Searching

      Casey sat at the cherry wood table, his back hunched over a large, dusty, brown bound book. As he turned each page, little specks of dust appeared and disappeared into the air. Newspaper articles from January 2004 flashed before his eyes. Bush Calls for More Troops in Iraq. Man Saves Girl from Drowning. Pedophile Arrested at Elementary School. He still could not find what he was looking for.

      Casey Taylor had been searching for over two years for his true identity. Week after week, he traveled to different libraries near the suburban town he lived in to try and find out his story. In mid-January 2004, an unconscious Casey was found on the side of the road by a group of teenagers on a road trip. They brought him to the nearest hospital where he awoke a week later, unable to remember anything that had happened to him. Ever. He had no recollection of his name, where he came from, who he was; he only had three memories.

      The first was of a white picket fence surrounding a small garden and a two story house. The house was white with blue shutters and a black door. The second was of a large, bright office with a clean desk and a large leather chair. The walls were entirely clear, and he could see skyscrapers, billboards, and busy city streets from the window.

      But the third meant the most to him. It was of a beautiful, smiling, brunette woman holding a baby in her arms. They were standing outside of the two story house, waving to somebody, probably him. Whenever this final memory came up, tears welled in Casey’s eyes. He wished he could remember who these people were, but he knew he loved and missed them very much.

      It was difficult for Casey when he first woke up. Not being able to remember anything, he had to restart his life. The first thing he did was give himself a name. For some reason, the names Casey and Taylor seemed right. They had meaning to him, but he could not figure out why. He then found himself a place to live, a job, and even managed to make a few friends. But deep down he was not happy, knowing that in some other small town, just like the one he was in, a beautiful woman and child waited for his return home. If only he could figure out where they were.

      Casey searched everyday for a link to his past. After work, he would get into his car and drive to a new library. He would spend about a week at each one, looking through all the newspaper articles from that town, trying to find something that matched up with what he knew about his previous life. After two years of searching, Casey was still determined. It was his drive, his purpose for living.

      But as Casey sat at that cherry wood table, something caught his eye: an article entitled Family Missing In Woods.  
 

      Last Tuesday, a family was coming home from their relative’s home. They decided to take a shortcut through the woods in order to avoid traffic and got lost and eventually ran out of gas.

      Not having cell phone service, the father, Nathan Jones, left his wife Taylor Jones, and 3-year-old daughter Gretchen Jones to find help. He was gone for 3 days before Andrew Newton found the car.

      Andrew brought Taylor and her daughter to safety. Sadly, Nathan has yet to be found. Because of the cold weather, the family has every reason to believe Nathan dead. His body has yet to be found, but his funeral will be held… 
 
 
 

       As he read the story, a smile formed on Casey’s face. He photocopied the article and placed it into his pocket. Thoughts of birthdays, vacations, and family dinners with the Jones’s filled his mind. He went back to reading.

*   *   *   *

      Her pale cheek feels soft against his hand. He strokes it lovingly. Her smile fills his heart with joy and lights up his world. Her eyes glow with the feeling of true love. But that cheek, that cheek, that cheek.

      Casey awoke with a smile on his face. He had this same dream every time he found an article that might fit his story. Was Taylor Jones the woman from his recurring dream? Would he ever know?

      Later that month, Casey was at a co-worker’s house watching the football game with a few other friends from the office. The five single men sat around Jared’s flat screen TV, drinking beer and eating pretzels.

      “TOUCHDOWN!!!!” Eric yelled. He and Sean jumped up and ran around the room, arms spread like wings. The others high-fived each other and took long sips of their Miller Lights.

      “Did you see that?” Sean asked, as he and Eric sat back down.

      “No, no we didn’t,” Casey said sarcastically.

      “Hey Case,” Brian began. “Did you ever find out about that family? The Jones’?”

      “Yeah, I mean, I haven’t really had time. I drove all the way to the Larkspur library so I didn’t really have much time when I got home.”

      “Wait wait wait, you think you might have found your family but you’re still going to those damn libraries?” Jared asked, confused.

      “Yeah, well –”

      “You know what, I’ll help you,” Jared offered. “I’ll try to find a place that can give you some DNA test or something. This is starting to get ridiculous, I mean, it’s already been over two years.”

      “Yeah, OK, whatever, sure, if you want. Anyone want another beer?”

      When Casey got home, he put on his jogging clothes, fit his iPod headphones into his ears, and went for a jog. Jogging kept him going; it was the only way he could clear his mind. Today, that was more important than ever. For some reason, Jared’s proposition to help made him uncomfortable. Did he not want any outside help? Casey was eager when the police offered to help him. When they gave up on him after several weeks, he began to rely on himself. Without this test, how could Casey know who his real family was?

      The next day, Casey found himself on the 90 minute drive to the Larkspur library after work. This library kept the newspapers in large white binders, with each page in a clear laminated page protector. Yesterday, he had left after finishing the binder third from the right on the bottom row. Just ten more binders to go and he would be on to the next library.

      Casey sighed as he pulled the binder from the shelf, sat down in an arm chair, and began to scan. His eyes had become so used to scanning. Now, they only sent signals to his brain when words such as “missing” or “lost” came up. And suddenly, his eyes popped. “Man Mysteriously Disappears On Yacht.”  
 

      Last night, Michael Reynolds fell off the Cohen family’s yacht at their Fifth Annual Breast Cancer Charity Event. Guests at the party say he seemed belligerently intoxicated. Nobody saw him disappear, but some claim they saw a strange floating raft. He has yet to be found.

      The boat was far away from any land, so it is unclear whether he is alive. However, if rumors of the raft are true, we can only hope for the best, as he will be leaving behind his wife Sonya and daughter Casey.  
 
 
 

      Casey immediately photocopied the story and placed it in his pocket. He then sat back down on the chair and continued to read.

      A week later, Casey found a note on his desk after returning from lunch.

      Hey man. I found a number you can call for help. They help people like you all the time. Here it is. – Jared.      555-2674.

      Casey read the note without picking it up, and immediately placed the folder he was holding on top of it. He opened the file and began to work.

*   *   *   *

      Her pale cheek feels soft against his hand. He strokes it lovingly. But no, something is different. Wet drops fall onto his hand from her sharp blue eyes. Her delicate cheek begins to tremble and shake. Suddenly, she is gone.

      Casey awoke with a start. This was the second time that his recurring dream had changed. The first time was the night after he received the note from Jared. And now, two weeks later, Casey needed to make a decision about the DNA test. His friends had begun to bother him about it, not really understanding why he hadn’t called yet. Casey didn’t understand either. He just wasn’t ready. And he didn’t know if he ever would be.

      Thirsty and unable to sleep, Casey climbed out of his white cotton sheets, dragged his exhausted body to the refrigerator, and poured himself a glass of water. As he took a sip, he looked to his wooden kitchen table and saw the article he had found that day. It told the story of a man who went to get some groceries and never returned. His wristwatch was found in a bush next to the grocery store, but his body had yet to be found. Every new story, every new possible life, seemed so exciting to him. He didn’t know which lost man he wanted to be.

      *   *   *   *

      “Casey, I’m sorry to bother you but, your report? I needed it an hour ago. Casey? Are you listening?”

      Casey’s eyes were fixed at the computer screen, unblinking. “Oh, um, hey Sean, sorry about that. What’s up?” He suddenly came out of his trance.

      “The report?” Sean asked, confused.

      “Sorry, it’s right here, I just forgot to print it out.” Casey clicked the printer button at the top of his computer screen, and the sound of the printer began.

      “Case, are you alright? You seem a little – preoccupied.”

      “Yeah, I’m fine, I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

      “Are you sure? You look pale.”

      “No, really, I’m fine,” Casey said as he reached under his desk. He took the report from the printer tray and stapled the upper left corner. “I just need some water. I’ll be fine.”

      He handed Sean the stapled papers and walked over to the water fountain. He took a sip and wiped his mouth with the side of his hand. Casey looked at the drops on his hand and felt a pang in his stomach. The woman from his dreams flashed before his eyes. Her soft cheek, her beautiful big blue eyes… Casey ran to his desk and frantically began to search for the note. He sifted through piles of papers, folders, until he finally found it, stuffed into the pockets of one of his files. He sat down, relieved. But for some reason, Casey could not make himself dial the number. There was something in him, something that held him back, something that would not let his hand move to the phone. He sat back down at his chair, sighed, and put the note back where he had found it.

      Casey left work 15 minutes early. He needed more time to get to the next library.

      *   *   *   *

      Six months later, after a long day at the library in Bakerton, Casey took a copy of the story he had found and placed it on his wooden table. He went over to his phone and saw that he had three new messages. The first was from a girl he had gone on a date with the previous Saturday night. The second was from Eric about a poker tournament that Thursday evening. But the final message made Casey stop at the refrigerator door before he could pull out a beer.

      “Hello Casey, this is Angela Appleton from the Missing Peoples’ Agency. We understand you’re having some trouble finding your family. Now, we would love to hear your story and see what we can do to help. I’ve got appointments on…”

      Casey could not believe his ears. He listened to Angela’s reassuring voice blare from the machine, but all he could feel was his stomach fall through the floor. As she spoke, his eyes moved around the room. He looked at the bowl of cereal still in the sink from that morning, the various magnets and reminders on the white board above the phone, the article he had placed on the wooden table he had placed there moments ago. His eyes traveled to the walls on which all four walls were covered, ceiling to floor, with articles he had found. Only small squares of yellow were visible. Casey slowly walked over to the phone and deleted the message without writing down the number or appointment times. He took a piece of tape from the counter, taped the article from that day over one of the small available sections of wall, and reached into the refrigerator for his beer.