(P)

|Loretta|


I think I'm the only one who knows who I am. Okay, so you're probably thinking, 'Of course, duh! Shouldn't you know yourself better than anyone else?' although that's not necessarily true. But I mean it in a different way. I mean my origin, where I came from, whom I belonged to. Did you catch the past tense?

Belonged. It's such a simple little word. Possession of someone or something. That's what I was once. But that was a long time ago. Now, I'm just me. I'm mine and mine only. I don't mind it. I prefer it that way. I willed it that way. So that's the way I am.

I'm Loretta Black. Okay, so I'm lying. I'm not Loretta Black. I am Loretta, but I'm not a Black.

Marilyn and Gary Black. That's the name of the couple I live with. I've been living with them for almost three years now. I wonder each and every day when I'll be sent off again. I don't call them mom and dad. I don't call them Marilyn and Gary. I don't call them Mrs and Mr Black. I just don't call them anything. Sure I talk to them, but I never address them as anything. When I talk about them with other people, I just talk. Like if I have to ask for permission for something, I'll say I have to ask. And that will be it. People who know me fairly well, I won't say very, because in truth, no one does, but people who aren't exactly strangers, they know enough to understand that when I don't refer to any parental figure, that'll be who I'm talking about. Sometimes I want to call them mom and dad, like how everyone else calls their parents. Or maybe even by their first names. But I always stop myself just before it happens. I feel funny about it.

Maybe it's guilt or something along that line, but truthfully, it doesn't feel like it. It feels kind of wrong, yet at the same time there's a little bit inside me that urges me on. I've mistaken that little bit as the pessimistic part, the one that's telling me to just quit it. Just give up and go on. But it's not really. I've come to the decision that it's the part that wants to belong somewhere, to someone again. Just the side of me that wants to fit in, be a part of something. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not ungrateful. They've been extremely kind to me. They have another child, although you wouldn't quite call her a child anymore. She's 25, and almost a full-fledged lawyer, she's beautiful, glamorous, polite, brainy, thoughtful, and kind. And she's also theirs. As in theirs kind of theirs. Really theirs. Not like me. But for some reason, while I couldn't get close to her parents, I adored Linda. She was everything I wanted to be, gentle and kind, yet strong and capable.

So maybe by now you've figured out that I'm an orphan. If not, well, there you go, I am. I've been floating around since…well, since forever I guess. My whole life. I've been here and there, and everywhere. I've been from east to west, north to south. I've experienced the fancy life in L.A., the fast paced rush and dangers of New York. I've lazed around in the sun in Miami, learnt more history than I could store in my head in Boston. I've been pretty lucky despite my situation. Right now, I'm stuck in beautiful San Diego.

In a way I'm like a book in a library. Someone issues a book out, reads it, is done with it, and returns it. If they like the book a lot, and don't mind paying a fine, they'll keep the book. I've been 'issued' many, many times. Exactly how many times I don't know, I forget. But enough to know that I'm just another library book, and obviously one that isn't very interesting. The only difference between a good book and me is that I'm not readable. You know what I mean, one of those books where you can't seem to concentrate because it's so boring, or you can't read it because it's so damn complicated. I hope I'm the latter. But knowing me, I'm probably too boring.

I'm not exactly the firecracker most people want. I've never stuck around for more than a year. Goes to show you how boring these two are.

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