Just Wanting To Be Found ©

By Mackenzie Lindeman
Death.
Fear.
It was my fault.
I have to live with the guilt.
It haunts me at night.
Plays with my mind.
I replay the moment over and over like a movie scene.
It won’t leave, I beg.
It doesn’t listen.
No one does.
I’m all alone.
Just looking for a home.

Fire
Eerie noises seeped through the cracks in the large, wooden logs. The
wind bustled outside, howling, like an abandoned child, terrified, not knowing
where it was headed. Scrawny tree branches scratched at the glass windows,
begging to come in. Steam evaporated into the thin air as the hot water rose in
tension on the wooden stove.
I was running around in circles in my footy dinosaur pajamas, sweating
bullets, for Aunt Zula had stoked the blazing red fire. Large, orange candles
were lit in every corner of the house; the sweet aroma of pumpkin spice
danced and pranced throughout the living room. As the bright sun disappeared
behind the horizon, it got darker outside, the candles seemed to be getting
brighter.
The bright light caught my attention, drawing me in like a fish freshly hooked
to the bait. One step closer, one after the other, I found myself face to face with
the candle, wax oozing down the side. I was trembling, my shaking hand
reached for the candle, the burning sensation was too much for me to handle,
and it dropped. The look on my aunt’s face was too much more to bear.
Everything broke loose. Black smoke filled the small room; my lungs
were claustrophobic. Down on the ground, in the far off distance I could hear
my name; it got father and farther away… I struggled to keep my head up; I
gently laid it on the ground. Flames were enclosing in on me now, huge pieces
of wood was falling from the ceiling. My head hurt, I couldn’t swallow. Pictures
shattered, dreams lost, fear was the only option, no hope. My deep, navy blue
eyes were heavy, my dry throat ached, and then everything went black.

Recovery
It was blurry, like fog on a misty night with puffy clouds hanging over the
crescent moon. My body ached all over, and every breath I took was sharp and
painful. Skinny tubes hooked up to every part of my body; a sweet song played
on the radio nearby. A damp wash cloth ran down my hairy, cut up legs as I
examined the scars, cuts, and bruises on me.
“Glad to see you are awake. My name is Julie if you need anything,” the
nurse exclaimed with a friendly smile. She had long, blonde hair flowing down
her back with her bangs pulled back with a white and pink flower clip. Her
eyelashes were long and elegant, golden skin tanned to perfection, and a heart
shaped necklace draped around her neck. My necklace! I grasped my neck,
relieved to feel that my locket was still there. My mom had given it to me not to
long before she left me. It was one of the few things I had, and since the fire, it
was most likely the only thing. It had a picture of her at the beach on a windy
day perched on a rock, smiling, with me wrapped up in her arms. A tear
trickled down my cheek; I caught it in my mouth. Salty. I had an appetite.
“Do you think I could have something to eat, Julie?” As quick as a bolt, she
had red Jell-O and a ham sandwich with a glass of orange juice on the side
delivered to my room. As I finished the last bite, I rested my drowsy eyes. Fire
exploded, my name was heard, the candle, Aunt Zula. I opened my eyes alertly,
I couldn’t take it anymore. Terrified to ask, for I didn’t know if I could handle
the truth, I asked if my aunt had survived the fire, too. An awkward, deep
silence and pause swept throughout the cold room that had seemed warm and
happy just two minutes ago. Julie tilted her head to a perfect angle at which
the sun reflected on her thick, blonde hair, shimmering. She had a sorrowful
look on her kind face; she shook her head no. My heart dropped nearly to the
floor, but I caught it.
All Alone
My heart started beating again; it was beating too fast. It was going to
pop out of my chest. Aunt Zula was my only family I knew of. I killed her; I was
responsible. My curiosity got me into this mess, and there was no way out. My
parents left me, and now Aunt Zula was gone forever. Where would I go? Who
would I tell things to? Who was going to tuck me in at night and read me
books? Who would comfort me when I was having problems or sad? Wake up I
yelled at myself, aggravated. It’s just a dream; a nightmare. It had to be.
*three weeks later*

Arriving At My Worst Nightmare

“Are you ready, James?” one of the nurses asked cautiously. My body
was healed now, not mentally, but physically. Today was the day that I was
going to the orphanage. Just a few miles away, I was excited, hoping to meet
some new friends my age. The nurses told me all about it, the games we would
play, field trips we would take, and the most delicious food for breakfast, lunch,
and dinner. Looking out my dirty window, a big grey van pulled up. Grabbing
my belongings, I rushed out the door. I waved my goodbyes and thanked the
nurses who had taken such good care of me. It was lonely in the van, no music
played, just a lonely silence. The short ride seemed to take hours. The road was
curvy and made my stomach churn. All I knew was that we should be at the
orphanage any moment. If I had only known how bad it was going to be, I
would have jumped out of the van right then. Ran for my life, never looking
back. I would have just kept on running until my legs fell off. Little did I know,
this was an awful place, but I would soon find out. Just then, a large, dark
shadow casted over the van, and the driver put it into park. It halted, I went
flying forwards, but my seatbelt stopped me from going any further. I
unbuckled; we were here.
Unfriendly
 The orphanage didn’t look very kid friendly, more like a jail. Black bricks
stacked up so high you couldn’t see the top, with no windows. A big electric
fence with barbed wire on the top surrounded the narrow building. Tall guards
with no facial expression, very muscular, were everywhere. No children could
be heard or seen. No feeling of happiness or laughter was found. The only thing
I could hear was my heart racing inside me, and I could feel my breakfast
coming up. I swallowed it.
I laid my bag on my concrete bed with no sheets or pillows. I guess sleep
wasn’t important to them. I was sure we would be having too much fun
anyways. I shared a room with four other boys my age. None of them spoke;
there was no warm welcome. Just glances, glares, and stares. Just before I could
introduce myself, a very tall, scrawny lady, in her late sixties with grey,
unwashed, gnarly hair walked in and she adjusted her apron. I stared at her
sharp nails painted a bright red, she cleared her throat.
“Comba, River, Devon, and Mike, this is your new roommate James.
Comba will be in charge of making sure he gets to breakfast on time and knows
where everything is.” She spoke with a sarcastic tone. She handed me my daily
schedule.

Daily Schedule
4:00am: Wake up
4:00-4:30am: Brush teeth, comb hair (parted to the left), and get dressed in
black uniform (found underneath your bed.)
4:30-6:00am: Workout (six mile run outside)
6:00am-4:00pm: School (in library)
4:00-6:00pm: Chores (clean bathroom, wash dishes, and fold laundry)
6:00-7:00pm: Dinner
7pm: Get ready for bed (shower and brush teeth)
7:20pm: Lights out
She shook her head, but I couldn’t tell if she was upset or satisfied. She
didn’t have facial expression, much like the guards. A brief smirk revealed, just
long enough for to see her scummy yellow teeth. As she exited the room, I
thought to myself, I don’t think she has ever heard of toothpaste… she stopped. I
covered my mouth, I said it aloud. Just as she was about to turn around, she
changed her mind and kept on walking. I let out a sigh of relief.

Jail Cell
Red flames.
My name whispered in the distance.
Logs falling, crushing anything in their way.
The house consumed in flames.
I awoke, sweating, just another nightmare I told myself. I reached for my
watch; 3:50 AM. I laid back down; I had ten minutes. The bed was so
uncomforable that I wouldn’t even consider it a bed. It was made of concrete!
Even the pillows felt like concrete. Maybe even rock, they weren’t the kind that
let your head sink in. They were hard as a brick. Closing my eyes once again,
my alarm went off, and the day begins.
My stomach was talking to me, grumbling vigorously, having no
breakfast was going to take some time to get used to. Surprisingly, I had made
it more than half the day. Running the six miles just about killed me; my shirt
was completely soaked with sweat. My head hurt from dehydration and my
legs were sore.
I had just bitten into a dry bread role when Connie; the yellow- teeth
lady walked in, tightly grasped my arm and dragged me off. Her long, sharp
nails dug into my flesh. Had I done something wrong? What was she doing to
me? Was it what I said? Is this what this is about? Before I could apologize, or
speak a word, we had gone down seven flights of steep stairs; it was freezing.
The hair on my neck and arms stood up. The stench of blood taunted me; it was
smoky and dark. A steal door creaked, and opened. Connie threw me on the
floor, I was all alone. The door slammed, the bolts forced into place, sounding
like a gun shot. Concrete walls, no light in site, not even a little crack of light
came from underneath the door. No food, nor was there any water. Was I going
to be left here to die? Terrible thoughts raced through my mind. The nurses
had told me of an orphanage that was friendly and fun; this wasn’t even close. I
sat up on the ice cold floor and read messages carved into the floor. One read,
“You will die,” and another one read, “Leave, run, get out of here as fast as you
can, they are going to get you. You will lose your mind. Go crazy. Become one of
them.”

Locked Up
No sunrise, no sunset. I wasn’t able to see the crescent moon hanging in
the sky or talk to the stars. I didn’t know what time of day it was; it felt as if I
had been in there for eternity. My stomach would have growled, but it didn’t
have the energy. I found myself sleeping most of the time. It was the only way
for me to forget the excruciating pain and have my mind at ease.
Just as I was about to close my eyes, a small note with Comba written on
the front slipped under the door folded three times. It read: “Dear James, do
not fear. You will be out soon. Trust in me. There is a family here, and they
want to meet you. This may be your chance to leave. If you do, never come
back. Never look back. Get ready.”
My heart pounded in my chest; I folded the note back up and slid it into
my holey pocket. I decided to carve something in the floor. “No man makes it
alone, but with great courage, one can conquer anything in his way. “As my
hand carved in the last letter, the door opened.
Fairy Tale
I was exhausted and worn out from everything that had happened. I
wasn’t sure how much more I could handle. Grabbing my green pajamas from
underneath my dusty bed, I noticed something I hadn’t noticed before, a pile of
books. As a smile crept across my face for the first time in a while, I grabbed
the one off the top, wiped off the dust, and nestled into bed. The title read,
“Annie.” I flipped through the water stained pages. It was about a young girl,
my age, who was an orphan. In the end, she got adopted and had a happy
ending. I wanted a “happy -ever -after,” like Annie. The smile on my narrow
face slowly disappeared; I would never have a happy ending. It was close to
impossible at this point.
 Adopted
Comba had been right; there was a family that wanted to meet me. Turns
out, they wanted to adopt me! Maybe this was my chance for a happy ending.
Throwing stuff in my bag eagerly, I thanked Comba for everything and bolted
downstairs to meet my new parents. There stood a lean, tall man who looked
to be in his 40’s dressed in a nice suit. Behind him stood a short woman, with
long, red curls, that bounced up and down, peered suspiciously at me. They put
out their hands to shake mine. Maybe a little too excited, I went straight for a
hug. They signed some papers, and we left. I didn’t look back; I mumbled a
little prayer under my breath to God, praying for the children who were stuck
at the orphanage.
The car ride went well. We discussed where I would be sleeping, some basic
rules, and I told them more about myself. What they didn’t mention was that
they had a son, just a couple years older than I. The house was a beautiful, two
story home with many windows and decorative, purple curtains. Different
colors of flowers bloomed on the maroon painted, wooden porch, and a warm
welcome mat was placed before the front door. I wiped my feet on the mat,
wiping away all the dust on the bottom of my tattered sneakers. I was going to
be sharing a room with my new brother, Collin. The room was a descent size,
posters of girl models plastered onto the blue walls. A whole shelf was covered
with football and wrestling trophies that were freshly polished and dusted.
Perhaps Collin could teach me how to play; I had always wanted to know how
to play football. I placed my bags on the bottom bunk; I hopped in bed,
satisfied, and rested my tired eyes.
There was a warm, light breeze, I could feel someone breathing on me, and I
awoke. There stood Collin, taller than his dad, overweight, yet very muscular.
He was huge, I was scrawny. He didn’t look too friendly, and boy was I right.
While I had been sleeping, he put shaving cream in my ears and colored on my
face with black sharpie. I tried to hold back my anger; maybe this was his
weird way of welcoming me. Before I could say a word, he raised his fist and
punched me. Full out punched me right in the eye. Tears burst out, and I let out
a little yelp. He told me this was his house, his room, his bed, and I wasn’t going
to take it from him. He said the only reason I was here was because his dad
recently lost his job and they needed to child care money. Too stunned to do
anything, I watched as he hit both of his eyes, and started fake crying. What
was he doing? His parents rushed in.
 “What is going on in here Collins?” his mother asked in disbelief.
“Oh mother, it was terrible. I was just taking a little rest, and when I woke up,
James was coloring on himself. I tried to show him that the colors were made
for the paper, but he got upset and punched me. Could I have some ice
momma?” Collins let out another cry and tears streaked down his face. He is so
fake, a jerk, a liar, I thought.
I didn’t even try to explain. They wouldn’t believe me. I should have
known better. They didn’t care about me; I was foolish to think that they cared.
I was still all alone. This wasn’t my home, I wasn’t welcome here.

Locked up, Again

My “parents” tossed me in the shed to sleep; my “inappropriate” actions
were not acceptable. I definitely agreed; violence is not the answer, but I was
innocent. I never touched Collin. It was Collins fault; he was the one who hurt
me. Another night alone, I was beginning to get used to this. The night I lost
everything taunted me; I pushed the depressing thought away.
Brown storage boxes climbed to the sky; I tucked myself into a tight
corner. Hugging my knees close to my chest, I rocked back and forth and
hummed a tune. Flicking spiders and bugs off me; I couldn’t sleep, I could hear
something. I wasn’t alone in here. A broom fell; the floor creaked; and I
freaked. Maybe it was all in my head, but I was sure something was in this
shed. Grasping a nearby glass vase, I threw it at the nearest window, climbed
up a pile of boxes and flew out the window like a baby bird learning to fly for
the first time. Hitting the ground hard, I dusted off my clothes and stood up.
I went to the house to grab my things; everything that I owned was in my
bag. I snuck through the back sliding glass door and right away spotted my bag
underneath the kitchen table. I could tell they had looked through my bag; I
double checked that everything was there. I took my bag and ran. I ran as fast
as my feet could carry me, never looking back. I didn’t know where I was
headed, but I had to get out of this place.

Homeless
 The deserted streets echoed my hurried feet. The wind howled and dust
flew across the roads. I put rocks in my pockets, just to make sure the wind
wouldn’t take me away. I wouldn’t mind if it did, though; maybe the wind
would take me somewhere peaceful, anywhere but here. I walked into a
nearby grocery store and snuck some food, a loaf of white bread, can of grape
soda, and a Fuji apple. I may be a criminal, but no one even noticed. I was
invisible to the world. The wind froze my face in place; I decided to look for a
place to sleep for the night. As I was walking, a small, red car, with a few dents,
pulled up and stopped. The man driving looked friendly,
“Want a ride, little fella?” he asked. I nodded my head, sprung into the
passenger seat and buckled up.
My mom had always told me to never take a ride from strangers, but I
had no choice. What’s the worst that could happen? I had already lost
everything, was homeless, a runaway, and hungry. I took out the apple and
gnawed on it, juice slipping down the side of my mouth.
“Let me introduce myself, I’m Paul. Your name?” He looked at me,
waiting for a response. My throat was dry; I swallowed and forced out a few
words.
“My name is James. Could you drop me off somewhere, anywhere really?
I just need a place to rest for the night.” Paul insisted I stay the night at his
house.
His home was a little, old, log cabin in the woods, perched on a small
round hill overlooking a rushing river. Cows and chicken roamed the country
side, and the odor of cow pies filled the dense air. Paul showed me to his guest
bedroom,
“Thank you so much,” I told him. Too tired to change, I got in bed. This
bed was much comfier than the ones at the orphanage. It actually had pillows
and a warm comforter that surrounded me, and it was heavy, making me feel
safe.

Talking About Myself

 An eerie noise awoke me from my deep sleep; a kettle off in the distance
was going off. The sun shone in, and I could see the dust flying around. I wiped
the crusted seeds from my rested eyes, pulled a sweatshirt on, and went out to
the living room. A pleasant, warm fire was cracking, and Paul sat reading a
hard cover book on the brown couch that sunk in where he sat.
“Take a seat young man, and tell me about yourself.” My throat felt dry
again; I asked for a glass of water and took a seat.
“I’m responsible for my aunt’s death, in a fire. I didn’t mean to. I don’t
know where my mom or dad is, or if they are even alive. After I recovered from
the fire, I was taken to an orphanage; they were very cruel. I got adopted into a
home, but they did not love me. I ran away. I’m a runaway, abandoned and
homeless. I’m not sure who I am anymore. I’m lost, not physically, but
mentally.” I took a deep breath and swallowed my tears. What did I just say?

I Should Have Known Better

I should have known better. A complete stranger and I told him
everything. He didn’t care about me; just like everyone else in this stupid
world. I don’t know why I thought he did. I guess I had just been holding
everything in for so long, it felt kind of good to let it all out.
Paul turned me in to the orphanage. My adopted family didn’t want me
back, so I went back to the orphanage. What would they do to me? As I sat in
the back of a cop car with my bag and heart necklace tightly gripped in one
sweaty hand, I tried not to think about it. I was homesick, not for a home I had,
but for the one I never will have. As I glanced at the necklace, I came up with an
idea. I wasn’t sure how I would do it, but what I did know was that I wouldn’t
be able to do it alone.
A Beating
“Stop! Let go of me!” I hollered and squalled. I tried to get away, but she
had a tight grip. Her long, yellow tinted finger nails dug into my scrawny arm.
She hit me violently. Kids gasped on the side lines. Tears exploded from my
eyes; there was no holding them back. I knew it was wrong to run away, but I
had to. Blue and dark purple bruises formed on my arms, and I was pretty sure
I had a black eye. Eventually, she stopped, but the pain didn’t. The kids hurried
back to their schedules, and she put me to work.
 Getting Out
Comba tried to talk me out of it, but my mind was made up. I was going
to escape; the chances of me getting caught were extremely high, but I had to
try and find my parents. They were my only hope. I wasn’t happy here; I
couldn’t live life like this anymore. Comba decided if he couldn’t stop me, he
would help me. He had lived at the orphanage for as long as he could
remember; he knew almost every possible way to get out and where a lot of
guards were located.
After a great deal of preparation and secretly planning my escape, I was
ready. It was time. I had one shot to get out, and tonight was the night. My
heart pounded as the minutes went by and the night went on. I got out of bed,
slipped on my shoes, and grabbed my bag along with a few photos I had of my
parents. I quickly wrote a note for Comba and left it by his bed, thanking him
for everything. Just as I was about to make my move, a light turned on. I froze,
not making a move, the light was turned off, and I mumbled to myself, “This is
it James; it’s now or never.”
Escaping
Escaping was all a blur that night; every move I made hurt my body. My
head hurt, and I was shaking in fear. I followed the plan just as Comba had
instructed me to do. Getting out of the building was no problem; the cameras
were shut off at night. There was an old sewer that went right under the big
brick walls and barbed wire fences. Guards were out, but half asleep.
It was particularly dark that night, and the sewer hatch opened like a
piece of cake. I climbed in and slowly closed the lid. It was smelly and dark.
Rats scrambled about at my feet, shrieking every time I stepped on their
scrawny tails. The path was simple, right then left, and then straight ahead
would be an opening.
A beam of light shone ahead; I sped up, wanting fresh air. The hatch
above opened with a nudge, and the stars dazzled above in the midnight sky.

Escaped
 I made it. I escaped. It was a close one, my heart violently beating. Little
did I know, back at the orphanage a guard found the note I had written for
Comba. He soon discovered that I was missing. The search began, and the race
was on. I had to get out of there, but I had to make one stop first. I arrived at
the local library and searched for an ancestry website, hoping to find out more
about my parents. Turned out, the librarian knew plenty. She asked for a
picture, so I reached into my bag and dug out a photo of the day my mom and
dad got married.
“OH, yes…these are your parents? Child dear, they are famous actors!
They live in Chicago currently; I would love to see one of their plays
sometime.” The words coming out of her mouth were hard to believe. My
parents, famous? Why did they leave me? I had so many questions, but they
would have to wait. I thanked the kind librarian and headed for the train
station. First, and hopefully my last stop, Chicago.
The Big City
Life in Chicago was frantic. People bustling, pushing, and shoving to get
where they need to go. Homeless people pulled at your feet and begged for
money. Buses came and went, and the clouds overhead casted dark shadows
down the allies. As I was walking down the sidewalk, something fell at my feet;
a flyer. COME AND SEE THE AMAZING PLAY “The Ghost” SATURDAY AT 7PM,
$50 ADMISSION FEE. LOCATED ON MT.VIEW RD IN THE RED THEATRE.
There was a picture of the couple that was playing the main characters; I
pulled out a photo of my parents. They looked somewhat alike. I had to go,
maybe it was them, but I needed money. I had two days to find a job; time was
my only enemy right now.
“HELP WANTED” a sign was posted to a door, a bakery shop. I walked
right in and introduced myself; I said I was looking for a job. The lady at the
cash register chuckled and said “Great! When can you start?”
Right now, I suppose; I have nothing better to do. She handed me a
broom and told me to sweep the porch and underneath the tables. Then she
told me to go back to the kitchen and make some peanut butter cookies; the
recipe was on the window sill. I quickly got to work.
Hard work sure does pay off! I earned $58.00 in one day! Enough to go to
the concert! I hope they weren’t sold out yet. I thanked the kind lady and
bustled to the ticket counter a couple blocks down. My heart filled with hope;
this could be the ending to my story, a happy ending, too. Just like in the books.

Play
“It must be your lucky day; sir,” said the man with a mustache at the
ticket booth. I have one last ticket and it’s yours. I checked my watch, 30
minutes until the play. I had time to get cleaned up. I found a public restroom
and washed up, scrubbed all the dirt away. I picked up a nice button up polo
shirt from a thrift store with the eight dollars I had left.
I found a spot to sit with the crowd of people as the lights dimmed.
Smoke rose on the stage, and flashy colorful lights shone brightly. The smoke
cleared, and two people were standing there; the crowd roared! They were
very good actors, and I enjoyed the play very much, definitely worth $50. I was
happy and sad at the same time. I wanted to meet them, but I was scared. What
if it wasn’t my parents? They left me once; what if they didn’t want me back? I
had to try. After the play was over, I would sneak backstage.

Hope
The play was almost over; I made my way through the crowd and found
a door that led to a brightly lit hallway. I wasn’t sure of which way to go, so I
turned left. Just then, a door opened in front of me, and out walked the actors
from the play. I didn’t think but bolted towards them. Before I could get a word
out, two guards tightly gripped my arms and dragged me away.
“Stop! Let me down, please! Those are my parents!” The two heavy- built
guards looked at me and laughed. Just then, a voice shouted from behind.
“Wait up! Let the boy down.” As the guards let me down and I turned
around, the woman I had thought was my mom nearly collapsed. She
approached me cautiously and said,
“Your face, it looks so familiar. What is your name?”
“James,” I said. “Are you my mother?” I couldn’t believe I actually asked
this question.
 She smiled, “No, child, I am not. Do not worry though, I am very good
friends with your mom. She has been looking for you, James. I can’t believe you
are here, this is just fantastic. Oh dear, let me change real quick, and I will take
you to her. Stay put.”
Together
She was even prettier in person than in my optimistic imagination. Her
hair, her smile, her face, everything about her was perfect. I had dreamed
about this forever, and now it was happening.
“Is it really you, James?”
“Yes, mom, it’s really me. I found you, can you believe it? We’re together.”
I replied to her with tears running down my face.
I thanked the kind lady who had brought me to my mom. She said a few
words to my mother, and they hugged. She quickly walked away, leaving my
mom and me sitting on the stairs outside my mom’s apartment.
Just Like In the Books
“I thought I would never see you again. I heard about the fire, I thought
you had died too. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for leaving you, but I
only wanted what was best for you. I dropped out of college and didn’t have
very much money. Words can’t even explain how much I have missed you. Not
a single day has gone that I didn’t think about you, James.”
“What about my father?” I asked. Her face paled and cooled, her eyes
were weak.
“He passed away a couple years ago in a car wreck. I am so sorry James;
I should have never left you. He was a good man, though we were never
married. I wish you could have met him. James, how did you find me anyways?”
I knew now that I had found my mom, everything would be okay, and I
would finally have my happily-ever- after like in the books I had read. So, I
decided to write a book. Sharing my story might inspire others. Even in the
toughest times when you think everything that has gone wrong, there is still
hope for a happy ending. I looked over to my mom and whispered into her ear,
“Let me tell you how it all began, but you already know how it ends; they
all live happily ever after.”