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After a silent drive to the nearest hole-in-the-wall-café that was silent because the younger passenger was in shock and the elder had more important things than talking (like her coffee) on her mind and three cups of coffee (one for each passenger and for the taxi driver) and then another silent drive the pair arrived at the hotel in which Grandma Kleinsmith had a room. Once they made it to the room in particular Twyla seemed to snap out of her shock. “Grandma, it’s good to see you but why am I seeing you exactly? I mean--” Twyla was cut off when Blanch held up her hand. “I know what you mean, dear. I tend to talk in circles too, if you remember. It’s one of the wonderful traits that my genes and too much reading have instilled in you. Now, would you rather I told you the whole story--all at once or would you like to ask questions and I’ll answer each one specifically?”

Twyla thought about this for a moment. It would make more sense to start from the beginning and to hear about the events in chronological order. It was like a novel the best place to start is usually the beginning or you run the risk of people becoming confused and not liking your storyline. “Just tell me the whole thing please.” She replied, sitting down in the uncomfortable armchair that every hotel room always seems to have. Her grandmother looked pleased with this, she had always loved telling stories. She looked very much like a giant, preening bird when she adjusted her cream jacket after sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“When your mother called me in the middle of the night I knew in my heart that something had happened to my granddaughter.” Blanch touched her chest for emphasis. Whether or not she had actually had this feeling was debatable considering her love for theatrics when she told her stories. In any case, she went on. “I remember her frantically asking me if I had seen you. I think that maybe she was hoping that you were staying at my house and had forgotten to tell her about it. I asked her ‘Margaret, what’s going on?’ and she told me that you were missing and the police had marked you as a runaway. So of course I got off the phone with her and immediately put on appropriate clothing and then rushed down to the farm to see for myself what exactly the police were doing to find you. Your brother Nate felt terrible. He knew that he had helped you leave. No one could figure out how you got out of La Crosse though, obviously you didn’t have much cash with you. It took me a moment but then I remembered the train ticket that I had bought you as an early birthday present. I told the officers about this, of course but they called the train station and no one of their description of you had been in the station that day. Now, the next morning when they brought your picture down one of the clerks remembered your face but he said you weren’t wearing the clothing Nate had seen you leave in. We had no what idea your ticket number was yadda yadda yadda so it was basically impossible to trace where you had gone.” Blanch waved her hands in an annoyed manner.

“At this point everyone was very worried, even Miranda had come down to the farm to stay with you mother and you know how far along she was in November. She had her baby by the way. A little boy. Thomas James, seven pounds exactly and 20.5 inches long. Anyway, as you can see the entire family was worried sick about you but there wasn’t much we could do besides give your information to as many police officers and social service workers around the country as possible. This part of the story gets very boring and there’s just a lot of sitting around on our asses and trying to keep life going. Eventually it occurred to me, after there was no evidence of a bad boyfriend or anything like that that there had to be some reason that you had run away without telling ANY of your friends or family where you had gone. It hit me when I was watching the news and a story about a mutant rights group came on briefly. ‘What kind of secret could Twyla have that she couldn’t hide?’ I asked myself. The answer became obvious. You weren’t gay, a drug user, or pregnant because these are things that can be hidden or that can be changed. I realized that you must have been a mutant.” Blanch looked pointedly at her granddaughter.

“You could have told me, you know. I understand that out community isn’t very open-minded–the Mark Pronzinski incident and all that but you could have tried talking to someone about it.” Her features became harsh as she became more angry. “I know your parents aren’t ready to deal with the situation, but some of us are much more forgiving.” She paused for a moment. “Forgiving wasn’t the right word. How to put this.” She tapped a long finger on her chin for a moment before continuing. “You see, Twyla, when you get old you either become very conservative or you realize certain things are impossible to change. As I got older and traveled more I realized that life is life. It’s beautiful and it takes on many many forms. I’ve realized that although some ways of life may seem strange to me, they aren’t to the people living them.”

The elderly woman stood up suddenly and grasped her granddaughter’s hands. “I will always love you. That will never change–no matter what kind of genes you have. Do you understand me?” Her features were fierce with the depth of her devotion. To This Twyla nodded, she was shocked at her grandmother’s acceptance. “I understand why you left, but I wish you hadn’t.” She retreated back to the edge of the bed.

“Now, on with the story. When I came to this conclusion I decided to find you myself. I didn’t want to tell your parents. I knew that Margaret wouldn’t believe me and that she wasn’t ready to face that possibility. Before I left I made some phone calls to some contacts who knew a bit more about the mutant community than myself. From this information I made lists of areas you might have wandered to on both coasts. I started in California and eventually worked my way around the country. I had begun to feel that my task was pointless and that it was ridiculous to assume I could find one teenage girl in a sea of people. I struck gold when I met up with one of my friends from my travels in Boston. One of her children is also a mutant, you see and she had sent them to a school near New York City. This led me to believe that there must be a thriving mutant community in NYC and surely someone had seen you. My train came into New York a few days ago and I’ve been talking to people and searching local homeless shelters since my arrival. For ten dollars a very nice gentleman told me last night about the place you’ve been staying and I decided to check out this Sanctuary today. You know the rest of the story, of course.”

Twyla could tell that her mouth was hanging open. To anyone else this story would seem ridiculous but since it was bout Blanch Kleinsmith it was entirely possible that everything she had just said was plain fact. She didn’t have any questions, she could believe all of the story. Her grandmother was always good with people on some level and it stood to reason that she’d have many contacts considering her extensive travels across the United States. Twyla didn’t say anything, she was at a loss for words and not the first time that day. Her response to the whimsical story was to jump off the chair and hug her grandmother again. “I love you, Grandma B.” She finally said after they separated. Before Twyla moved out of her reach one of Blanch’s hands snaked out and grabbed the slip of paper she had spied in Twyla’s pocket. Glancing quickly at what it said she let a large smile spread across her face. “Now,” She said. “let’s see about getting you into that school.”