c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(6-26)
In yonder days, it was much easier for a person to simply disappear into the void. But the information age had upset that paradigm, completely. With satellites circling the globe, internet connectivity, and wi-fi access becoming commonplace even in war zones and remote areas of the world, it was no longer so easy to vanish. Even for someone who eschewed friendships and social media participation, some kind of evidence trail could be found to exist. Only with a persistent rejection of modernity in all its forms could someone appear to have exited civilization, altogether.
But with no photographs, or personal contacts for reference, and only a handful of her mother’s memories, Amanda Breen struggled to discover what had happened to her target in northeastern Ohio. For weeks and months, she searched until futility eclipsed her efforts. Looking here and there on databases that existed in state registries of all kinds. Voter records, driver’s licenses, property transactions, and such. Nothing provided the information she was seeking. Finally, her patience had been exhausted.
She decided to walk a private trail along the coastline, where friends and associates used to enjoy leisure hours after working at her bakery. With the breeze whipping her blonde mane, she sat on the ground, pulled both knees up to her chin, and began to weep.
“I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE, DAD! DAMMIT, WHY WON’T YOU POP YOUR HEAD UP AND LET ME SEE? I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED AFTER MOM GOT ON THAT PLANE, COMING BACK HERE TO CALI!”
The essence of ocean air filled her nostrils. She had ruined her makeup, and looked messy in the moment. But it did not matter, as she sat alone, on the crest of a long ridge. Then, a whisper of familiar tones caused her to jump, and turn around suddenly.
Mater Jessica stood over her, with a yellowed envelope folded in one hand.
“This was pressed in the middle of a book I bought many years ago, in New York State. I had thought all of his letters were gone. I threw them away just before my wedding to your... to my husband. Whatever you want to call him! I had forgotten about saving this note, it was his last, I think. You’ll understand if you read it!”
Amanda opened the letter carefully, and sniffled at its aroma of must and decay.
“Hey Jess, I got fired from the warehouse in Cleveland. Then my car broke down at the post office here. My dad helped me put in a new set of points. It only has one, studded snow tire in back. No heat so I have to scrape the windshield from inside, while driving. It’s kinda crazy. Anyway, I got picked up on a remodel crew in town, they are refurbishing the department store here. It’s close to where my parents live, and really interesting, because I work with old men and women who can barely read and write. They are different from people we knew in the Finger Lakes. Earthy and very unpretentious. They like to drink and smoke and play pool. I feel like this place is going to swallow me whole, you know? The art scene I took for granted doesn’t exist here. Maybe in Cleveland, but my Beetle is too clapped-out to drive that far, anymore. I’m really busted at the moment. At least I can walk to this store. Anyway, I managed to sneak a six-pack of beer while out with friends the other day. Nobody in my family is into alcohol, so I have to behave at home. I’m still on the couch here, but if I save enough, perhaps I can get an apartment somewhere. I just wanted to say it one last time, I still love you and miss you. You’re my yardstick, every woman I see gets judged by what you gave me. I’ll never forget our summer together. That’s a promise. Take care of yourself, and your son...”
After reading the last line of text, she drooped like a wilted flower.
“He sounds defeated! I think going home to Ohio must have broken him, inside.”
Her progenitor nodded in agreement.
“I concur. But there was nothing I could do at the time. We were so far away from each other, in every sense. He needed to grow up, and I didn’t have time to wait for that. I was too busy preparing myself for you to be born. And your older brother had become a handful! Everything I did meant facing challenges. But I’ve always been a tough ol’ gal, honey! That’s the spirit you inherited.”
Amanda clutched the letter gently. Then, noted a postmark near the upper right corner.
“This says it came from a town with a funny name. How do you say that? Shar – dun? Where the hell is that, I’ve never heard of it before! I thought he landed in Cleveland.”
Jessica nodded again, this time to certify her remembrance.
“It’s in that area somewhere. Chardon is the seat of Geauga County, he said. Named for Peter Chardon Brooks, from Massachusetts. That kid was something of a history nerd. He said the name of that district came from an indigenous word that meant raccoon.”
Her daughter brightened a bit, and began to laugh and rock where she sat.
“Raccoon? That’s hilarious! I look like one of those animals, with my makeup all smeared!”
The elder Breen stroked her daughter’s scalp, lovingly, while pondering.
“His return address is there, written by hand. That would be long out of date by now, over four decades ago. But it could give you a clue about where he must have gone. Maybe he moved away, or died, or ended up in jail? I have no idea. His parents must be deceased. You can figure it out. Just remember that if you actually find him now, he’ll be much different than the teenager I knew and loved. He might not be so appealing to you. Maybe not even friendly, or likeable, or cooperative. He might react differently to being found than you expect. He might not want to have a daughter and a grandson pop up out of nowhere!”
Amanda had initiated a chance game of Roulette with her curiosity. Yet she could not quit before knowing the results precipitated by that lively spin of the wheel.
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