Who's your Resolution?

A woman peeks through the opening of the door. Her amber eyes widen in alarm. She quickly closes the door. I sigh.

Maybe I should just leave,I think, turning on my heel, No. It would've all been for nothing.

I turn to face the door again. I bang on the door until the lady opens it. I gesture for her to open the door and she capitulates. She beckons inside, and I follow her into the dusty apartment. I sit on a lint-covered couch as she tip-toes into the kitchen. I shift from side to side on the red, velvety couch. It must of been pretty once upon a time, but now it's nothing short of hideous.

The lady comes back with a tray of tea and bread with margarine. I take a piece of bread and bite into it. It's slightly stale and the margarine tastes expired. I take a sip of the "tea". It tastes of only water and honey. I don't care. I didn't come for food.

As the lady sips her tea, I study her. She wears a flimsy, beige dress that hangs over her underfed slight build and gray sippers. Her grayish-brownish hair is done in a clumsy up-do. Wrinkles sketch her once-beautiful face. She stirs the tea uncomfortably.

"So, what do you want," the lady says, distress laced in her shaky voice. I just sit there and blink. "Are you here to evict me? Are my bills due?" Her hands start to shake and her eyes start to tear up.

I set my tea cup down, and dig through the deep pockets of my dress until I find the piece the paper. Beatrix Jones. I hand it to her.

"How do you know my name?" she asks. I smile, fingering the golden B on my old necklace.

"What?" she demands. I sigh. "Can't you talk?" Tears form in my eyes. If only I could tell her. That's why you gave me away. I shake my head and recompose myself. No need to make a bad first impression.

"So, you can't tell me why you're here?" I shrug. The lady sighs.

"Well, then you better go. I don't have any room for guests." But I'm not a guest! I wish I could say. I wish I could tell her everything.

I will. I will find a way to tell her everything. But where to start? I grab the piece of paper. This is how I found you.

She flips it over. She studies the attached black and white picture of her posing in front of a short, crooked house, holding a man's hand and a baby. I wait for her to realize who I am. She looks up.

"How did you get this?" I beckon her to read the letter attached to the picture and card.

Dear Bea,

Thank's for sending me something. I didn't expect you to use the address in the box. Did you get everything? Your mom's necklace, her dress, the picture, everything? Sorry I will never get to see you. Don't visit. I'll tell your mom's new address. If you visit, tell me how she is. Her address is 129 Adma's Lane Luckburge, Pennsylvania. I miss you. You look just like her. I know I say that every time, but that's why we named you after her.

Love, Dad.

P.S. Don't leave the orphanage.

The lady looks up in confusion.

"Who are you," she asks, "How do you have all this." She starts to panic. She looks around for something to protect herself from. She throws a pillow at me. I flinch hard. No one has sympathy for mute people. Especially not Mrs. Turk at the orphanage.

"I don't know you!" she shouts through frantic tears, "Who set you up to this?" I can't answer. She seems to remember this and starts to calm down. She takes deep breaths to calm herself, but her voice and breathing are still shaky.

"I'm sorry, it's just-I don't-I don't know you." I shake my head. No, you do. I bite my lip and look in a rusty, cracked mirror. My amber eyes stare back at me. My brown hair is done in two short braids, tied up with bits of string I had found on the floor of the sewing room at the orphanage. My worn-down, pink dress with its deep pockets don't complement my pale, sunk-in cheeks. I've had the thing for years, so it's too small and doesn't go over my knees. Mrs. Turk wouldn't stop yelling how inappropriate it was.

I know how to tell the lady who I am. How had I not thought of it before? We'd been wasting time this entire time. I go into the kitchen and grab a paper and pen hidden away in old, dusty drawers. I write out a long explanation. I write out everything I can think of.

I've been searching for you for a long time. You left me years ago, and never told me where you went. You left me nothing. But, I don't blame you. Dad did leave me something. A whole box of things. He left me things of yours. But the most precious thing he left me was his address. So we could write to each other. I didn't write until recently. I had asks everyone at the orphanage who you were and where you were. No one knew. So, I wrote to dad. He told me where you lived. I followed the address with the little money dad left me in the box., and found myself at your door. I had no idea if it would be you or not. But, as soon as I saw you, I knew I had found you. I had stared at that picture of us for years. A few years ago a had made a New Year's Resolution that I would find you. And I have, Mom.

Mom looked up from the paper, with tears in her eyes.

"I-It's you." I nod. She bursts into tears and embraces me.

This is it. This is the moment I've been waiting for for years. Finally, my New Year's Resolution has been fulfilled.