of Sarah. It followed him everywhere, and not even the responsibility of caring for Johnathon could snap him completely from the grief. Instead, regardless of how much he tried, taking care of Johnathon felt like a burden, a fact that would later multiply his ensuing guilt endless times over. Yet at the time, Johnathon only stood to remind Frank of Sarah and how she was now gone. His life had suddenly changed so drastically, and all for the worse.
These circumstances continued for a few weeks until word of the situation reached child services. They intervened upon Frank’s second trip to the hospital for health issues stemming from drug use.
After assessing Frank’s current condition, the state promptly took Johnathon away from him. Losing his son like this served as the shock he needed to kick his drug habit. He immediately checked into a rehabilitation center in hope of one day regaining his son.
Even if he had lost Sarah, he still had a young boy he loved who was in need of his dad. To this day he could still remember holding Johnathon in his arms, an infinitely warm feeling, inside and out.
Nevertheless, as a result of what would soon happen, Frank could now not forget another feeling, one of a shivering cold wind along the nape of his neck.
It was of the cold wind that had blown through Main Street on that November day, blowing as he stood outside the courthouse in shock, staring at the side of the building for so long. Not wanting to move, ever again, he simply sat with the courthouse number there in front of him as he stared. It had read ‘217’, large and bold.
Earlier that morning inside the courthouse the judge ruled in favor of the state, taking custody of Johnathon away from Frank. This time it would be a permanent loss.
Two-seventeen was now left to remind Frank of losing his son. Two-seventeen reminded him that his life could now only be a doughnut of what it had once promised to be. Sure it could still contain some functional substance, yet what would shape it and always define it would not be what it has, but what it does not.
Once the grief of losing Sarah had subsided to a level he could handle, Frank was able to free himself of the drug habit, but losing his child before he ever got to be a proper father to him was something he knew he could never fully withstand.
As a result, to this day he could still feel the cold wind that blew down Main Street that November day. In fact the chill no longer resided purely on his skin. It had become part of his very being and now chilled him from the inside.
Many times since, Frank had awoken in a cold sweat, shivering, teeth chattering, disturbed by dreams of his lost son, repeating the number two-seventeen in agony.
Yet, it was not directly after the ruling that the full significance of losing custody of his son had set in. That happened later, so at the time he had been determined to get Johnathon back, and weeks later Frank had indeed kicked his drug habit. But even having done so, he had not been reunited with his child.
The state orphanages had been full at the time of Jonathan being made a ward of the state, so the practice of stationing the child with a qualifying and willing family within California had been put to use.
This step was intended to be for a brief period of time until the biological parents could regain custody rights. If that was not a possibility, then until a spot in an orphanage opened up, or permanent adopted parents could be found. That was the intention of the program, but would not be the case with young Johnathon.
After his release from drug rehab, Frank had appealed to the state to gain the rights of his child back. He won, yet due to problems with the documentation, the guardians who had been given Johnathon were not to be found.
Despite attempts from the state to locate them, as well as desperate personal ones from Frank to do the same, they had disappeared with Johnathon. And the fact they could not be found was no accident.
The two had used a loophole in the system to hide their true identity, and proceeded to sell Johnathon through a back channel to a wealthy and willing husband and wife unable to have children on their own. Shortly after selling him they fled the country for fear of being captured. These facts were later uncovered and became known to both the authorities and Frank.
What neither Frank nor the state ever discovered was that months after Johnathon’s wealthy new guardians had acquired him, they died in a car accident just outside Los Angeles. With them having no close relatives to take Johnathon, he was once again put back into California’s orphanage system. With all these dots impossible to connect back to Frank, and after a lengthy yet unsuccessful investigation by the state of California, Johnathon’s matter was deemed settled, at least by the state.
And after several months of intense yet futile personal search efforts for Johnathon, Frank was also left to consider the case over, and to go about his new life completely alone. A life that had accumulated substantial payment amounts owing of the dirtiest eight-letter word in American vocabulary: mortgage.
Being mindful of that responsibility, he eventually went back to school and studied finance, something that would give him stable although bland employment.
Leaving his dream of writing and later the house he had bought with Sarah behind, Frank bravely started his new job hoping to make the best of whatever life he could manage. All the while he was left in a state of pronounced longing to be reunited with Johnathon. He couldn’t help it; he knew that until he was reunited with his son, that cold November wind would not cease to blow. Not ever.
Chapter Seven
“--then escaping with five thousand dollars in cash. Police are currently looking for any help in locating this individual.” As the television played on, Frank groaned from deep within as he shifted back and forth on the couch, waking to the newscaster's voice and the radiating glow of the television. Outside it had already been dark for hours.
On his way back from cleaning up the spilled beer Frank noticed there were now two distinct glows in the room. As usual, one was from the television, but the source of the other he had much more difficulty in discerning.
This strange light was emerging from the area nearest the door. Cautiously, he made his way toward the glow, feeling relieved as he saw that it was just the glowing rock he had brought in hours ago.
Relief that is until he remembered that rocks as far as he knew do not glow. Not even a little bit. No matter how hard they try, they just can’t. So he continued, nervously looking closer, picking it up as if it were a wounded bird that could at any time explode without warning.
The predetermined rock felt bare and sterile, but what caught Frank’s attention as he turned it in his hands was the tiny bit of warmth it was currently emitting.
It felt not unlike a rock that had spent centuries in a windy, cold, and harsh climate, then been thrown under a heating lamp at a local McDonald’s for a few minutes.
Just as he was examining the features of the object more and more closely, there came three loud pounding knocks at the door.
A somewhat startled Frank went and opened the knocking door, and in spilled two men flashing badges while decrying their “unquestionable authority” in the name of one George Washington.
Still feeling a bit groggy from his long nap, Frank shook his head violently back and forth trying to focus. He had obviously misheard that final part.
“Umm, what is this about?” he asked. His voice sounded more like a whimper rather than the confident inquiry he had intended.
