A Story to Tell

         Ms. Ellen Giovanni sat back in her chair. I was sitting on the floor in my bedroom, listening to her cough. Ms. Giovanni was in the living room, but I could hear her perfectly from the thin walls in my house. I was writing a story. It wasn’t this story, but it was close. It was about Ms. Giovanni. As I wrote, I heard her talking to him. John, his name was. He was 67 years, old, 53 years older than I. But he was only 5 years older than Ms. Giovanni.
         Ms. Giovanni and John were talking in hushed whispers; they thought I couldn’t hear, but I could. I could understand every word they were saying. Suddenly, Ms. Giovanni cried out in agony and in shock, and I was amazed. She never cried. I never cried either. John was speaking in an angry voice now. Don’t! Ms. Giovanni sobbed. I heard a loud scrape, as old, dusty, furniture was being dragged along the old wooden floor, sprinkled with a layer of dust. I heard Ms. Giovanni’s painting’s being torn off the old falling-down wallpaper, and the sound of Ms. Giovanni’s old worn rug being taken away.
I climbed on to my bed- the floor was cold, and I put away my notebooks, just as my door was opened. I gasped. John walked in.
“Sarah, come with me.” He said.
I refused, and stayed on my bed. John left, and he walked into the other room, where Ms. Giovanni was still weeping.
“Ellen! Make the child get up!” John roared.
I was insulted. “I’m 14!” I yelled back.
John and two others came in, and they lifted my bed off the ground!
An hour later, our house was deserted. Ms. Giovanni was bawling now, and she coughed, a painful cough. I put my arm around her to comfort her.
“Sarah Coles, sit down for a minute, and listen to me.” Ms. Giovanni said.
I sat down, and listened.
“How old are you Sarah? 15? 16?”
“I’m 14, ma’am.” I said.
“Where were you born?”
“San Antonio, Texas, ma’am. Why, ma’am?”
“I don’t really know you that well, Miss Coles. Besides, you’re parents are going to be here very soon. Mrs. Taylor said that they would be here in less than a week. You ‘cited to see ‘em?”
“Yes ma’am. Y’all here at County Forest Farms are the nicest people I’ve ever met. It is gonna be a boring time at home without you guys. Where I’m staying?”
“Mrs. Taylor said that a family from, um, Maine is going to take you in. That is where y’all -you and Henry- are going to be staying until we find your parents. That fine with you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
  Well, I’m going to tell you a story. I was a little younger than you, I’d say, eleven, my parents disappeared too. An old lady on my street, Mrs. Anne Winters, told other neighbors that they didn’t want me anymore. So for two years, Anne told horrible things that had happened to my parents. None of these things ever happened. It was horrible. She spread word about me too. She told friends and her family that I was going to be sent to state prison, because I left the lights on in my dining room until 2:00 in the morning. Anne called the police, because I was up until 2:00 in the morning. I wasn’t up, I explained to the police, I was only up getting a glass of water, and noticed the light was on. The police asked for my parents, and I told them I didn’t have any. The police didn’t believe me. I had to spend a night in county prison, which made Anne extremely happy. I had to spend that night, because I wouldn’t tell where my parents were. It was horrible. When I came back the next day, the first thing I heard from anyone was from Anne, and it was, why aren’t you still in jail? Didn’t you break the law? And, the police were like; she didn’t break the law, Mrs. Winters. Will you mind your own business? You just caused an innocent girl to spend a night in jail. How does that make you feel? I’m glad she moved to Tennessee a month later. Even though I got out of jail, I had to first go to an adoption program, but I told the police, my parents hadn’t left me, they had disappeared. I was surprised; I got out of the adoption thing in a week. But I had to go to a homeless clinic, which I found out, I loved. I made a best friend, named Allison Corey. I am still friends with her today. I stayed in that clinic for ten years; I left when I was 23. I never again met my parents for 30 years; I was 41 when I met them again. They had taken a wrong turn when leaving work, and got lost, and ended up in Arizona. (We lived in California). Well, they took a plane to take them back to California, but found out it stopped in California. They weren’t allowed to get off the plane. The plane flew from California to Russia. Because we didn’t have passports, they couldn’t get off. After three days on a plane, they found it was only a one-way travel plane, and were stuck in Russia for two years. They tried calling, but Mrs. Winters for some reason disconnected our phone line, and they couldn’t understand the operator, because he spoke in Russian. And they couldn’t get back to America. Finally, when they managed to get back to America, and find my house, I was already gone. Mrs. Winters was in Tennessee, and none of the other neighbors (they were in their 80s or 90s) knew what had happened to me. My parents were lost. My relatives didn’t even know I was gone. It took 30 years before they could find me.”
I stared in shock. I didn’t know what to say. So I didn’t say anything at all.