Inside the cover, Carl had written my name.
The first entry was dated one year after I left Silver Oak Street.
*Selena, Age 15.*
*I hope high school is kinder than last year.*
The entries continued, one for every birthday.
*Age 18.*
*I hope she finds a place where nobody packs her life into bags.*
*Age 20.*
*I hope someone laughs when she laughs.*
Each year, Carl opened the journal, wrote one hope for me, then returned to his own life.
Mr. Baron told me he eventually became a history teacher.
A quiet one.
Carl stored extra lunches in his desk.
He stayed after school with students who were afraid to go home.
“He never centered his life around finding you, Selena,” Mr. Baron said. “He centered it around becoming the person your kindness taught him to be.”
My tears fell onto the paper.
“Why didn’t he contact me?”
“He tried once.”
