I wasn’t going to give up and I would never give up, probably until I got a job to pay up my family’s debt.
As for finding my true identity; that was a fate I couldn’t decide and may never be certain about. If I should get to know who my true family was, it might be a plus because my adopted father had rubbed it on my face so much that it was already becoming a night mare.
My true identity was as important as surviving.
Father had done me good by steering in me, the awareness that I wasn’t actually his blood child and that he had only fostered me to this age. Perhaps that was the beginning of my true identity.
Right now I knew who I was; an adopted child, a child found wandering on the streets of Rio Hondo and fostered by him, a no body a ragged, poverty-stricken unkempt, body odor boy who barely survived a fifteen years jail term over a fraud I didn’t commit.
I was just a common Brian Patrick; a disappointment and failure about to happen. For now and until I discovered my true identity I had to survive. I had to get a job to foot my immediate bills. I shouldn’t beg for two cents to shave. My sick mother at the hospital shouldn’t die of kidney disease just because of half a million dollars. We shouldn’t be thrown out to the street because of five hundred dollars house rent.
Life shouldn’t happen to us. We should happen to life.
While job-hunting I ran into an ongoing construction site. That was a towering skyscraper under construction from the image I saw on the board. And they were very much at the early stage of construction.
“A lot of made to be made by artisans that would be employed now,” I said in my head.
I could see young men, my age, in blue uniform with enthusiasm blazing in their eyes. I believed they were artisans. I was also an artisan. I could do a lot with dexterity. I must get a job at that site.
“Yes , if I could try, I could be employed,” I assured within myself as I caught sight of the site manager directing artisans on what to do.
And from the way artisan bowed and obeyed him instantly that tall white-beard, Japanese cutie was the site manager and the fellow in the position to employ me.
“Good morning, sir,” I greeted and would have to repeat myself because the person I just greeted was busy giving out directives to artisans and scolding a few erring artisans. “Sir!” I called more emphatically, “Good morning, sir.”
“Yes what can I do for you?” he asked yet his gaze was on the host of artisans whom he was warning sternly to deliver good job.
I went on to say a few words of introduction, “I am Brian Patrick. I …um I need a job at your site. I am a professional artisan.”
With that said the man cast a snappy gaze on me and was startled a little bit by my looks before focusing on an artisan who was calling on his attention.
Regardless, the site manger was generous enough to say to me, “Although you don’t look good, but you can go over to the company’s secretary over there.” He pointed to a young lady by the corner, “Give her your bio data and start the job.” He returned his gaze on me, be fast about it. We need more artisans.”
Although I swallowed hard at the mention of bio data, yet nothing stopped me from going to the young lady who was busy with a laptop on her thighs.
“Good morning. The site manager referred me to you. I am an artisan and needs a job here,” I said very sternly and at a breath.
At the time the young lady, with heavy make-over and thick red-glossed lips gave me the cold shoulders. She seemed not to have taken cognizance of me.
“Heh, good morning,” I gestured my hands at her and moved closer.
Once she smelled me, she pulled back slightly covered her nose and then gazed upon me with a stern look as her eyes dimmed irritatingly.
“You stink.” That was her first comment and then while I smelled my body to get a confirmation of this strange body odor for the second time, she added, “You? I know you.” She pointed firmly at me, “You are supposed to be in prison. I was at the court the day you were convicted of a fifteen billion dollars fraud…” the gloom on her face brood no falsity.
I lowered my gaze in shame, “Yes, I have served my jail term and I am free now,” I protested.
“I thought as much. Yes it is you,” she said and called on the attention of the site manager who quickly scuttled to our side, “Sir we can’t employ an ex convict. He has questionable character. He is an ex convict,” she sounded.
I dragged a furrowed brow and protested, “But sir, I am free now, besides I am not guilty of the alleged fraud. I…”
‘Excuse me young man,” the site manager’s Japanese accent sounded, “We can’t employ an ex convict…”
The young lady reminded him, “Sir he is a thief. He stole fifteen billion dollars from Community Central Bank in the name of his company. I am afraid we can’t work with him. it is risky and fiddling.”
“But no. no,” I protested harder behind the site manager who was already walking away.
Without any intention to repeat himself, the site manager turned around and grinned at me.
“Mr. Man, Rocks Construction Company has built and leveraged on integrity over the years. It will be appalling to work with an ex convict. I can’t defer you. I am sorry. Good bye!”
“But… but, I am for real. I am honest. I am not who…” frustration sucked away my voice just then.
The site manager walked away into the building and I paused, breathed hard, wiped the tears that trickled down my lips and had my hands on my head…
“You are a castaway. Find your true identity. I rejected you a long time. Ago and I believed the society did same…” what father had told me kept repeating in my head.
“No!” I wailed at the tops of my voice with my gaze in the sky as I noticed all eyes on me…