The Forgotten Wolf

       I am alone and I am tired.                     Orphaned at young age, I was bounced from one foster family to the next. I don’t even remember my parents. As I sit on the damp ground with my back against a tree, there is a chill in my bones. How did I even get here- that is the million dollar question isn’t? The cold runs bone deep and I am unsure about how much longer I can last living outdoors. I am completely lost. There has been something following me since I entered these woods a couple days ago. I can feel its eyes on me almost every moment. I am scared to close my eyes in case it over takes me. Not that anyone would miss me; I am completely alone in this world. I just keep running – only stopping for short breaks. How much longer can I go on like this?             I have never been anything special. Mossy brown hair with dark chocolate eyes, i can blend into almost any crowd and disappear. I keep my hair short, it barely reaches my shoulders. It is just long enough to pull up into a pony tail to keep it out of my face. About the only thing I am good at is running. A couple of the schools I went to wanted me to join their track and field teams but I never stayed in one school long enough. Eventually I just stopped going all together. I don’t even think my foster family and teachers noticed. Jane Doe, completely forgettable. ‘Plain Jane’, my classmates would call me on the rare occurrence that they even noticed I was there. I never stayed with one family long enough for them to use their last name and I was abandoned by my parents when I was barely three years old. So Jane Doe has just stuck, and as one of the foster fathers always told me, it is perfect because no one would miss me when I died.             My last guardian was named Margaret Millstone, and she was the best one of the bunch. Margaret, or Mrs. M as I would call her, lived in a small home in a suburb of Denver. Her backyard was small but filled to the brim with flowers and plants. She was a firm believer nature curing what ails us. During my short time with Mrs. M she taught me how to prepare different teas to help with most every day issues. I remember when I was first dropped off by my social worker to her house. The neighborhood was quiet and very cookie cutter. Every house looked the same until you turned on her street. Mrs. M’s house was painted a pale pink that had faded with age. Ivy from her small front garden had grown, covering the majority of the front of her house.             Margret was sitting on her small front porch, rocking in an old weathered rocking chair. It squeaked and rattled every time she sat down in it but it always held her. As I got out of the car I noticed her long white hair, neatly gathered and braided behind her neck. She was dressed in a long patchwork skirt with a peasant blouse and long sweater vest. Her eyes appeared almost black and had a shine to them. It seemed as if someone had spent years polishing them just right. As the social worker parked the car, Margret slowly stood up and waved.             I don’t know what came over me, I had been in the system almost fifteen years but something about her made me think ‘family’. I grabbed my tattered book bag from the back of the car and carefully walked up onto the porch.  Mrs. M enveloped me in the biggest hug I had every received. She smelled like flowers and dirt – the scent of hard work in her garden. “I am so glad you are finally here”, she whispered into my ear. Usually I would find something like that creepy and unnerving, but for some reason I only felt trust for her. I felt a kinship to her that I didn’t fully understand.             Later that night we sat next to each other in her little garden. Margret was watching the fire flies dance before they disappeared into the night. She looked over at me and her eyes shown in the moonlight. “It says in your file that your name is Jane Doe. Is that really your name,” she asked. I didn’t know how to respond to that question.           “Yes and no”, I responded. I could tell she wasn’t going to let it drop, so I explained “I had to have a real name when I was born but I don’t remember it, I actually don’t remember much of my parents. My earliest memory is waking up in a fire station, having no idea how I got there.” There was sadness in Mrs. M’s eyes that I had not seen before. I felt compelled to finish my story for the first time. “The chief of the fire station thought he was being funny and named me Jane Doe and it has stuck ever since. I haven’t been with a family long enough to take their last name, and none of them offered.  Jane Doe fits me.” I couldn’t believe I had just told her all of that. Usually I just kept to myself until the family decided it was time for me to move along.             “I’m so sorry, so very sorry”, Mrs. M whispered after she took a moment to compose herself. I could see her eyes glistening with the beginning of tears. “You don’t have to worry about that here, Jane. I can call you whatever you would like. Your name does not define who you are; nothing but you shapes what your name means.”             No one had ever spoken with such kindness to me. I smiled across at Mrs. M. “Thank you so much. Honestly that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” That summer flew by - living with Mrs. M and helping her garden and cook. My 18th birthday was only a little over a week away. Parties were not something that my foster families had done. At least not something they would throw for me.  I stood in the shower letting the hot water rush over my and slowly feeling it start to turn cold. “Don’t get excited,” I told myself.  I didn’t have any friends to invite. All I had in the world was Mrs. M and I was still new here.             Margret started coughing later that day. It happened suddenly, she was completely healthy the day before. She had taught me how to brew tea that would help get rid of a cold or minor respiratory infection. I sat down a steaming mug of the tea in front of her, and watched as she took a long sip. The cough seemed to improve over the next couple days, but I could tell that something was still up with Mrs. M. Her eyes appeared almost duller, lacking their usual shine.              The day before my birthday things actually looked to be improving.  I woke up to Margaret in the kitchen, baking a cake. Her dark green apron was dusted with flour. It reminded me of snow covered trees.  I stood there quietly and watched her, she noticed me moments later, looked up and smiled. “Good morning Jane.” Her voiced sounded almost musical. “If I remember correctly someone has a birthday tomorrow, so I thought I would get up early and start on the cake.”             “Thank you.” I managed to croak out. My voice seemed to disappear, and my eyes glistened. The two of use spent the rest of the day baking and working in the garden.  It was uneventful, but the best birthday I could ever remember.  My birthday was one of the few things I actually knew about myself. There was a later safety pined to my jacket when I was found at the fire station. My parents only ever signed it mom and dad, never leaving their names. They didn’t use my name either, just addressing it to ‘our darling daughter’.  The letter stated that my birthday was October 5th and I had just turned three. Strangely at the time I couldn’t remember anything about myself. I mean what three-year old can’t tell you their name. At first the fire chief thought I might have been mute or deaf – but no I was just dumb. I can’t remember anything before I woke up in that firehouse.             After dinner, Margaret and I sat together in the living room. She didn’t have a television, and it didn’t bother me. I had never been allowed to watch much TV with the other foster families. Instead I loved getting lost in a good book. Something I had in common with Margaret. I went to open my book curled up in one of her Queen Ann arm chairs.             “Jane” Margaret started to say. “I want to give you your birthday present tonight. It is not much but..”             “You didn’t have to get me anything, Mrs. M!” I interrupted her.             “Of course I did child. Well you won’t be a child much longer will you?” Margaret seemed to chuckle at her own joke. We had already discussed it but even though I technically aged out of the system tomorrow, she had insisted that I would stay with her for the time being. A social worker was still coming by tomorrow to officially close out my case.  “It is not much, but I think you will appreciate it. First, here is something small from me.”             I took the small black box from her hands. They were so pale today; her veins looked like rivers against a dessert landscape. The jewelry box created a deep contrast with her skin. Looking at the box I got a sickening feeling in my stomach. It felt like the world was about to change no matter if I was ready or not.             “Go on take it.” She whispered to me. I opened the box with an audible crack. Resting on the white satin lining was a silver chain beautiful pendent in the center. The pendent was a silver crescent moon with a star perched on it. Pale blue crystals created the star that appeared to be sitting on the moon itself. “I was given this necklace on my 18th birthday by my mom.” Margaret continued. “When I lost my mate, my husband, I did not ever think I would find someone to pass this along to. I am so happy you came into my life Jane. These past few months have been a breath of fresh air to me. You have brought life back into my home and myself.”             I could feel the tears building behind my eyelids. The words escaped me. “Thank you” I whispered as I opened the clasp and closed it around my neck. Margaret sat down next to me, and gently held my hands in hers.             “That is not all” she continued. “I found some information out about your parents”.