The Rescue

They found me at a shelter. I’m thirty and fiercely independent but Alice and Lloyd wanted me anyway. They couldn’t have children and were unsuccessful adopting a child by the traditional methods. I was their last chance.

I didn’t like hanging around the shelter and I don’t like staying in their home either, even though my new “parents” are sweet. I like to keep moving. It’s a habit I developed to avoid the cold and the cops. Still, I do come home for a warm meal and a comfy bed and I try to show some manners, even if that’s unnatural for me.

Just the other day, Alice said to me: “Wayne, dear, would you please take your elbows off the table?” And I did.

They also converted me to their religion—I’m a Mormon now—and I root for their sports teams. To be perfectly honest, I don’t care about sports or religion, but Alice and Lloyd are sweet and, actually, I love them. I also have to admit, grudgingly, manners are a good thing to know.

I did a bad thing. I betrayed my new mom and dad. I ran away. I had the urge, the wanderlust. I hitched a ride, actually a bunch of rides, going way out west.

I camped in woods or open lots. I got this tent and it keeps me pretty dry. Still gets cold at night and that makes me miss home, but I’m all right.

I don’t even know what state I’m in today. I’ve lost track. But while pitching my tent, I saw something sticking up through the ground. I dug it up. You know what I found? Golden plates! And also a penant from 1980 that says “Philadelphia Phillies World Champions.” I guess you always find what you’re looking for.

I’m heading home. I’m gonna ring the doorbell, wipe my feet on the mat, and present my parents with these treasures.

My parents will be so proud. I think.