The Boy from the O

The two boys were nearly the same size and wore identical drab-gray shorts and crumpled white short-sleeve shirts and were in stocking feet. Both needed haircuts but were otherwise clean and shiny. They were very serious as they tiptoed exaggeratedly down the dark hallway. The wood was all dark: the door frames, transoms, and floor and only moonlight allowed them to find their way. They kept their little bodies as close to the wall as possible. Finally, they came to a door. One boy tried the knob and it turned easily. Slowly he pushed the door open a crack and the second boy slipped in. “Wait for me!” the first boy whispered and he too entered.

The room was sparsely furnished. It smelled of age and furniture polish. Not a large room, just big enough for an ornate desk contrasted by a wooden chair and two unupholstered and extremely uncomfortable-looking armchairs facing it. The older boy turned on the desk lamp to give them a little light. The boys made their way past the large desk cluttered with papers, papier-mâché objects, a few photographs and telephone messages. There was a brass plate with the name Sister Margaret. They stood in front of a very old wooden filing cabinet taller than they were. One boy traced the letters on each drawer to find the one he was looking for. “F-J. This is it,” he whispered.

“Quiet!” the other one said as he pulled up a chair and stood to look in.

“Here I am,” he said with his eyes wild. “Gregg, Thomas,” he read aloud. The second boy was now also standing on the chair with him.

“Read it,” he said.

“It says born in Manchester, England and that’s my birthday,” he said with excitement. Then he read further, “Mother, deceased, father unknown. What does deceased mean?”

“Dead. Does it give their names?” he inquired.

“No. It says brought in by mun-e-pal ath-a-terry,” he said slowly.

“Municipal authority,” the other boy said reading over his shoulder.

“You read it Kris; I have trouble with the big words.”

Kris moved in front of the boy on the chair. He began reading, “Foundling, it says. I think that means they found you somewhere. Then it just says, no next of kin,” he gave a sympathetic look to his friend. “No family, Thomas. But look,” he added quickly, “Sister Margaret has listed some things. She said in this one note—Tommy is a wonderful boy, smart and good at stick ball, and we think he will be adopted soon because he is the best one here.” Kris was looking at the blank page while he spoke, saying it all in one breath.

“Really, she said that? So do you think I will?”

“I know it. You are the best one here Tommy; Sister Margaret knows it and so does God. He will make sure you are adopted,” Kris assured him.

“When? I’m nearly seven,” Thomas said in a sad voice.

“Soon,” Kris replied.

“Let’s see what she says about you?” Thomas said, getting down from the chair. “Here are the M’s.” Kris jumped from the chair but his small body hardly made a sound.

“Here goes,” Kris said as he opened the drawer and peered inside. “Mason, Means, Menifee,” he flipped through the files. “Millar!!!” He pulled out the file and laid it on the desk to open it. He read aloud to himself more than to his friend:

Kristofer Nicholas Millar
Mother: Danielle Daphne Millar, deceased.
Father: Nicholas Lawford, Doctor, Hampstead, England.

“A doctor,” Kris couldn’t believe it. His father was a doctor. He had a name—an address.

He read on. Mother gave birth at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital and signed the surrender to have the child taken to St. Ann’s Orphanage. She refused to sign to allow for adoption. She died of self-inflicted wounds. Father living.

“My mother is dead too, Thomas. I guess that means an infection or something,” he said mostly to himself. “But, I have a father!”

Kris took out a piece of tablet paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and with a pencil he found on the desk, he carefully copied all of the information. “A doctor,” he repeated over and over to himself. When he had finished writing, the two boys carefully put the chair back exactly where they had found it and turned off the lamp.

When Thomas and Kris returned to the dormitory, all the other boys were still sleeping. They had put their pillows under the covers so no one would know they were missing. Before they could get back in bed, the bell sounded and little boy groans began. One boy rolled over and saw Kris fully dressed. “Why did you get up so early?” he asked.

“Couldn’t sleep.”