My Name is Joss

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"Life is for the living.

Death is for the dead.

Let life be like music.

And death a note unsaid."

― Langston Hughes, The Collected Poems

Kyna Jocelyn's POV:

My mother died that night as she was sleeping. I felt a slight prick in my chest, like there was a tiny pin of emotion trying to puncture my heart. It was too small a pin to be of any harm though, and I felt almost nothing.

But the next morning, a very large social worker accompanied the doctor to my mother's room. I knew exactly what he was doing there and stood to meet him, leaving my mother's cold body for the doctors to remove.

"Hello, what's your name?" The social worker smiled rosily.

"Joss." Was my immediate response. "My mother has died and you are here to take me away." It was not a question. It was a statement. I already knew that this was the answer.

"I'm afraid so." He was still beaming. I felt the urge to slap his silly red cheeks. Instead, I asked a question.

"Who will I stay with since my mother is gone?"

"That's a very good question, Joss. If you accompany me to the police station we can get your records all straightened out, and possibly find you someone to live with- temporarily or permanently."

"My grandparents are dead." I told him.

"That is very unfortunate."

"I think I'd like to come with you."

"That would make everything a lot easier."

I had learned from years of training with my mother that people were kinder and more willing to affiliate with those who acted like they knew less. Although this made absolutely no sense to me.

The social worker escorted me out of my mother's room and out the doors of the hospital, to his car.

We were silent the entire trip. I quietly examined him.

He was divorced and had three children, all of whom only stayed with him on alternate weekends. By the looks of his lower pant legs, he had a dog.. possibly a poodle..

I almost laughed.

Part of his breakfast was sitting on his tie and he had a coffee stain in the corner of his mouth. He'd eaten in the car which meant there had been a lot of jostling.

You may not tell lies.

My mother's voice startled me and I immediately stopped my deduction.

When we were sitting comfortably in his office he finally spoke, glancing down at my file.

"Your mother was very young when she had you."

"Sixteen." I agreed.

"Your father left before you knew him?"

"He was never there to begin with."

"And you have no aunts or uncles?"

"None on my mother's side."

He was nervous.

"Is there any information on my father?" I asked, leaning forward.

"Very little." The man shuffled some more papers to the back. "We have an address and phone number, but we don't know if he's moved or changed anything."

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