Lost and Found (((under construction)))

Lost and Found

It was late, and I was tired beyond words. The last place I felt like being was behind the counter of "Papa's Pizza Place". The sofa in my apartment was calling to me, and my favorite t.v. show, LOST, was airing its season finale. Besides that, I had finals to study for. Fifteen more minutes and I would have been on my way home. Instead, a call came in, and my boss sent me out for one last pizza delivery. I jumped in my yellow '03 Volkswagen Beetle and sped away in the direction of the address I was given.

I pulled into the driveway of a nice ranch-style home with gray siding and maroon shutters. I rang the doorbell, and a man in his forties answered. He asked me if I minded waiting while he got his checkbook to pay for the pizza. I nodded grudgingly, and he disappeared into the house.

I stood there waiting, tapping my foot in boredom, and wondering how Jack, Kate, and the others were going to make it off the island in the season finale, suddenly angry that I would miss part of it because of a stupid pizza delivery. It was then that something caught my eye. A framed photo of ME! Well, not really me, just a young girl who looked eerily like me when I was her age. The same big brown eyes and she even wore her dark-brown hair in pigtails, like I did at her age. I know lots of little girls have brown hair and pigtails, but she really could have passed for my twin.

The man returned with the check and noticed my startled expression. "Is something wrong?" he asked. I felt awkward telling a perfect stranger that the girl in the picture could be my twin sister, but something compelled me to tell him the truth. He stared at the photo and then back at me. A puzzled look came across his face that I couldn't decipher. He then asked me if I minded joining him for coffee at a nearby café. This was all feeling quite strange by now, but I was irresistibly drawn to the mystery of the photo.

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, it's really hard to explain right here on the stoop, and I don't think it's wise for a young lady to come inside an empty house with a stranger. If you don't have another pizza delivery, I'd really love to talk to you about the photo. Of course, I'll understand if you are uncomfortable with the idea."

Against my better judgment, I agreed to meet him at a nearby cafe I frequented. I arrived at the cafe a little ahead of him, my heart pounding with questions for this stranger. After ordering coffee from a gum-chewing waitress with dyed blond hair, he asked me a simple question that answered the mysteries that had been riddling my brain ever since leaving his house. “Are you adopted?”

I nervously replied, “Yes.”

He then said the words I had been longing to hear, and yet dreading at the same time. “I think I may be your father."

We left the cafe two hours later, and I had more questions to ask him than he had already answered, questions that had taunted me all my life. Unless you're adopted you can't imagine what it's like to look at everyone on the street, and wonder if he or she could be related to you. It's a fantasy, I know, but it's an adoptee's reality. This time he WAS related. He was my dad!

I was too excited to sleep, and I no longer cared about final exams or the season finale of my favorite television show. All I could think about was our next meeting. I wanted to know everything he could tell me. Finally, I would have some pieces of my life that had been missing since I was a small child. I knew there would be some pieces that would bring me pain, but I had to know anyway. Tomorrow I would meet with him again, this time at a nice restaurant downtown. He had promised to tell me more about my mom.

Pat Nelson
July 1, 2008