Ginger roots

[Jamanda]

Ginger sat in the police station scowling at her friends for getting her in trouble. Sure, she'd been in trouble before, but never with the police. Now, they'd been busted when drugs showed up at the party. She had tried to leave, but it was too late.

The lady behind the desk called out her name. Ginger got up reluctantly and went up to the desk. They were looking over the forms she had filled out.

"You're a long way from home aren't you?"

"I ran away last year," said Ginger. "My mother didn't even notice, the old drunk."

"I see," said the officer. "And your father?"

"What father?" Ginger scowled. "He left when I was four. I bet he's in jail somewhere."

"We still have to run a check," said the officer. "His name?"

"Rufus I think," said Ginger. "Same last name. Only thing of his I got stuck with."

"I see," said the officer. "We'll be running a check on your parents to see if either of them will come get you. In the meantime, you'll have to stay with a foster family."

Ginger groaned. She wanted to stay with her friends. She didn't trust adults, as the only ones in her life never seemed to

care. So she had run away from Tuscon, hitchhiked to L.A., and met a group of young girls in the back streets. She wanted them to accept her, so she dressed and talked the way they did.

She liked the black makeup, black clothes, and heavy metal music, but she didn't like the way her friends had gotten her into trouble. She waited in the station for the police to tell her what to do next. She saw a young officer come out of the elevator and talk to the lady at the desk. They looked over at Ginger.

"Come with me please," said the young officer.

Ginger shrugged and followed him. The elevator stopped several floors up. She was confused. None of her friends were taken elsewhere in the station. There was even another girl downstairs waiting to go into foster care. Where were they taking her?

The officer took her into a front office, where a secretary announced her through a speaker. Someone on the other side said, "Show her in."

"Right through there," said the secretary.

Ginger looked at the door. It was a detective's office. Were they providing a detective to find her parents? She didn't want to find her parents. She nervously went into the room.

It was a nice looking office. The windows showed the Los Angeles skyline all the way to the beach. There were NASCAR posters on the wall along with several maps of L.A. and one of the state of Georgia. On top of the filing cabinet were several framed pictures of the same lady.

Ginger looked at the man behind the desk and suddenly wasn't nervous anymore. He was smiling and had to look of someone you couldn't help but trust.

"Please, have a seat," he said, gesturing to a cushioned chair in front of the desk.

"Um," Ginger mumbled as she sat down.

"It seems you were right," said the man, looking away. "Your father is in jail, in Boise Idaho."

"Figures," she said. "What about Mom?"

"Sorry to say," said the man, looking into her eyes. "She was picked up in Pheonix with a DUI. She's going to be serving two years."

"That's Mom," Ginger sighed.

"So now," said the man. "We have to decide what to do with you."

"I can just go back," said Ginger.

"Sorry," said the man. "You're only 17. You have to have a guardian."

"I can take care of myself."

"The law thinks differently," said the man. "You have two options. You can either go into foster care..."

"I'd rather not," said Ginger. "I've heard stories about foster homes."

"Probably inaccurate rumors," said the man. "Or you can go into the custody of your closest relative."

"I ain't got none," said Ginger. "Mom had no family."

"Your mother doesn't," said the man. "But your father does. He has a brother, who at present, would be willing to take you in."

"Oh sure," said Ginger. "How you gonna find him?"

"Can you read?"

"Of course I can read," Ginger snapped. "I ain't dumb."

The man simply smiled and pointed to the nameplate on his desk. His last name was the same as hers.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said.

"Not if your father was Rufus Strate of Hazzard Georgia," said the man. "And your mother was Gloria Cornwallis of Greenbough Alabama."

"Which would make you..."

"Your uncle," said the man. "Detective Enos Strate. Please to meet you Ginger."

(We have to pause here. Amanda needs more nachos and rootbeer. Writers must have nourishment!)

[Jamanda]

Ginger couldn't believe it. She was riding up an elevator of one of the nicest highrise apartment buildings in L.A. with an uncle she didn't know she had. The doors opened on the 32nd floor. She followed the tall detective to Apt. 3218.

"Here you go," he said, unlocking the door. "Your new home."

Ginger stood aghast. She'd never been in such a nice place before. Everything looked brand new, from the furniture to the paint to the appliances in the kitchen.

"Dude," she said. "Are you like, rich or something?"

"I get by," said her uncle. "The aparment came with all appliances, furniture, and once a week housekeeping."

"Sweetness," said Ginger. "You don't even have to clean?"

"Too busy to," said the detective. "Hungry?"

"Sure."

He heated up a pair of microwave dinners. One thing the apartment didn't come with was food, and he was a lousy cook. But Ginger was too busy looking out the picture-glass window to care about eating salisbury steak and macaroni.

After they ate, the detective showed Ginger her room. It sat next to his home office and across from the bathroom. She was free to decorate it however she liked and her first idea was to paint it black, but was having second thoughts about that now.

One thing Ginger noticed about the place was that there were a lot of pictures of the same lady, the lady in the pictures in the detective's office. Ginger wondered if it'd be rude to ask, but decided not to. It was getting late and her uncle said something about getting up early.

Ginger lay in her bed and wondered about the strange events of the day. She had gone from being a runaway at a party on the bad side of town, to the neice of a mysterious detective in a fancy apartment.

"Oh well," she said to herself. "I'll bet it's all a dream anyway."