Falling Out of Time

Ronnie | Following Instructions

Following Instructions

Someone was at the door.

Ronnie stared at it.

They knocked again, more forcefully this time. It made Ronnie nervous. He didn't like being nervous.

He tapped his fingers against his thumbs in a rhythm. Something about the motion usually calmed him. He tapped them faster, and in the same order: pointer, middle, ring, pinky, ring, middle, pointer.

It didn't help.

Ronnie was stuck. He wasn't supposed to open the door. That's what Mark said: "Don't open the door for anyone."

Not after last night.

But something about the knock had his stomach in a twist. It didn't sound like it had yesterday. It was louder. Stronger. Ronnie felt like he should open it.

But he wasn't supposed to for anyone. Mark had said so.

"Mrs. Anderson?" a woman's voice said from outside. "My name is Moira Harding from Child Protective Services. May I have a word?"

Mrs. Anderson. Ronnie realized the voice was talking to his mom. He checked around the corner of the den to see if she'd heard.

She hadn't.

Ronnie was glad. He didn't want his mom up again. His tapping escalated at the thought.

"Mrs. Anderson, we've received a call concerning the conditions of the house, and all reports must be followed up with a home visit."

Ronnie didn't understand what the lady was saying, but he knew what a knock meant. She wanted him to open the door.

He started to head back to his room, his mind already wandering to his toys.

"Ah, wai- excuse me!"

Ronnie turned back. The voice now had a face. He stared at the woman looking in through the window. Ronnie liked her shirt — a bright yellow that complemented her olive skin.

"Hi, sweetheart," she said, her tone softening. "I'm sorry if I scared you, but I'm just trying to find your mother. Is she around, or maybe your father?"

He liked her voice, too. It reminded him of one of his favorite teachers. She never scolded Ronnie for dozing off during class.

He looked back at the couch where his mom laid sprawled out. It had taken Mark and him a long time to get her to sleep, and he shivered at the thought of waking her up.

"How about your name?" the nice lady asked. "Mine's Moira. Can you tell me yours?"

He liked this question.

"Ronnie," he answered. He stepped a bit closer to the window so she could hear him.

"It's nice to meet you, Ronnie. Now, is there any way you can open the door for me? I just want to make sure everyone is okay."

Okay. Ronnie glanced down at his arms. He ran a finger along scratches that were just starting to scab over. Did they mean he wasn't okay? He didn't know the answer to that question.

He hated questions without answers.

"What's going on?"

Ronnie looked over his shoulder and found Mark. His eyes were wide, flickering between Ronnie and the lady. Ronnie knew that face; it was the face Mark made when something was wrong.

"Hi, honey," the lady repeated to Mark. "Can you open up the door, please? I'm here with Child Protective Services, and I—"

Ronnie was ripped backwards by the collar of his shirt and dragged into the kitchen. Frantic hands spun him around until he was looking down at Mark's panicked expression.

"What did you say to her?" he asked in a harsh whisper.

"Ronnie," he repeated. He didn't understand why Mark was upset with him. He'd followed the instructions. He hadn't opened the door. Had he done something wrong again?

His fingers resumed their tapping.

He watched as his brother paced around the kitchen, mumbling under his breath. Ronnie did what he did best: waited. Mark was the smartest person Ronnie knew, even smarter than his favorite teacher. Whatever happened, he always had the answers, something Ronnie admired more than anything.

Eventually, Mark tore across the kitchen to a small, cluttered desk. He rushed back to Ronnie and took his face in his hands, making them lock eyes. Whatever was going on was serious. His brother knew how much Ronnie hated eyes.

"Go upstairs and grab the phone," Mark ordered. "You have to call this number and repeat everything I say to whoever answers. If no one answers, keep calling until someone does."

He wrote the number down hastily on Ronnie's arm, then recited the message.

"Do you understand?" Mark asked, meeting Ronnie's eyes once again.

Ronnie nodded. He had his task, and he'd make sure to do it right.

They broke apart, running off in opposite directions. Ronnie took the stairs two at a time, then walked purposefully to the house phone that sat on a small wooden table. Reading off his arm, Ronnie dialed carefully, then held the headset up to his ear. He couldn't help but feel a little excited. He'd never used the phone before.

Someone picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

The voice was gritty, like when Ronnie kicked rocks against the sidewalk on his way home from school. He recognized it instantly.

All excitement left his body. Ronnie tapped his fingers feverishly. It had been years since he heard this voice, and he wanted to hang up. For the first time, he didn't like Mark's instructions, which only made him feel worse.

But Mark had said to deliver the message, so that's what Ronnie was going to do.

"Who is this?"

"Ronnie."

Silence.

Then, "How did you get this number?"

"Mark."

More silence. After a minute, shuffling filled the receiver, followed by a heavy sigh.

"Is everything alright? Is Jeanie—" his father's voice cut off as he cleared his throat. "What's going on?"

Holding the mouthpiece close to his lips, Ronnie recited Mark's words just as he'd said them, ignoring the knocks from downstairs:

"Mom's sick. There's a lady here to take us away. You need to come get us. Now."

Then, Ronnie hung up.