Whether he remembers his old life or not, the child may opt to not push against the seemingly overwhelming tide and will surrender to his new life. If he doesn’t go to the authorities as detailed above, perhaps he strikes out on his own. The kid could make new friends, possibly stay with them a while, or live on the street. He could pick up part time work stocking shelves, walking dogs, or something to get some cash into his pocket.
This road isn’t easy—and the child will have to become adept at skirting the many issues associated with that life—but it is the option that leads to the least amount of hassling about his past or dealing with monsters (the Closetland variety, anyway).
62
chapter Five
“I came home and they wouldn’t let me in.”
My mom looked at me like I was crazy. She kept saying, “Devon? Devon who?” My father threatened to call the cops if I didn’t get off the porch. I laughed, thinking it was some sort of weird joke but then I realized they were both serious.
I told them who I was but that just made them angrier.
“We don’t have a son,” they said. “Never did, never will. Now go!”
The look in their eyes told me they believed what they said.
I tried to remind them. I told them my entire name, the day I was born, about the house we first lived in, back in Fairfax.
“How’d you know about that house?” My mother asked, looking at my father, worried.
But the old man shoved me away, told me to go bother someone else.
“But Harold, how did he know?”
I started to cry, I remember that, once I realized this wasn’t some dumb joke. My father went back into the house. I thought maybe he was going to get his shotgun so I got out of there quick as I could.
I thought about going to the police but who would they believe? Me? I don’t think so.
I went to some of my old friends and they didn’t remember me either. Except Kara. She looked like maybe she remembered me but then her dad asked her if she knew me and she said no.
So, I just started walking. I didn’t have anything on me but what I was wearing. I hid out in some kid’s treehouse, I needed a place to get out of the rain, and one day I ran into the kid by accident and we sorta hit it off.
I have new friends now, as much as anyone here is a friend, and sometimes I walk by my house but I haven’t worked up the courage to stop by again. I see my parents sometimes, bringing in groceries. They seem happy. I think my mom noticed me one time—she got this sad look on her face—but that’s it.
I don’t know what happened, but I wish it hadn’t.
63
through the cracks (the Forgotten)
“I couldn’t remember how to get home.”
Most things looked familiar—I remembered the street signs and the big black eagle on the Guevara’s garage door—but other things didn’t. I thought it was winter but it wasn’t.
It was really hot, like middle-of-summer hot.
How does that happen? How does half a year just disappear?
I walked around the block for hours. I thought hard about my name, my last name, and I looked at every mailbox. The ones that didn’t have names on them, I looked inside to see what names were on the envelopes. But then my name went away. I had it. I really did. I had my name but then I didn’t.
I stood there, looking at all those houses, knowing one of those roads went by my home but I couldn’t for the life of me remember which one.
So I just walked. I walked down some other streets. I thought, “Hey, maybe I was wrong. Maybe that’s not my street.”
But the problem is, no matter how much I walked, no matter how many houses I stared at, none of them felt like home.
No place feels like home.
64
chapter Five
“All of a sudden, I was in an empty parking lot.”
Just before, my mom had been on my case about coming home late. She was furious.
She was screaming her head off. My little sister came downstairs to see what the problem was and my mom smacked her butt and told her never to come downstairs again.
She was really angry. And I don’t even know why. I told her I was going to be late but it didn’t matter. She was always on my case about where I went and who I hung out with.
Like it mattered. Like she’d approve of any friends I had. Unless I was buddy-buddy with Brad McCourt and his whole stupid bunch of friends. They were perfect.
“They’re a good influence.” Yeah, right. Angels to parents, sure, but not to us kids.
Anyway, she was as red as ketchup and ready for round two of telling me how much of a future criminal I am when I started to yell at her and, then, BAM.
She was gone. The house was gone. I was in this huge parking lot but there were no cars, nothing. Well, paint lines and those tall lights with cameras but I don’t think there were cameras on those.
I mean, I have no idea where I was. Nothing looked familiar. Then I heard some growling come from somewhere, some kinda big dog. So I got outta there. Wandered forever until I found some other people. Same thing had happened to them. So weird.
Three months later, I still have no idea how to get back home.
At this point, I don’t even remember where home is.