They had tried to give me away. Again. Handed over to another family. Whether they had kids, dogs, senile grandparents, expensive furniture, short attentions spans, or were crabby all the time, I hated it. I was never good enough and soon I was sent away again.
This family was going to be my third family since February, which was only five months ago. Of course, why I was sent away from my last family was entirely my fault. Really, I don=t even know what I was thinking, trying to shoplift that shiny necklace from a family owned store. It was just so... I don=t know, sparkly! It was quite mesmerizing, and I knew it would look gorgeous on me. It wasn’t my fault really; it was the necklaces. It made me, I’m telling you.
The six-hour journey was painfully monotonous. The car smelled like McDonalds, and the driver couldn't stop talking about his recent visit to the Bahamas. Like I care. To make it worse, the car didn’t have air conditioning, and it must have been 95o outside.
He introduced himself as Jonathon Abrahams, speaking with a pronounced lisp. I said my name was Pear Nickels, even though the one written on the birth certificate is Elizabeth Nickels. I had earned the name ‘Pear’ in first grade, when I was forced to wear an ugly green pear-shaped jumper for picture day. I still don’t like dresses, or the color green. But I love pears. I could live off of pears.
Anyways, I wasn’t planning on taking off like that. I just couldn’t do it again. I didn’t want to. I was sick of being handed about like some pencil that nobody really likes and nobody really cares enough for that they end up losing it or forgetting about it.
I had $125, a library card for a library in West Virginia, and a torn and rumpled letter tucked away in an old wallet in my back pocket. Tossed carelessly in the backseat was a second hand backpack packed with clothes and other worldly possessions I had acquired during my lifetime. The backpack wasn't even full.
As the new Ford Escort pulled into a grungy trailer park I inwardly groaned. This was possibly the place I least wanted to live in. You know what I’m talking about. The trailers are unkept and the paint is peeling. Four-wheelers and motorbikes sit lonely outside on the gravelly lawn. Dirty children are playing on an old swing set, and old women and men sit smoking on their front porch. This is not the ideal foster home location, but hey, you get what you get.
As we came to a stop I got a better look at my new ‘home’. There wasn’t much exciting to tell about it. It pretty much looked like the rest of the trailer parks. Painted in a peach and pine-green color, it looked like a fish on a platter of spinach. On the miniscule front lawn there was a sand box, but from the recent rain had been reduced to a big brown disgusting pile of mud. Several children under the age of five were frolicking in it, under the watchful eye of a squat, balding old lady reading some unknown magazine.
Mr. Abrahams stepped out before I did, and he foolishly left the keys in the ignition. I quickly snatched them before I stepped out of the car. Outside I bent down out of sight, pretending to tie my shoelaces.
"You can go on ahead. I'll only be a second" I told him earnestly. I waited until he reached the porch steps until taking off, throwing the keys into the mud-box on my way.
The sweat from my forehead was streaming into my eyes. I hurriedly wiped it away, not even breaking stride. I could hear him yelling at me from behind. His footsteps getting louder every time they thudded onto the cracked pavement. I had never been a great runner, especially with a backpack on.
Not to mention that this guy had long legs; he must be over six feet tall. I ran past video stores, an arcade, and a pharmacy before I found a promising alley. I streaked down it, almost being decapitated by a swinging door. But the alleyway ended too soon, and opened up into a little suburb. I looked around, searching for a place to hide.
I spied a dumpster, off to my left. It was parked in front of a cheap Chinese restaurant. Not even bothering to look in before I jumped, I threw myself over the edge. It would be better if I didn’t know what I would be sitting on, because I had no other choice and I didn’t want to chicken out.
The landing was soft, which was a pro. Sounds of bugs scuttling around attacked my sense of hearing from every side, making my skin itch. It smelled awful! Like something had died and was left to rot for several months before being fried in cheese.
Suddenly a furry, hard, musty smelling thing landed on my shoulder. Terrified, I screamed a silent scream and started clawing and punching sardastically at the attacker, fully expecting to be mauled, clawed to bits and then eaten. Fortunately I had the sense to realize my attacker was not in fact, fighting back.
A crack of light seeped through the crack near the door of the dumpster, and it fell upon a marble eye, and a little plastic nose. A giant stuffed teddy bear! I thought, relief flooding through me. I mentally scolded myself for being such a spaz. After roughly pushing the giant teddy away from me I peeked out of the dumpster. Mr. Abrahams had just rounded the corner. He looked both ways, and ran right, back towards the main street.
I stayed there for what seemed like hours but what must have only been a few minutes before I hopped out of the gross dumpster and headed left, in the opposite direction. I checked my watch. It was almost 2 pm.
I walked for at least fifteen minutes, while jumping at every bird and noise, which was really tiresome seeing as I was in a lively neighborhood. If I may say so myself I think I looked pretty inconspicuous. Wearing khaki shorts and sandals, with a black sweater and a plain brown tank-top underneath, I didn’t’ exactly attract attention.
As I walked I formulated a plan. Moving my body had always helped me think. That hadn’t changed now. Thoughts flitted in and out of my train of thought quickly, not slow enough to really catch, but they were there nonetheless. The thought that seemed to flit by most often was where am I going? In my back pocket next to my library card and couple gum wrappers there was folded a letter. My letter. In an untidy scrawl it was hurried, but it meant so much all the same. It read
My Dear Elizabeth,
I am so sorry to leave you like this, but this is how it must be. There are grave matters that take my full attention, and you will be safer with out me. Please do not be mad at me. I love you and I want you to know this is for your safety only. When the time comes, you may try to find me – but I might not be here to be found.
I love you,
Mom
This was left with me when the social services found me on their doorstep. Along with it was a short summary of me. On it included my name and my birthday. No hint of where to find her, or of relatives, of a father or a hometown. Nothing.
So now you can imagine that I am completely stumped on where to start. She said I would be able to find her when I needed to. Well, I think I really need to find her now. I figured that I would think about this stuff tomorrow. It was making my head hurt and I was tired even though it must be only four pm.
Alas, normal human needs called me. I was hungry and I seriously needed to pee. I was smart enough not to eat at a fast food-restaurant. Even though the places like McDonalds and Subway make it seem like there really cheep, their not. My foster father had taught me this when I was 11. He was always giving wise advice when he wasn’t drunk or completely passed out. Instead I went to a supermarket and bought one jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. Total: $3.54 - not bad plus I could make maybe half a dozen meals out of this.
I slipped away from the main supermarket and sidled into a bathroom stall where I prepared my food. I used my library card to spread the peanut butter (don’t worry, I rinsed it off in the drinking fountain first). I hadn’t eaten anything since early that morning, so it tasted delicious.
Not quite knowing what to do with myself now that I had eaten and used the bathroom, I left the bathroom and the supermarket. Across the street, through the bright glare of the sun a store caught my eye. It was one of those tourist destination stores that try to convince you to visit so-and-so.
I was about to turn away when in my peripheral vision I saw a black and white police car. I made my decision and quickly trotted across the crosswalk into the tourist store. It was dimly lit, with blue carpeting on the floor and the walls were covered with pamphlets and pictures. There was a clip of Paris playing on a widescreen in the back.
“Anything in particular ma’m?” drawled a squat old lady.
“Just looking,” I responded politely. There were brochures for everywhere – Cuba, St. Paul, Africa, New Zealand, Kentucky, and The South Pole. This was the mother load of brochures. It was brochure heaven. If I was a brochure lover I would have died and gone to heaven, but I’m not a brochure lover and I did not die and go to heaven.
I was making my way around the outer layer of the brochures when a brochure caught my eye. It in big bold letters it shouted
ELIZABETHTOWN!
YOUR NEXT DESTINATION!
“Ha-ha,” I thought wryly. “They stole my namesake!” But then I noticed the address.
ELIZABETHTOWN; NICKEL COUNTY, CALIFORNIA
Nickel? Elizabeth? Elizabeth Nickels?? Could this be my clue? I grabbed the thin pamphlet and flicked through the pages. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? I grabbed all the other papers they had on Elizabethtown (two books and one more pamphlet) and hurried up to the counter.
“That will be $21.69,” she said in a bored voice. I reluctantly handed over the money, knowing full well that I would most likely need it in the future.
This time when I stepped out onto the sidewalk I walked with a sense of purpose. You could almost here some heroic song playing in the back round. Me, with my hair flying out behind me, holding several books closely to my chest, with a backpack slung over my shoulder. That is, until I crashed to the ground with a shriek.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry!!” a disjointed male voice cried out.
“What?” I dazedly answered, not quite aware of what had just broken my movie moment.
“I didn’t mean to trip you, are you all right?” continued the male voice, “You’re not hurt or anything, are you?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks though,” I replied shyly.
“Alright then, so sorry about that,” and with a tip of his hat and he was gone.
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All critiques welcome
CF
