A Chance At A Lost Life

It all started with a little email and a big case of writer’s block. Sighing, I hold down the backspace key. I lean back in my pink padded office chair and cover my face with my hands. With a severe case of writer’s block and a fight with my best friend, I was not having a good day.

            “Jenny? You in there?” Mrs. Turner asks, knocking on my bedroom door.

            “Yeah,” I reply. Mrs. Turner is my foster mom. My parents dumped me here when I was about two, so I don’t remember them well. I’ve always had this hope that someday they would come back for me. It’s not that I don’t like Mrs. Turner- really, she’s great- it’s just that I want to be different for once in my life. Most of the kids here’s parents promise to come and pick them up in six months, but then they call and say six more months, then six more, and soon enough they’re eighteen and leave. Well, my parents never promised to come back for me, at least as far as I know. I’m fourteen now, and I honestly doubt that they’ll come get me now, but a girl can dream, can’t she?

            “I brought you some dinner,” Mrs. Turner smiles, holding a steaming plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes. I clear some papers off my desk for her to set the plate there.

            “Thanks.” Finally, I decide that my writer’s block isn’t getting any better, and close my MacBook that I bought with babysitting money. “Good night, Mrs. Turner,” I whisper as she shuts the door. I finish my food and check my phone for texts, missed calls, voicemail messages, and emails- any way that my parents could get in contact with me. Then . . . there it is. An email. And it’s from someone with the same name as my mother. Shocked, my mouth falls open. My fingers tremble as I open it.

            Jennifer- meet your father and me @ Fettuccini tomorrow night @ 7:00. Love from Mom xoxo

            My already open mouth drops even further. This is amazing! This is what I’d been hoping for! Immediately, I open a fresh notebook and try to channel what I’m feeling onto the pages, but it’s no good. I crumple up the piece of paper and throw it in the trash (two points!). Frustrated, I change into a pair of black school track sweats and a large light blue tennis t-shirt and crawl under my zebra print comforter to go to bed. I close my eyes and let my mind wander. Maybe my dreams will give me inspiration tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow, and right now I’m exhausted.

  

 

            The next night, I am standing in front of the big glass doors of Fettuccini, the super-posh Italian food restaurant in my nicest gown, trying to build up the courage to actually step inside. If I do, my life will most likely be changed forever. But if I don’t, I can go back to the foster home, curl up in my familiar bed, and stay in my nice but uneventful life until I’m eighteen. Except I can’t do that. With a boring life like mine, I’d have no inspiration for my writing, and what a writer I’d be then. I’d probably just be stuck in my house, writing about plant life or something.

            No. That’s not happening. I’m going to be successful, or at least write books that might have the potential to be successful. I don’t want to be stuck writing non-fiction books for the rest of my life. I want to write fiction- I have an imagination! I just need something to help spark it every once in a while. That’s most likely why I haven’t had any luck in my attempts at stories. I’m great at short ones, like one page English journals, but anything longer than that just requires a lot more imagination, and most likely life experiences, which I really haven’t had. I’ve been sheltered by Mr. and Mrs. Turner my whole life, and I suppose it’s a good thing- I won’t end up screwed up- but also kind of bad for my creative ability.

            Suddenly, with a new found burst of confidence, I push the door open and strut through. I smile widely at the waiter at the front ‘desk’, for lack of a better word. “Hello. I’m here with the Peters.” I draw out the word, hoping he notices that I must be here with the amazingly cool couple. He nods and steps out from behind.

            “Right this way, Miss. Are they your aunt and uncle? Or just family friends?” he asks nonchalantly. I laugh.

            “They’re actually my parents. Well . . . I live in a foster home. Actually- after tonight, I might not anymore!”

            “Ahh, here are the Peters.” He stops in front of a table that seats a young-looking couple. One is a beautiful brunette lady, and the other a handsome man.

            “Mom . . .? Dad?” I say excitedly. They smile and go in for a hug. I can’t believe this is happening. It’s just so . . . wow. I never actually believed this would happen! Obviously, I always hoped it would, but it was just one of those things- you know, like marrying your favorite celebrity. And they are both so . . . good-looking. I can barely believe I’m related to these people.

            “Jennifer!”

            “Uh- actually, it’s Jenny. I go by Jenny.” She nods and smiles. As soon as the waiter walked away after laying down our menus, her smile turned to a frown.

            “Mmmmh. Jenny? Yeah, the thing is, we’re not your parents. We actually work for them. Well, we did, anyway. Your mom and dad ran a multimillion dollar business- well, not really a business. Basically, they had a lot of money, and they scammed people. Actually, not them personally, they hired people like us to scam people, and they’d get part of the profit. And they were better at planning out scams than us, so that’s why we didn’t go solo. About six months ago, your parents joined the Witness Protection Program. We need to find them, and you’re going to help us.”

            “What?!?!” I scream. The man claps his hand over my mouth and pulls me aside.

            “You’re not gonna scream, little Jenny. Because if you help us find them, you’re getting a little profit. And you’ll be back with your parents. We just want their money. We aren’t going to kill them. Don’t you wanna be with your mommy and daddy, Jenny?”

            “Well . . . yes. I mean, no. Uhm, I mean, yes, I do. But I don’t know where they are. They left me at a foster home when I was two. I haven’t talked to them since.” I am shocked- I don’t even know what to feel. My parents, the ones I couldn’t wait to meet again, all this time ran an illegal business? I was so disappointed. “Anyway, how can I find them? My records at the foster home show their old address, which was in Seattle, but they’re in the Witness Protection Program now! They’ve obviously moved, and so I have no way of helping you. I’m sorry. Oh, wait, no, I’m not. I bet you made all this up, and my parents are decent people, and you just want to steal all their money. You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to trick a fourteen year old girl.”

            “Ha! They are not decent people. We aren’t either, but we don’t pretend to be. They’re saying that they are trying to do the whole ‘better themselves’ thing, where they stop their bad ways, but I don’t buy it for a second. I’ve heard news that they’re running another one, and they just joined the Witness Protection Program because last time, they heard that law enforcement had a lead on their corporation. This time, they started a different one, and the WPP is so the cops don’t even suspect them if they ever find out about it,” the man answers. He grips me by the shoulder and pulls me out the parking lot. As I get shoved into the sleek black sports car, I try to kick at him, but he has strong muscles, and I can’t even feel him react at all to the fighting back.

            It’s been at least an hour in the car, and nobody has said a word to me, until the woman turns back. “We saw a picture of them in the newspaper. It had a list of names, and there was a big group of people with them. If the article tells us anything, it narrows down what names they might go by, and also that they live in Goddard, Kansas.”

            “Goddard, Kansas? I’ve never even heard of that town.”

            “It’s very small, near Wichita. We’re heading that way now.”

            “But we’re in New York! That’ll be two days of driving!” I shout. She shrugs and turns back to facing the road. I rub my temples. I can’t believe in one day I have gone from a boring, uneventful life at a foster home, to being kidnapped and hunting down my parents. Whoa.