But I’d loved her. Or I’d loved the way she made me feel about myself. I’d loved the person I was when I was with her—competent, maternal, adult—but had I ever really loved her? How could I? I didn’t know anything about her. And once I did, I didn’t love her at all.
Jodi and Maria were still looking at me, waiting for my reaction with concerned faces.
“Good luck at family day,” I blessed them. “Hope it goes very well.”
I trudged out of the restaurant after the meal, down a dripping concrete corridor to the subway, mulling over this latest development. The relief I’d felt started to melt as I sat in the overstuffed train, boiling in my layers of wool; now I was starting to feel distinctly itchy—chafed, even. So what if I was a pothead, what did that matter? It had never inhibited me from acting as her guardian before. Stoned or sober, I’d been there for Sam, through rehabs and hospitals, lies and revelations; stoned or sober, no matter what she’d thrown at me, I’d been there. But Sam wasn’t finished punishing me, trying to humiliate me, trying to make me wrong; she wasn’t going to let me have my say. She was going to deny me closure. She would have the last word, and the last word would be nyah nyah.
No. I got home, ripped off my coat and sweater, and called DTP. I wanted to get Luwanda on the phone. Or somebody. This was not going to end with Sam blowing me off. This relationship was not over until I said it was. I didn’t care if it did jeopardize her spot there—I was going to talk to someone about Samantha Eliza Dunleavy, the piano prodigy, winner of the physics award. If she was suddenly going to start telling the truth, then so was I.
“Hello, DTP, Samantha speaking, can I help you?”
That high, clear voice, the ’hood accent smoothed over for receptionist duty. I couldn’t believe my luck. “Samantha Dunleavy?”
“Yes?”
“Janice Erlbaum.” I smiled hugely. “How are you?”
She didn’t skip a beat. Her voice stayed smooth, dispassionate, like I was any other caller. “Oh, hey. I can’t talk right now, I’m at the switchboard.”
She was a cucumber. The smile on my face withered and died. I’d wondered what it would be like to talk to her again, and now I knew—hollow. There was no feeling in her. It was like talking to the automated voice on the phone with the bank: monotone, bland, detached. This was not the Sam I’d loved; this was not the Sam who’d said she loved me. The person I’d loved was gone, if she’d ever been there at all.
I heard her hovering over the disconnect button. “So, when should I call back?” I asked quickly.
“Listen,” she said. “I gotta go.”
She hung up.
It was the last time I would ever speak to her.
Epilogue
Since U Been Gone
Listen. She had to go.
It’s May again—over a year since that last phone call, a year since I started writing this book. Plenty of time for me to figure out what really happened with me and Sam, to figure out how I feel about it. Right?
It depends on the day, I guess. Some days, I’m grateful for what she did for me, how she caused me to grow up and let go of my adolescence, how she cured me of my need to play savior. Other days, I’m horrified at what she had to resort to in order to feel loved. But I’m not angry anymore—not at Sam, and not at myself. She was sick, and her sickness went untreated. All I could do was stop using her to make myself sick, too.
I don’t know where Sam is today—if she graduated from DTP last October, or if she eloped before then; if she’s somewhere in California right now, or Texas, or Maine. I don’t know if she’s in a hospital or a homeless shelter. I don’t know if she’s dead. I suspect that she’s still out there, running her scams, ruining her health; I don’t think anything has changed for her. I know I promised to stay in her life, whether she wanted me to or not, and I’ve thought about calling her mom again, or trying to find her somehow.
But I don’t want to find her.
Life’s been good since Sam’s been gone—my family is well, my friends are great, and I love being partnered with Bill. I started teaching for a living, and I wrote a book, Girlbomb, about my experiences as a halfway-homeless teenager. I’m not volunteering at the shelter these days; I might go back to it someday, but I think that chapter of my life might finally be over. I’m not looking for Little Janice anymore. She’s here inside me, where she’s always been. And she’s happy.
A funny thing happened: Bill and I went back to Disney World this winter—the Annual Samantha Dunleavy Memorial Disney Trip—and we had just as much fun as we did the year before, except for the bronchial infection I picked up on the plane ride home. I couldn’t smoke pot while I was sick; it made my chest hurt and my heart race. So I stopped. It’s been five months now, and there are days when I crave it like crazy, but I haven’t smoked a joint since.
I don’t know what happened to Valentina or any of my old favorites from the shelter. I don’t hear from Jodi anymore. But I spoke to Maria the other day—we’re in touch every few weeks to catch up and say hi. She’s still working at the rehab in Larchmont, just finishing grad school; she’s in love with a great guy who loves her back. She’s been reading this book as I wrote it—“I was never a junkie,” she says, laughing. “Where did Sam come up with that one?”
Maria hasn’t heard from Sam, either, not since she and Jodi went to family day, over a year ago. Sam was like a stranger that day, says Maria; there was nothing behind her one good eye. When Maria got into her car at the end of the day, she broke down and cried.
And the redhead is missing from my corner; she’s been missing since last fall. Last time I saw her, I almost didn’t recognize her—she wasn’t sitting in her usual spot. She was standing upright, waiting for the light to change at Fourteenth Street, wearing a long strapless dress and flat shoes, grinding her teeth. Her arms were as thin as soda straws, but her chin was up; she was still fighting. The light went green, and she took off across the street.
I wanted to follow her, but I didn’t. Now I don’t know where she’s gone.
THANKS
This book is for Bill. Of course.
Thanks to my editor and friend, Bruce Tracy; to my agent and advocate, Alice Martell; and to my shrink and hero, Judith Fleisher. Thanks to my beloved father, Larry, and my wonderful stepmom, Sylvia. Thanks to my brother, whose name is not Jake. Thanks to my writers’ group: Anne Elliott, Virginia Vitzthum, and Cheryl Burke. Thanks to Eric Nelson. Thanks to my great friends Emilie Blythe MacDonald, Amanda Stern, Sarah Fisch, Steve Fine, M. David Hornbuckle, Dave “luckydave” Memory, Kat Fasano, Naomi Rivkis, Stephanie Reisin, and Dana Piccoli; to my stepsister, Satia Renée; and to the posters on girlbomb.com, especially Éireann Laskey, C. S. Norman, Katie Foley, Kirsten Fitrell, and Jennifer Glick. Thanks to Joy Parisi and Lila Cecil of Paragraph NY, and Bill Ottignon of A Summer Place. Thanks to the amazing professional support of Lauren Cerand, Patty Park, Avideh Bashirrad, and Debbie Aroff. Thanks to Dr. Marc Feldman. Thanks to “Maria,” “Jodi,” “Nadine,” and “Ashley.” Thanks to all of the staff and residents of the shelter.
Finally, thanks to “Sam.” I hope you will be well.
Have You Found Her
Janice Erlbaum
A Reader’s Guide
Questions and Topics for Discussion
1. In Have You Found Her, Janice has returned as a volunteer to the shelter where she once lived. She also voluntarily accepts a great deal of responsibility for Sam’s care and well-being. How else does the theme of volunteering apply in this book? Some self-help books discuss the notion of “volunteering for victimhood.” Can either Sam or Janice be seen this way?
2. Another theme of the book is addiction. Both Sam and Janice have drug addictions, but they also exhibit other addictive behaviors. Can you identify them? How do these other addictions affect their lives and the events of the story?
3. Janice often mentions her own skin color, ethnic background, and economic class, as well as the color, ethnicity, class, a
nd sexual orientation of the girls at the shelter. How do you think color, ethnicity, class, and sexuality play into the events of the story? Do you think such issues are handled sensitively in this book?
4. In the book, Janice admits to lying, taking drugs, and evading rules a number of times. Does this influence your perception of her as a reliable narrator? Why or why not?
5. Janice is a writer, as is Sam. How do you think Janice’s being a writer affected the events of the story? Does this make her more or less reliable as a narrator?
6. Were you surprised by the conditions of the shelter as Janice describes them? What do you think of the shelter system, and how do you think it could be improved? What kinds of services do you think should be available to homeless and addicted youths?
7. Have you ever known someone like Sam? Is there anything about her behavior that you recognize in other people, or even in yourself? How do you think her behavior differs from that of “normal” people?
8. On Chapter 17, Janice writes, “Something had happened in that house…something that had helped make Sam very, very sick.” Do you agree with her assessment? Do you think Sam’s sickness is a product of her upbringing or do you think it is biological in nature? Are her parents responsible for making her the way she was?
9. One title that was suggested for this book was “Sucker: A Love Story.” Do you think that title is apt?
10. What do you think happened to the redhead who panhandled on Janice’s block? What about the other graduates of the shelter? What kinds of outcomes do you imagine for these girls?
JANICE ERLBAUM is the author of Girlbomb: A Halfway Homeless Memoir. She lives in New York City with her domestic partner, Bill Scurry, and their three cats. You can find her at www.girlbomb.com.
ALSO BY JANICE ERLBAUM
Girlbomb
While all of the incidents in Have You Found Her are true, certain dialogue has been reconstructed, and some of the names and personal characteristics of the individuals involved have been changed. Any resulting resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
A Villard Books Trade Paperback Original
Copyright © 2008 by Janice Erlbaum
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Villard Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
VILLARD and “V” CIRCLED Design are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Erlbaum, Janice.
Have you found her: a memoir/Janice Erlbaum.
p. cm.
1. Erlbaum, Janice. 2. Youth shelters—New York (State)—New York—Employees—Biography. 3. Volunteer workers in social service—New York (State)—New York—Biography. 4. Homeless teenagers—New York (State)—New York. 5. Problem youth—New York (State)—New York. I. Title.
HV1437.N5E75 2008
362.74—dc22
[B] 2007029061
www.villard.com
eISBN: 978-0-345-50459-3
v3.0
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