERN STANDARD TIME

        SAVANNAH, GEORGIA (THE HISTORIC DISTRICT)

Emme Foss firmly believes that her parents have made it their mission in life to embarrass her.

It’s been roughly three hours, and Emme’s spent them all dressed up in a ridiculous carrot suit they’d bought two years ago from some shady online boutique when they started their business. It’s two sizes too big, two times heavier than her, and two times worse than anything she could’ve imagined happening to her.

But her parents, dressed as a tomato and a stalk of celery, keep up their excited charade, parading around their converted Volkswagen Bus, to the point where Emme’s sure it’s not a charade anymore, and they’re just really, really excited about organic smoothies.        

“Come get a healthy, delicious smoothie! Free of harmful chemicals and artificial flavors!” Her mother exclaims from the front of the bus, looking like a long, green pool noodle in her celery costume. “It’s Smorganic!”

Emme feels as though she might as well die, but Spencer Birch has shown up to her side, immediately making her day better in the form of a white envelope, sealed with a Californian stamp.

“You don’t know the lengths I had to go to to get you this one,” Spencer says under his breath, swiping the still sealed letter from his coat pocket, handing it discreetly to Emme.

She looks up at her friend, wide-eyed and appreciative. She tucks it safely away in her bag, away from sight, sneaking in a quick hug before her mother can walk by, “Thank you,” she whispers.          

Spencer frowns, “My mom’s getting suspicious. She insists that no one writes letters anymore, and those who do are into some weird shit.”

Emme sets her lips in a half smile, “I know you’re taking a risk. And I want to thank you,” she says, and she’s immediately reaching back to one of her parents’ freshly concocted smoothies sitting on the pullout counter attached to her parents’ Volkswagen Bus. “May I offer you a spinach-carrot protein smoothie in exchange for your silence?”

Spencer shoos that away with the back of his hand, scowling, as Emme collapses into laughter. He shivers into his cardigan – from the cold or the thought of drinking one of Marjorie Foss’s concoctions, he’s not sure.

“I’d rather eat the gravel,” he groans. “No offence to Mrs. F, of course.”

“I’m pretty sure just because you say ‘no offence’ doesn’t mean that the offence isn’t taken.”