"Lost and Found" by Lida Kanoti

Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash

The town I live in is tough. It’s the kind of town that no one visits, that might not even be on the map. People lumber around slowly carrying groceries and briefcases, but they don't have anywhere to go except home. Most of the houses are moldy and broken. Kind of like the people. No one can get a decent shower. Education is limited. No one wants to be here. If they had a choice they’d move out of town. Far away, to the edge of the earth and they’d never come back to the place that only seemed to have bad weather. 

It was another gray lonely Saturday. Winter was coming. The dried leaves scratched down the cracked pavement as the wind pushed them along to a sunnier place. I was sitting at the window wishing I was something like a leaf so I could float away. Light rock music drifted out of the radio. My mother rocked in her chair with an empty expression. Her pale wispy hair blew in front of her face due to the open window, but she just left it there. A stray cat pounced on a mouse and the leaf was far away by now. Just as Billy Joel was about to say “I may be crazy.” My father burst through the door and shouted “JANIE’S MISSING!” My mother and I looked at each other then looked at my father. He was panting, his long brown jacket was coated in dirt as usual from the job he had as a miner. He mined, sent it off to a big company and was given an eighth of what he deserved. 

Things seemed to slow down as I watched my mother and father talk to each other with raised eyebrows and excited faces. 

“What?” I thought. Nothing ever happened here. How could something so terrifying and important happen so suddenly. I was just sitting here five seconds ago wishing I was a leaf. Now I was only thinking of my friend. 

“Her parents found her missing from her bed this morning. But everything was in order, her bed was made, her room was clean, even her toothbrush was in the holder, felt as though it had just been used,” my dad replied

“How did you learn this?” my mother asked 

“John Simon! Haven’t talked to him in years!”

The next day at school I found out the news had traveled fast. People in my 8th grade class seemed so concerned as bits of conversations traveled to my ears. They were talking like she was their closest friend even though most of them had never said more than three words to her. She wasn’t the most popular; a very strange kid she was, always ready to say her opinion, an opinion contrary to most. She was my best and only friend. I'm a shy kid. Her bold personality contrasted my timid one perfectly. She was always there to stand up for me when I couldn’t do anything myself. My stomach started to fill with pain. I was tired and I just wanted to go home and think about what a turn my life had taken in such a short time. 

On the walk home the wind swirled through my legs and slapped my face leaving a red mark. I moped through the door. I moved my feet to my bedroom. They felt more like bricks than feet. I slumped into my tarnished wooden desk chair and thought how this tragedy had woken up my sleepy town. Now people talk to each other but only to gossip. It’s like the town is haunted, like its residents aren’t people but ghosts except no one has a spirit. But I don’t expect to lose my spirit.  I will break out, cross the border, and begin a new life.

During supper my parents whispered to each other sending me a glance every few seconds then they'd dart their eyes away every time they saw I was looking. They’re just like everyone else, I shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe some good will come out of it all. Maybe now that people are awake they’ll stop swimming in self-pity and climb onto the shore of their future.

Right then there was a weak knock on the door my mother dropped her plastic spoon into her chicken rice soup. I stood up and traveled to the door. My hand lingered on the rusty door knob. It clicked and creaked. And there she was. Looking smaller than she had ever looked. Her golden hair was now brown and tangled. There was a large cut on her cheek right next to her icy blue eyes, it looked on the edge of infection. Her face was a mask of petrified fear. Janie was back.  

Lida Kanoti is 13 years old; she lives in Old Town, Maine . . . where Old Town Canoes are made.  Lida goes to Leonard Middle School and says that she is just learning to play the Ukulele.