Free Finding Me by Michelle Knight, Michelle Burford

Wednesday, or Thursday. All I thought about was when I could next see Joey and how we could eventually be reunited. I spent every waking moment trying to do anything I could to make that possible.
    For starters, I needed to find a job. In the mornings around eight I strapped on my sandals and set out on foot to put in more applications; in the late afternoons I hung out on the porch with Emily and Deanna. Sometimes Lisa and I would walk down to the convenience store and buy a beer to pass between us. Back indoors, when I could get a seat directly in front of the fan, I did. To make things even worse, my glasses fell off my face and got broken one day when I was walking on the street. Because I was very nearsighted, I was having to squint as I went around town applying for jobs. Combined with the searing heat, my blurry vision made me feel disoriented. And I definitely couldn’t afford to buy a new pair of glasses. I’d just have to make do.

8
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    Vanished
     
     
     
    A UGUST 23, 2002, at 2:30—that’s the day I was scheduled for my next appointment with social services about the process of getting Joey back and preparing for the court hearing set for August 29. The case workers had sent me an address, but I had absolutely no clue how to get there. I was counting on someone in my family to take me, so I turned down the ride social services had offered to me. I was relieved I had a way to get there—until my family member called the following morning to tell me they couldn’t give me a lift after all. I automatically realized two things: I would probably get lost, and because I’d be walking, I was almost certain to be late. Oh, God .
    I found out that I didn’t have a ride at 11 a.m., which at least left me with some time to pull together a plan. “I’m pretty sure that address is downtown,” she had told me. I’d need to give myself no less than one and a half to two hours to walk there from my neighborhood, plus time to find the place. I showered, threw on some knee-length jean shorts, a plain white T-shirt, and my most comfortable pair of sandals. I then shoveled down a toaster pastry.
    “Will you come with me?” I asked Deanna. For whatever reason, she’d stayed home from school that day and then walked over to our place.
    “Sure,” she said, pulling on her sneakers. I put my brown swing pack across my body and stuffed the paper with the appointment details into its front zip pocket. At noon we headed out.
    Under the hot sun we walked for about an hour before we reached the downtown area, but we couldn’t locate the address. We asked everyone from a barber shop owner to a guy in a deli. Everyone just shrugged and said, “I have no idea where that is.”
    A little after 1 p.m. I decided I’d better stop and call the social services office. I knew I needed to let someone know I might be late. I fished out the paper from my purse, squinted at a number at the bottom of it, and then slid a quarter into the pay phone. A gruff-sounding receptionist answered.
    “I don’t know where the place is,” I told her, “and I’m walking …”
    The woman cut me off. “Then you should’ve taken the ride we offered you!” she said.
    “But I didn’t think I needed a ride. A family member was supposed to drive me there,” I explained. Then before I could ask her for detailed directions— click . I knew that being late would be held against me. At that point, though, I really didn’t know what else to try. I was already feeling dehydrated from the heat. Circles of sweat had formed on my white T-shirt beneath my armpits. I was hungry and wiped out. And I was also furious with myself that I’d probably have to miss another appointment. I should’ve taken the ride offered by social services. I should’ve figured out where the address was the night before .
    “Let’s just turn back toward home,” I said to Deanna. Her face was red and dripping sweat.
    “Are you sure?” she said. “Maybe we can