Lost and Found

by Orson Scott Card

“I’m really sorry. I was so focused on that lost girl, and I only just now got it that we lost you a long time ago.”

Cherry Grove or Myrtle Beach

HOME!

Father cut him off. “Stop being a language nazi,” he said. “What if I can’t bear to say the word ‘dead’? What if that word is a knife in my heart? What’s wrong with my joining the entire English language and saying that she’s lost? Just because you have this talent for finding things doesn’t mean that this wonderful woman isn’t lost to me.” Ezekiel put his hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean you should stop talking,” said Father. “I just meant you should stop trying to shape the way I talk about my dead wife.” Ezekiel nodded. But he couldn’t take his hand away from his mouth because that was the gesture he always used to keep himself from crying. He didn’t know why it worked, but he had found out, when he was five, that covering his eyes didn’t work, turning his back didn’t work, looking away and trying to think of something else didn’t work. But for some reason covering his mouth made it so tears didn’t come to his eyes, and if he waited long enough, he could talk without his voice getting all high and whimpery. “Dad, you can say whatever you want,” Ezekiel finally said—mostly behind his hand. “I’m sorry.”

cue the tears, beautiful...

“I don’t really know that much about Mom,” said Ezekiel. “Come on,” said Dad. “You know everything that matters.” “I have to look at her picture to remember her face,” said Ezekiel. “You know that she was kind. That other people adored her. You know that she was always helping other people—people from church, total strangers. She was always generous, always gentle, always funny without ever being mean. Everybody wanted to be her best friend but they never could be, though, because that position was taken.” “You,” said Ezekiel. “No, stupid child. You,” said Dad, smiling.

That deep breath, thought Ezekiel. That was Dad’s hand over his mouth.

“If your definition of prayer includes showing God the yearning of my soul, then yes, I’m praying right now.”

“And what are you yearning for in a prayerlike way?” For a moment Ezekiel feared that because of his tone of voice, Dad was going to back away. But then Father said, softly, “I’m yearning for you to find a way to be happy. And I’m thanking God for all the progress you’ve made.” Ezekiel gave a bark of a laugh, without even meaning to. “What progress?” “You have a friend,” said Dad. Oh, right, Beth. “An annoyance, you mean,” said Ezekiel. “You aren’t annoyed now, Ezekiel, and I think you never were. From the first time you walked to school with Beth, you’ve changed.” “Lost weight? Less acne?” “You don’t get up so angry every morning. You aren’t so lonely. I’ve seen you smile.”

“And you think God did that?” “Did you choose Beth as a friend? Did I find her for you and take you on play dates? Was she given a school assignment to find some lonely, quiet kid and make him walk her to and from school?”

Ezekiel realized something then. “You’re really trying to be a good dad.” Dad just sat there looking at him. “Not just trying,” Ezekiel corrected. “You are a good dad. But, like, you mean to be. You think about it.” “That’s mostly what I pray about,” said Father. “I mean, I pray about other things. For nobody to lose any body parts while cutting meat. For the strength to not be as snotty with customers as you are with me. And no, that wasn’t a criticism, I admire your skill at snottiness, it’s a real talent and I’m happy to let you practice on me.” Ezekiel gave him a little laugh about that. “I didn’t know I was practicing.” “You never draw blood,” said Father. “No knockout blows. So I’ve always assumed we were sparring.” “So,” said Ezekiel, “you pray for the willpower not to kill customers, for nobody to cut off any body parts, but mostly you pray for God to explain what’s wrong with me.” “I’m not trying to figure you out because, hey, I can’t even figure out myself, and I know everything I’m really thinking. But just … I just ask for help knowing what I should do.” “Did you ever get any answers?” “Mostly in the negative, but yes,” said Father. “Every time I think of doing something really stupid, I get a very strong feeling that says, ‘Wow, that’s stupid, don’t do that.’”

Something occurred to Ezekiel for the first time. “Are you, like, not dating anybody because of me?” Father laughed and shook his head. “You don’t get over a woman like your mother in a mere nine years.” “Especially not when you spend all your time either working or looking after a kid.” “Ezekiel,” said Dad. “Earning a living for us and spending time with you isn’t keeping me from anything I want to do.” “I think it is,” said Ezekiel. “OK, yes, it is,” said Dad. “It’s keeping me from despair.” “Oh, so I’m, like, your therapist?” “Ezekiel,” said Dad, “you’re my purpose. That day in the hospital, I lost your mother, but I still had this boy, this strange and wonderful, injured, broken boy.” “I didn’t have a scratch on me, Dad. The car took her and left me there beside the road. Untouched.” “The woman who had devoted her whole life to you, from the moment she knew you were inside her, that woman was torn out of your hands. Your body showed no injury that the doctors could treat, but I knew it was there, I knew that it shattered you, you were maimed, you were crippled that day, and there was nothing I could do, I couldn’t replace her, I couldn’t change my whole character and become that vibrant, happy, loving, chattering, kind and generous person in whose circle of light you had spent your entire life. She was gone, and you were broken.” And at that moment, as tears streamed down Father’s face for the first time in, like, ever, Ezekiel understood something that had never reall...

Damn you Orson Scott Card. #DadGoals Beautiful passage that makes the rest of the book, that I haven't yet read, WORTH reading. Gah.

“I guess maybe,” said Ezekiel. “When everybody shuns you all the time, every day, it doesn’t feel like protection.” “What does it feel like?” “Hatred,” said Ezekiel. “Oh, no, Ezekiel,” said Shank. “Nobody can really hate you till they get to know you.” That hit Ezekiel like running into a wall. Maybe Shank was teasing, but were they good enough friends for that? Ezekiel checked—no little smile. Shank caught him looking and then suddenly his face changed. “No, no, I said that wrong. I didn’t mean you. Not you specifically. I meant the ‘you’ like ‘everybody.’ People, you know? Nobody can really hate a person till you get to know him. Not you.” Ezekiel was relieved enough that he didn’t want to keep making Shank squirm over his wording. “So me they can hate without knowing me?” he asked. Shank gave him a full smile at that. “Nobody hates you, Ezekiel, because nobody knows you. The people who do know you think you’re kind of amazing. Scary smart, and then there’s all the finding.” “You say ‘people who know me’ as if there was anybody besides my dad.” “Your mom thought you were amazing. Your dad says.” “Yeah, she did,” said Ezekiel. “She was amazing.” “And Beth—would she be your friend if she didn’t think so?” “Beth has ulterior motives but sure, she likes me OK.” Silence for about a minute, which, Ezekiel knew, was a long, long time if it came in the middle of a conversation. Ezekiel looked toward the top of the road to see if somebody was coming. “And I know damn well that yo...

A person’s place was made up of people who showed up somewhere regularly enough that you could also show up and count on at least some of them being there.

Maybe that’s what it means to be friends, real friends. You own each other a little. You feel responsible. Protective. You care if your friend is in danger.

Mrs. Delamare put her palm against Ezekiel’s cheek. “Oh, how I wish I had had a friend like you, growing up. Yes, we do understand that we’re not acquiring Beth like a plush toy to keep our daughter happy.”

“I can imagine you going up to one of the walking dead and saying, ‘Do you believe I’m a thief? Have you heard that I steal stuff? Well let me ask you, have I ever taken anything of yours? Have I ever stolen something from anybody you know? From anybody at school?’” Beth smiled. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I would have done.” “And it would have worked,” said Ezekiel. “But it never crossed my mind because I was ashamed.” “Innocent and yet ashamed,” said Beth. “When people treat you like you’re guilty, then you feel the shame just as if you were. Shame is what other people force on you. I didn’t imagine it.”

“Ezekiel,” said Beth, “everybody needs rescuing. You rescued me on that sidewalk on the way to school, and I rescued you, too, right?” “Lonely people need rescuing, anyway.” “There’s nothing but lonely people in this world,” said Beth. “Even people who think they’re not lonely, they’re aching with loneliness or the fear of being lonely.