Every October 1st, I think of her. When Polly was kidnapped, I was not much younger than her. I sat in my classroom at school, watching Channel One news. It was the very first time that I realized there were bad people in the ‘verse. I didn’t understand how you could be a little girl playing at a slumber party and then…
Still today, I get a pit at the bottom of my stomach. Every single October first. Actually a few days before. Because I know this day is coming. I take a few minutes to focus when I wake up. I close my eyes tight and I think about her. I try to send comforting vibes to her family. I know that sounds silly. But it’s really all I can offer.
And by the end of the day, I am steaming mad. Mad that 21 years later, Richard Allen Davis is allowed to live and breathe. He’s fed. He has medical care. He’s allowed to read books. He’s allowed to listen to music. Simply put, he’s allowed. Polly wasn’t. Those years are Polly’s and he’s stolen them away. I’m mad that our system allows someone to live after brutally raping and murdering a sweet, innocent girl.
But I’m not here to talk about my anger. I’m here to remember Polly. Where ever you are, sweet angel, you are not forgotten.