Lost or Found–Chapter One

Chapter One

The end. I bet you’ve never started a book with that kind of beginning, huh? Well, that’s where I am. At the end. The end of my life as a book. The chapter has come to a close and so has my life. I mean, I’m not old and in a nursing home about to lose my mind or anything like that . . . although, now that I think about it, I may as well be. I feel like I’ve lost my mind and if you count Jasper and Betsy’s ages together, my closest friends would be nursing home material. Me? I’m sixteen. I’m . . . sixteen. I think. I’ve kinda lost track of the days and months since I’ve been on my own. I finally left all the crap behind when I turned thirteen. I was just sick of it. Sick of being abused. Sick of being turned away. Sick of being abandoned. Sick of feeling lost. Sick of feeling alone. So, I just left. Weird, though, because while I hated feeling alone, I’ve never felt more alone than I do now. Alone. It’s a scary place to be in, but I figured I could do better on my own. And now, well—now, I’m kinda on my own, even though I do get taken care of by these two whack jobs. I’ve never gone too hungry since I left home; Jasper always makes sure “his women” are taken care of, even if it means he goes without.

Jasper has been on his own, living on the streets since he was my age too—he left home when he was sixteen and now, gosh, he’s gotta be in his sixties. I bet if he shaved and showered and, well, went to the dentist for a few more teeth, that he might look very handsome. Instead, my friend, my caretaker, my mentor, my “fatherly” role model, has long, straggly, grey hair, with specks of black seasoned in his uneven beard. He’s the kind of guy that comes to your mind when you think “poor, homeless bum.” But, he’s nothing like that. He’s kind and caring and he’d never let anything happen to me, that’s for sure. If you’d see him on the street, you could feel free to wave at him; he’s not gonna hurt you, or beg for money. He just wants to “live the dream.” Jasper gets most of his clothes from his favorite dumpster, out behind some luxury hotel. He never could figure out why people would throw good clothes away into a dumpster, but Jasper says it’s prime for the picking and says, “Who needs Macy’s when you got dibs on these here goods?” He’s found everything from new winter coats with the tags still on them to shoes that match, to leather gloves. And through all his shopping, he’s got one prized possession; he never leaves “home” without his Frank Sinatra hat.

“It really was his hat, you know?” he argued one night over the fire he’d worked up. “I was sitting right next to the hotel he was staying and right as he came out, my eyes got all blubbery with tears ‘cuz there he was—old Blue Eyes hisself!” Then he grinned a cavernous smile and beamed, as he stood straighter. “Yep, ol’ Frankie looked at me and said, ‘Boy, you good lookin’, ‘cept you need a good lookin’ hat to make you a man.’ And right then and there,” he pointed down to the ground for effect, “He give me this here hat. And I ain’t never gone a day without it!”

Jasper really did look better with it on. It made him look like he had something going for him. It was his hope, his security. Everyone on the street knew who Jasper was because of that dumb hat.

And then there was Betsy. She was probably in her forties and confessed she didn’t really know her real name. “Had a little sister who had a real hard time talking and such,” she began when I first met her. She told the same story to every newbie. “Just couldn’t say my name, but she sure could ‘member her favorite song, that stupid spider song. You know the one,” she’d say, as she nudged you on the elbow, encouraging you to sing along with her. “The Itsy Bitsy Spider went up the water spout,” she’d belt in her screechiest voice. “Down came the rain and washed the spider out” and then she’d pick up your hands and get you to do the motions with her. You couldn’t resist the urge to join in the childish, familiar festivities.

When the song had finished, she’d laugh so hard, you caught the bug and laughed with her til your sides felt they might split in two.

“Well, that’s the only thing my sissy ‘membered ‘bout me. So, she just up and called me ‘Betsy’ cuz she thought my name was the spider song and that’s all anybody’s ever called me. Guess it just stuck.” Betsy wasn’t the brightest of the bunch, but she had a heart that would melt you into submission. Some days, when I’d get to crying so hard I couldn’t get it together, she’d just wrap her small arms around me and pat me on my rail-thin shoulders and whisper,      “It’s all right, Girlie Max. It’s gonna be all right.” And then she’d break into another verse of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” just so she could see you smile again.

It was sad how she came to be homeless. All because of one man. She came to the streets because of her husband. Actually, her ex-husband. He kicked her out of the house one day when she caught him in bed with another woman. She had no where to go, no family, no friends—he never would allow it. She tried to make a living on her own, but with no education and no training, she couldn’t make it in “the real world”, so she landed here with Jasper. Since he had been alone for so long, he knew everywhere to go for the best leftovers, the best entertainment, and as I said before, the best clothes. Jasper was my teacher, and Betsy was my conscience. She always told me this was no place for a nice girl like me, but hell, what did she know? She knew nothing about me. In fact, I made up most of what I told her anyway. She didn’t know the real me. I had killed the real me a long time ago.

And now, I was at the end. I couldn’t do this anymore. Betsy was right. This was no place for a girl like me—like anyone, really. I was tired of living like this; I felt dead anyway. I had tried to end my life before, but Jasper always came in to save the day, like a hero from a comic magazine. Well, not this time. This was the day I would end it once and for all. I glanced down at my arms to see the track marks from the last time I tried cutting. Not even sure why I tried it. It wasn’t for a rush, that’s for sure, and I didn’t even want to die that day. But somehow, I got bored, so that’s what I tried, except it wasn’t what I thought it would be. Still not sure what I was thinking. But today, this was the day I would no longer exist.

I laid my head down on the makeshift pillow I had from an old brown coat I found the day before. The bench was cold beneath me, but I didn’t care much. Laying on my back, I spread out on the rickety bench and looked up into the sky. The air was crisp and fall would soon be ending and winter again coming. I couldn’t take another winter if it was going to be as frigid as last year. Then, I’d wished I was dead, but for a different reason. Teeth chattering so badly and you can’t stop shaking—yeah, that’s no way to live.

The breeze blew across my face and I closed my eyes, considering my options. I could always do the drug overdose—they were everywhere and no one would mind throwing a couple my way. I thought about the feeling of freefalling off a bridge. And then, a cold shiver shot down my spine at the thought of dying.

Turning over to my side, I tried to get comfortable against the iron slats of the bench and wiped a tear away from my cheek. How had my life gotten this far? How did I get to this place? Why did this have to happen to me? Why didn’t I feel loved? Why live?

I let my hand dangle off the side of the bench and graze the ground below. The dust and dirt trickled beneath my fingertips and I brushed away the trash, thinking of what to do next. Should I say good-bye to Jasper and Betsy? No, it would just make it worse for them.

My fingers touched a thicker piece of paper, thicker than the typical chocolate bar wrapper, or straw paper. Looking down at the paper near my touch, I saw one line and one set of numbers. It appeared to be a business card of sorts, but it had been torn on one edge. For some reason, it changed my life.

Lost or Found?

555-8462

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