Lost and Found (Chapter Seven)

I woke to the faint aroma of coffee in the air that Friday morning. Even with the silent encouragement of the automatic coffeemaker, I found it hard to pry myself out of bed this morning. I was running on too little sleep. So little that even a fresh pot of coffee was little consolation.

It had been a rough night to try and go to sleep, thinking of Kitty out there, alone. Not to mention that I had been up 'til nearly one driving my car around looking for her. All but one hour of sleep had eluded me and there was only one force driving me out of bed. Rosemary had to go to school. For that matter, I had to work today. Missing a day, or even asking another favor of Arnold would be too much. I feared I was already taking advantage of him. But why was he so willing to give me anything I needed? I had saved his car wash, but anyone could've, with the right knowhow. It wouldn't've taken him too much time to find someone else who could operate his contraption. In fact, I had already trained Ian as my replacement and he was now working there more than I was, taking into account my liberal breaks and highly unusual hours.

My hand roved over my nightstand until it came across my lighter, picking it up and dropping it into the ashtray with the sharp click of the metal Zippo on glass. "I have to get up", I told myself as I struggled upright, legs so slowly moving to throw my feet over the edge of the bed. With one hand carrying the ashtray and the other carrying a pack of Camels, I dragged my feet into the kitchen. Sitting the ashtray and cigarettes by the coffeemaker I pulled up a bar stool and prepared to camp out and wake up.

"Rosemary!" I yelled as I pulled a cigarette from the pack and poured a cup of coffee. "It's morning, wake up." Taking at least six strikes to start this fire, I lit my cigarette. Pulling deep drags to will my body into wakefulness, and in part to ease my tense mind, I felt myself begin to relax. "Good morning," I said to myself, taking a large, excruciating gulp from the black coffee. My face puckered at the bitterness. The remaining coffee in the carafe was two shades blacker than usual and it wasn't nearly as hot as it should be. The warmer plate is off! D****t, that meant that the coffee had been sitting there for at least an hour. A quick glance at the clock confirmed my suspicions. I had seriously overslept.

Another worry drove itself into my mind, I still hadn't heard a peep from Rosemary. After another two face bending chugs the mug of coffee was almost gone. Damn, I needed that. Still just shy of awake I trudged to Rosemary's door.

I knocked with a heavy hand. "You awake?"

Down the hallway I heard a door opening. Rosemary emerged from the bathroom, looking fully dressed and ready to go. How did I miss that? Better yet...

"When did you get up?"

"I've been up." Rosemary was unusually bright and cheery, perhaps as a counterpoint to my tired drag.

"Why didn't you say something to me? It's almost time to go." It was almost impossible to hide my frustration but I'd like to think I did it well. Rosemary has a particularly fragile nature and the slightest hint

"I thought you needed the rest." Her eyes reflected vague sadness instantly making me guilty for the frustration my mind had misguidedly aimed at her.

"Maybe, but I need the work more; don't let me do it again." I had needed it, I was running on only just over three hours of sleep, caffeine, and nicotine.

"OK. I'm ready to go." My frustration momentarily flared, then settled into gratefulness. Someone without a kid has no idea how much of a struggle it is to get them ready in the morning, even when they are as self reliant as Rosemary is. The thought of her amazing independence reminded me of a pattern I had noticed in her that I found true for myself as well.

During my Junior year of high school in Foxton I had taken a Psychology class, it was accidental because to the celerity of the transfer. I walked into the class thinking I would hate because of associating psychology with shrinks, whom I despise, with all their hollow, cookie cutter advice. The first day of the class profoundly change this misconception. In defiance I got vocal and tried to challenge my teacher during the discussion on Erikson's developmental theories. Basically the theory is that we go through eight social stages of social development, each one building on the one before it. The first of these stages is trust vs. mistrust. It was obvious that I had failed that one miserably as I've never truly trusted anyone but myself because the chaos my father had created in my early life. Ultimately, getting through these stages leads to independence and a model life. My question was, if I had failed this first stage, why had I passed all of the others so easily? And why was I so fiercely independent? To my surprise the teacher psychoanalyzed me on the spot, picking me apart based on only less than a day's worth of observations. It was like he was inside of my head. I have never been scared in quite the same way before in my life. He didn't even touch me and I was scared for my life. Had I really showed that much so of my inner mind effortlessly? More than I knew about myself at the time. My life changed on that day. It was like my life all clicked, I understood at once the behaviors that had been stumping me my whole life. I'm still not sure if he was cold reading or not. But however he came to those conclusions, they were spot on. It was the most disarming experience of my life, to see my guarded life laid bare so easily, so publicly.

For days I couldn't get it out of my head. I thought about Erikson's theory too. After thought, I decided there was another possibility for the first stage. In the theory, you either learned to trust your parents and were healthly or you learned mistrust and withdrew into social meltdown. I concluded that there was a middle ground. You learned that the only person in your life you could trust completely was yourself and so developed paranoid independence. This made the next four stages easier as you didn't have to rely on shifty parents to complete them.

This was the path I walked. Next to me on this path was Rosemary.

The issues came in the sixth stage, intimacy vs. isolation. Having never developed trust for others it was hard to get intimacy right. Looking at my own relationships I knew this was true. Rosemary, suddenly it hit me. She would suffer this too and the rape would make it that much harder. For the first time in forever a tear slipped past my defenses and down my face.

I ran to my room, leaving Rosemary alone and confused in the hallway. Without knowing what I was thinking I knew she would blame herself for the tear and I couldn't have that. In my room I dressed quickly and wiped nervously at my eye. Luckily the tear was alone. No more followed.

Quickly, I made for the door, calmly calling Rosemary to follow. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the answering machine flash. Even short on time I was compelled to check it. The message hadn't been there last night. I had the nagging feeling it was Kitty. I had to know for sure.

Surprise washed over me lift a cold sweat when I heard Arnold's voice.

''Dean... This is Arnold... I wanted to tell you not to come into work today... Consider it paid leave.'' There could've been no sweeter words, other than Kitty saying 'I'm sorry, everything is okay', that I could've heard that morning. But undertoning my relief there was the vague suspicion that there was something more to the message than I had heard. There was some indelible quality to his words, something slightly unnerving, I just couldn't put my finger on it. If I had had more time I would've listened to the message again to try and identify it, but as work started after school I was still in as much rush as I had been before.

I got Rosemary to school with little issue. Being ten minutes late I decide to sign her so she wouldn't have a tardy on her record. If it had been me, I wouldn't've cared about the tardy but I for some reason wanted more for Rosemary than I had ever wanted for myself. Somehow the simple task filled my chest with the warm glow of a proud father. No, I was proud of myself. Even with my own apartment and job and the pressures of supporting myself and a child, I had never felt so much like an adult as I did then in that small office.

After returning to my apartment from the school I poured myself another cup of coffee and feeling properly caffeinated I settled on the couch with my laptop and started a project I had been meaning to start for some time. The story that would eventually become the beginning of the book you are reading now.

Still, as comfortable as I was, with my coffee and my laptop, I couldn't help but be called back to the answering machine. Once more, I pressed play and let Arnold say his piece. In listening to the message again it became painfully clear the emotion I had missed before. Guilt, emotional pain and sadness, though it was well disguised. It was the pauses he had used to collect himself that gave it away the most.

I got in my car and started for my work, telling myself I was going to thank him for the unexpected time off. Really, I was going to investigate.

I found Arnold in his office, lost in the paperwork of his personal finances. I knocked softly on the door to his office. He said, ''Come in'' in a mono-tonal sort of way and looked up and did a quick double take. I know, I wouldn't expect me to be here either, I thought to myself as I entered the heavily windowed office.

''I came here as soon as I could. Good thing I didn't have to work, it's already nine.''

''Just like John...'' he trailed off, with all of the pain in his voice that i thought I had been imagining. Slowly, small tears began to run in streams down his face, detouring at the pronounced worry lines that marked his features.

''Who's John?'' I asked tentatively. Other than the curiosity I had noticed earlier, suddenly I felt great empathy for the middle aged man. Almost instinctively I rushed to the windows to begin closing the blinds so that he could have privacy. I almost ran when I finished but a pleading in his words, a longing to he heard, released, kept me there.

''He was my son...'' The word was seemed to stick in my mind, already I could see where this was going. For reasons I cannot explain, I felt my mind begin to divide into polar opposites. Sympathy, that was the obvious one, but alongside it was anger and aggression. I know it makes no sense, but the aggression felt so natural even though every shred of common sense in my body said it didn't.

''Was?'' I knew I had to ask. I couldn't leave him now, no matter how bad I wanted to. I would have to prod before i could get the full story. Whenever a person had as many defenses as Arnold seemed to, the truth would never just slip out easily. I knew.

''He died... In Iraq.'' His body convulsed in a deep, heart breaking sob, slinging his head into his arms on top of the tax paperwork. From the shell of security his arms provided he continued. ''It was a year ago today. He was so much like you. Headstrong, and somehow fragile.'' I had never though of myself in those terms but thinking back to the memory I had recalled earlier that morning I realized he was absolutely right.

Suddenly, his riotous sobs ended and his head came up from between him arms. ''Just like you. I can't believe it, how didn't I see? He answered my prayers.'' He looked to the ceiling as if he expected god himself to part the square tiles and shoot him a wink. ''God, how is this possible?'' Lowering his head again, his eyes met mine, filled with a storm of emotion I could not comprehend. I looked away so quickly I swear I popped my neck.

''Dean, I know you have no way of knowing this but you couldn't be more like John if you tried. I... Just can't thank you enough. I feel like you've saved, more than financially, but spiritually, emotionally... Physically.''

''Physically? You don't mean...''

''I do. I don't know how much I longer I could've lived with this all bottled up inside. It's just... Well, you might not understand, what with your relationship with your father like it is and your mother gone, but the bond between a parent and his child. It's so strong... That when it breaks.... It's like a rubber band, and it comes back and snaps you right in the heart.'' I wouldn't've known, if it hadn't been for Rosemary. And just when I was getting sick of things hitting me out of the blue that day it happened again. I remembered my mother. Not the fake one I had fed in the lie I gave Arnold. I had to come clean, it was the respectful thing to do.

''Look, I don't mean to make this a habit, and I promise this is the last time you'll hear this from me, but you were so honest with me that I'm going to return the favor.'' I could feel the sweat glands all over my body preparing for action. My heart pounded like a steel drum. So loud that even Arnold could easily hear it.

''You have to understand this is hard for me.'' I started. I already my body was beginning to be drenched with sweat. ''My father was very abusive. He beat me mother all the time. Sometimes to within an inch of her life, but my mother was a strong woman, too strong for her own good. She never went to anyone for help. One day my dad threatened her with a gun, I remember it so clearly, we were all in the kitchen... He hit her with it. And she fell, and he was satisfied, and he put the gun on the counter and started to leave the room.'' I broke into tears from the sudden rush of repressed memory. Through the tears I stammered. ''She shot him, three times, in the back. He died on the spot.'' I paused to collect myself. I was soaked, sweat rolled down my body in every place possible.

''We were poor, she couldn't afford a lawyer, so we got a state appointed one. The b*****d, he was so incompetent. Couldn't prove self defense because she shot him in the back. There was a precedent, he talked about it, but he never used it.'' I stopped talking abruptly. If it was possible my heart was pounding faster. I was seething with rage. A thin layer of self control was all that kept me from reducing the room to rubble with my bare hands. I could feel the torrential waves of sweat pooling in my shoes.

There was a lengthy hanging silence hanging between us. Arnold was too shocked to speak. I was still trying to re-cage my rapidly fluctuating emotions. When at last, I believed myself to be under control I sat down in one of the chairs across from his desk.

''I've been in foster homes ever since. I've lived in five states. The last time I saw my family was six months ago. I stayed with my aunt in North Carolina between living in Nevada and staying in Colorado. That's where I met Rosemary. She's a foster kid too. He raped her.'' I fell onto the ground as spasmodic waves of tears shook my body. The anger that I had felt earlier had burnt itself out and was replaced with pure sorrow. I closed my eyes and let myself lose all control. My mind drifted off into the dark void my eyes conveyed to me.

When I next opened my eyes I found Arnold standing beside me.

''Where is your mother now?'' He said softly, almost a whisper.

''A women's maximum security prison in Colorado.''

''How long has it been since you've seen her?''

''Years.''

''Then I'm going to do you a favor. I owe it to you.'' I looked up at him in full of sick confusion. He stared back, his aged face now deep and compassionate. What could he do?

''I'm going to be getting a lot back in taxes this year and I'm feeling generous. I'll take Rosemary for a week, or however you like and you'll take this money.'' He extended his hand to me, in it was his wallet. ''I want you to go to Colorado and see your mother. I'll bet she misses you.''