Unfound

6

At the house of the family friend, I remember being treated fairly well. I was fed regular meals three times a day, full of what kids loved to eat most, and he let me play and read in the room. The meals he gave me were not of the healthy variety, but it was probably his fantasy to spoil his kids with their favorite junk food again. I knew I was an aberration of his fantasy, a place holder for his imagination so he could pretend he still had his boys. I knew I wasn't going to be enough, though, and eventually he wouldn't need me. In the meantime, I tried to be polite and quiet, and not let things get too far under my skin. The only things that truly bothered me was that I was not allowed to step foot outside the room and that he never drove me to school.

I'd loved school. All of my friends were there and my teachers were nice enough. I was one of the outlier kids who actually loved reading and writing, so I was the dream student for all of my teachers. I could write basic sentences and was reading well above my age group as I entered second grade. All of my friends were great to play with and we talked about ponies and music and other kid things together. I had even started getting into dance, so some of my friends and I would make up dances during recess and lunch break, often singing badly to accompany it and pretended like we were in a band together, though the name of the band seemed to change weekly.

I was very sad when he told me that school had been cancelled for the rest of the year. He didn't give me a full explanation why, he basically just told me that the adults who ran school decided that the kids deserved an extended summer, to which I somehow believed. It was March, I think, so not too far off from summer break in my mind, so I accepted what he told me.That, and it was always a kid's dream to get an extended summer, that meant more time for ice cream and playing with your friends.

He didn't spend much time with me. I think it was the simple knowledge that there was a child in the room where his kids used to be that brought him joy. He was a weird guy and always called me Braden or William instead of by my real name, Caroline. I think he truly wanted me to be one of his boys, because he always got angry when I corrected him. He eventually sat me down on the bed one day and cut off all of my long, dark hair. I didn't protest or squirm because I subconsciously knew why he decided this was necessary. I went to the mirror and played with the hair that stopped right below my ear and flashed him a weak smile. That was enough to get him out of the room. That night I went to bed clutching the long strands of hair that he had chopped off, and cried as silently as I could.

A few days after was when I learned that I couldn't make him angry, and that being quiet was always my best bet. I had been pestering him about going back to school or seeing my friends for a play date or even about talking to my parents on the phone. I started crying and kicked my water glass over, breaking the glass and spilling the water all over Braden's bed sheets. In that instant I grew quiet, seeing the change in his eyes. Even as a child I could register the shift in his personality, thought I didn't expect what came next. He slapped me across the face, sending me sprawling across the floor. I bit back my tears and screams as he dragged me out of the room and practically tossed me down the stairs of the basement. I hit my head on the side of the wall on the way down, enough to force a cry from my lips, but not enough to cut it open or for me to have a full concussion. From that point on, that basement was where I stayed until the police came to rescue me. He brought down a small mattress and some toys in a play area, and that's where I slept and played and lived for the next week and a half. I had two small windows at the top of one wall to have some light so I could count the days, but not much else. I couldn't see the stars or feel the wind or hear passing cars on the road that wasn't too far. I was completely separated from the world.

I was quiet and the perfect child after that. He would bring me food and I would eat it in silence. He would bring me a new book and I would thank him with a nod. He left me alone much of the time, but I enjoyed when we shared a space, even for a minute or two. He was kind and always had nice things to say. He would sometimes get his crazy eyes if I didn't register that he had asked me a question, but I learned to say the right things to get him back to normal. I was missing my father and I wanted to be around another male figure, no matter how insane he was. I pretended to be one of his boys, I answered by their names, and he fed me and made sure I wasn't bored. The basement was cold, but I never was. The pain on my cheek went away after only an hour or two, nothing that would always stay with me. I liked him, I really did. It didn't make his actions okay, but he was someone I had learned to forgive.