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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2006860-18-and-Alone
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Emotional · #2006860
Writing Prompt. 18 yr. old adoptee has gotten his birth mother's name and number.
08/30/2014 Writing Prompt: You are an 18 year old adoptee. You have your birth mother's name and phone number in your hand.

I sit on the bench in the cool morning air staring at the paper in my hands and glancing back up at the dick I hired walking away from me. And no, not that, I am talking about the private investigator I hired. I really expected it to take him longer than three weeks.

I'm anxious, relieved and sad all at the same time. Do I call or do I walk away like she did? I continue to stare at my real mother's phone number. Well, she's not exactly my real mother. My real mother is the one who loves me, who's taken care of me for the past 17 years. This woman only gave birth to me. I chide myself after thinking such a callous thought.

See? I'm kind of a practical person. I'm not one to give myself over to emotion. I look at situations logically. I never intended on being this way, I just am. That's not to say that I don't have feelings, I just usually keep them in check. But this is something a little different. I never expected to actually get this.

Actually, I never expected to hire someone to find her. I remember asking a couple of times when I was younger, but never really gave it any importance. I mean my parents loved me and provided for me my whole life. I was happy. And I guess, I was okay with being adopted. I guess indifferent would be more accurate.

That is, until a month ago. As I replay the events in my mind a tear rolls down my check and falls on the paper. I didn't even realize that I was crying. I wipe my face with my sleeve and stand to look at the morning sun-drenched sky. Taking a deep breath I blow it out through pursed lips and walk back to the house.

I'm not sure how long I had been standing outside my house just starring. It was Mrs. Anders , standing in her front doorway in her bright pink bathrobe that brought me back to reality when she called out my name.

'Oh! Good morning Mrs. Anders. How are you?'

'I'm fine Joey. Are you oaky?'

'Yeah. I'm fine, thanks.'

'Are you sure? You've been standing out there for a while.'

'Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just thinking, I guess.' I flash her a smile to be convincing.

'Have you had breakfast yet? I can whip you up something to eat.'

'Yes, ma'am. I've eaten. But thank you.' I wave to her and start walking toward the house.

'Well, if you need anything, you let me know honey.'

She calls everyone honey. She is the sweetest neighbor anyone could ask for. When my parents took a second honeymoon last year for their twenty-fifth anniversary, Mrs. Anders looked in on me and brought dinner for me nearly every day. Not that I needed it, but it did help me feel a little less lonely while they were gone. A few times she had even packed me a lunch for school the following morning. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I like to buy my lunch at school.

I open the door and stand in the foyer and the thought seizes my mind. They're gone for good. As sorrow over takes me once again I lean back against the door and slide down to the floor and cry into my knees.
© Copyright 2014 J. S. Van (jsvan at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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