Chapter 2-
Truly sunny days are rare in Veneta, Oregon, but that morning was particularly hot.
Orphaned yet again by a pair of college sisters, I went off to a deserted park with adequate shoes and a new jacket. The sisters had given me one hundred dollars to try and fend for myself.. they really tried to raise me. But with college, which I've heard is gruesomely hard to keep up with now, how could I expect them to?
Sitting in a swing, I start reviewing thoughtfully what has happened in my life so far. I did not know that I was not normal, however I appeared on the outside. I knew I was something, just not what.
It was then that a few teenage boys drove up into the parking lot laughing and playing basketball. Feeling opportunistic, I casually walked over to them and asked if I could try and play. One -he seemed to be younger than the rest- looked at me as if I were a monster. The rest pretended not to notice me, and one went to get a drink of water.
After the feeling of extreme embarrassment passed, the young one came over with obvious worry in his eyes and asked me if my parents were around.
"No," I said. "My parents don't take care of me. I don't want any pity, though. Can we be friends?" I asked daringly.
After a long pause, he agreed. "I'll be here, without my friends, on Saturday." He whispered. "We can play then." He obeyed the beckon by a tall teen he called a friend.
I skulked back to my swing and found something papery rustling in the wind. I ran after it, hoping to up my reading skill. Even after my foster 'parent' sisters had tried to teach me, I was not quite able to read smoothly.
Picking it up, I saw the familiar characteristics of an old newspaper. Unfolding the only two pages that were left, I scanned them for anything I could read.
WOMAN IN CRASHED CAR FOUND DEAD
Police have found what seems to be a suicide. A young woman, estimated to be about 35, showed up at the edge of a low-travel country road, dead in her crashed car.
Experts say that "no tire marks meant no struggle." Tests showed large amounts of alcohol in the blood of the victim.
Further studies reveal that the woman was named Rita Warder, with no apparent family.
My mom..
My eyes welled with tears. Maybe, if she hadn't left me, she would still be alive.
Dear Journal…
This is my first real entry, real because I did it willingly. My foster sisters had wanted me to write the exciting things that happened every day. Truth was, the most exciting thing there was finding a cockroach swimming around in the toilet.
Eww.
Anyway, I have a feeling that the little dirty newspaper in the park was sent to me. Some sort of sign. I was sure now that I would never see my mother again. The newspaper didn't even have a picture.
I'm not sure I would ant to see one, anyway.
I am in the playground tunnel right now, watching the sun reluctantly start to lower. I will write about myself now, to help relieve some of the hurt in my stomach.
I am eleven now, by my count. I was never good at math. What I do know is that I was born right here, in Veneta, on August 17, 1992. I am trying to keep track of the dates, but with my condition I dont know if it will ever matter again. I think it's Thursday… September 16.
Thinking back, I do vaguely remember sitting on my couch, bawling. I was about three, and so was my mom's dog, Stone. We had grown up together, facing my mother's harsh words when she drank. Stone was curled in her bed, crying with me. I had not seen my mother in two days, and I was hungry. And thirsty.
Not knowing any better, I crawled over to Stone and licked her nose. It was wet, and tasted good. We both fell asleep together.
I was awoken with a deep bark. Stone must have sensed something, because she led me out of the dog door and onto my porch.
Suddenly, she bolted down the sidewalk. I remember crying, shouting her name. "Stooooone" I called. "Come back!" and burst into tears again.
Not a minute later she returned, only with a young man following her. Even running he could not keep up with her steady jog.
Seeing the man made me glad for a human being, by then it didn't even matter if it was my mom. I giggled pitifully, reaching toward the man. He looked down at me with lips and eyes that said 'is this a joke? I didn't ask the crane for a delivery'.
Hesitant, he picked me up and comforted me, knocking on the door.
No answer.
He tried again. No answer.
Finally he called the police. Finally, finally.
They arrived and started asking questions. Lots of them. I was so upset, because even as a toddler I could understand what my mom had done.
It is getting too dark to write now. I will keep the newspaper and hide in this tunnel tonight.
Goodnight, Aly.
Chapter 3-
Having slept in a tunnel, I was not in the best shape when I woke up. Stretching, I remembered by newspaper and one hundred dollars. I fumbled around and found it. Good.
I looked up, seeing a mother Robin up in her tree, my tree now, the one with my swing on it. She had a wiggly worm and was chewing it for her children. Studying her babies, I wondered if my mother would do that for me if she were still alive.
I sighed and thought about what I would do today. Little did I know I was in for a huge surprise.. a few, and magical ones at that.
***
I spent the morning walking around, exploring what I guessed would be my new home for a while. Sneaking around the edge of the park, I saw the back of a very attractive and wealthy neighborhood. I figured I would have plenty of time to investigate, so I walked nonchalantly through a backyard and continued up and down the sidewalks, observing the decorations of the many different houses.
Breathing in cool air, I heard a small whimpering noise and looked around. "Oh, my.." I whispered to myself.
There, across the street, was a pathetic looking litter of puppies in a dilapidated cardboard box; on a yard with a house that looked far too well-kept to have such a pitiful box for the small puppies. Looking each way for cars, I ran over to the box.
Kneeling, I stared at them. I counted- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 puppies, all a dark golden shade with some dark brown splotches on their backs and bellies. A note written in Sharpie read 'Free to a loving home'. I frowned and glanced at the door, to see if there was any activity or lights on inside. Instead I found a small notice: Repo'd. Please stay away. I wasn't going to argue with that.
Crawling back to the box, I gently dumped the puppies out, letting them run around a bit. They were too small to go very far yet.
I watched them play for a while before I decided I wanted one for myself. I romped around on the yard a bit, then settled down and cuddled each one of them, until I got to the runt of the litter. She was so sweet, she snuggled right up under my chin, rubbing her cold ears over my cheek. My thought process was going slowly in my mind.
Could I feed and love this little one enough? Could I supply for both her and I with 100 dollars? I was sure that if I didn't take her now, she would probably die out here. No one would want a runt, they never do.
Right then I knew we would be best friends. Hugging each of the puppies as a goodbye made me sad. I would hate to think that the rest of them might starve to death, too.
Thinking fast, I figured that if I could talk to the people at the local supermarket and get permission to post handmade notices, I could save their lives.
I could run fast.
I put my jacket over the box. It barely covered the top. I hoped I could make it to the supermarket before it closed.
Dear Journal…
I made it. I made it to the supermarket, and everything went as planned. I bought a new pack of pencils, a sharpener, a collar and leash and dog food for Pebble (I decided to name her that after I realized that she was almost a mini version of Stone), another notebook, some canned food and a can opener, a couple of small cereal packs, and a cheap hiking backpack to keep it all in.
I only had about thirty dollars left. I gave a dollar and my change to the nice man who had helped my advertisements look neat. I left the box with him, hoping that the store would get enough customers to take the puppies.
Pebble is here in my tunnel with me, her chin resting on my leg. Looking at her, I realized that we must have been through the same things; separated from our mothers at a very young age. I had a companion now, and we were the same. I think she, too, was sent to me. I cant help thinking that Stone had come back to me again.
Once again, it is dark. I hope my new friend will come in the morning.
I hope he isnt afraid of dogs.