My mother always told me that you don’t have to be rich to lead a good life. So far, it’s been totally true. For years, we’ve been living in the wild, hunting, fishing, and doing what any normal Native American would be doing. I’ve never been to a real city, because we live about 20 miles away from a city called “Chicago”. My parents were born in Chicago, and stayed there until what they called “The Day”- January 13th, 1901. They were robbed and my father was killed. They can still remember it as clear as day.  “It was a cold, dark night and then I heard the window crash, with the sound of shattering windows,” my mother had said. The story still gives me the shivers, even though I was only 8 months old when the event happened. I wonder what my father was like. My mother described his intense hazel eyes, with dark, bold eyebrows that bended as he listened to something interesting, and would bounce up and down when he laughed. I can imagine him, because the way she describes him also reminds me of my brother, Jon. Jon is a brave guy, which reminds my mom of my dad even more, to her distaste. She says she wants us to leave him behind, that he’s from the past, and he’s gone now. I really want to think that, but I know I can’t. I just can’t. Everyday of my life, he eventually drifts into my mind, forcing a couple of tears down my face. I just want to meet him, I thought. 

     “Snap out of it, you idiot!” Jon yelled. I glared at him, for he knew what I was thinking of. “Dinner time, you moron. Stop thinking ‘bout pops,” He continued. “It’ll just make you hungrier, and we don’t have that much food to feed you ‘till your full. Got it?” I nodded. I walked over to the table, where my two family members were waiting. We were having chicken noodle soup for dinner: the everyday meal. We ate in silence, only with the sound of slurping and crunching vegetables going off into the distance. I realized that I was the only one at the table and eating. My mom had tears of sadness rolling down her cheek. Soon enough she was sobbing and choking into her soup. Jon took her into the tent and even when they were in there I could hear the massive sobs that contaminated the forest. After seeing my mother cry so bad, a sudden bolt of anger hit me. Now anger was flowing through my body, and I had the urge to kill. I tore out running at full speed, into the woods. I ran and ran, for what felt like hours. My feet felt like they were splattered with oil, and then lit on fire. I still find it a miracle that they didn’t fall off. As I ran, I passed an old couple fighting over who got the soup, and children playing with stones in the open areas. Despite the loneliness of the woods, just to see other humans cheered me up, and gave me more confidence into what I was doing. I stopped. What was I doing? Then I realized that I was on the outskirts of the cities, where there were only a few trees, with actual houses. I was awe-struck to see one, for I had never seen one before. Actually, yes I have. But not that I can remember what it looks like, since it was about 10 years back. I looked around, still thinking what I was doing here, and I decided. The only reason my mom was crying was because my dad had died. So I’m going to avenge this person. The person that killed my dad. 
     I entered the city cautiously, admiring the lights and people milling around at every corner. “Wow. I wonder what it would be like to live here.” I thought. I turned around to find two kids fighting over a piece of bread. I walked over to try to break it up, only to acquire two pairs of red eyes glaring at me. I walked away, like nothing had happened, and swore to myself that I would never do that again. After thinking for a while, I figured that asking people if they knew anything about my father would be the best way to start, which is what I did. So my plan was: walk up to random people that look like old residents and ask them if they know anything about my father, Arsin Lemble. It was hard to tell if people were old residents, because everybody looked quite the same, knowledge wise. I ended up asking lots of twenty or thirty year olds, which was stupid of me, because why would any young person know? They would barely be a teenager when this happened. I tried asking older people, but none of them even heard of this name before. 

     After a long day worth of work, I lay down on the open grass, hoping to fall asleep so I have enough energy for tomorrows search. I lay there, listening to the crickets chirp, the sound of the fall wind rushing through the air.
     I woke up, with the sun beaming down onto me, with people walking around, staring at me as they passed by. Apparently they found sleeping on the ground very rude, even though I do it every day. I continued my search, asking every bystander of Arsin Lemble, if they’ve ever heard about him. After asking hundreds of people, I took a five-minute break, telling myself that I would succeed. Thinking about how worried my mom was worried me. I sure my brother wouldn’t care a lot, but my mother is the one I cared about. I imagined tears rolling down her cheeks, like she did at the dinner table. Remembering her smiling made me smile. Remembering her crying made me cry. Like there was some kind of link between our feelings. I got back up, taking a deep breath like I was about to do a big job. I ran to downtown, and when I walked past the bakery, my stomached grumbled. I’ve been resisting it for hours now. I just realized that I hadn’t eaten since last night at six. My stomach was rumbling like thunder now. I reached into my pocket and found a dime inside. A wave of relief washed over me. I walked into the store, bought a croissant and walked back out. I devoured it viciously, and it was gone in a few seconds. My stomach wasn’t even half full, but it was still better than nothing.
     “Excuse me, but have you ever heard of the name Arsin Lemble?” I asked my thousandth person. He replied just like everybody else. “Nah, never heard of him.” After a few hours of work, I decided that I would give up. I sat on the curb next to two other people. One’s name was Frederick, and the other James. We sat there in silence, until Jack struck up a conversation about types of breads. I felt that I had absolutely no business in their conversation, but it was the only “entertainment” that I had. We talked until it was dawn, and by then I had made two new friends. We said our goodbyes and went off to sleep. I went to the place that I slept at yesterday, in the park opening. I lay down, enjoying the noise of people cussing and honking at each other.
    
     I woke up with sunlight blazing down on me, and the smell of toast, egg and sausage in my nose. I rolled over, and I moaned in pain. I suddenly realized that I was sleeping on a bed. I immediately opened my eyes, and saw that I was in a small log hut, that looked manmade. The walls had a layer of dark brown glossy paint over it. I turned around, and there was a middle-aged man, with a dark complexion. Dark brown eyebrows hung above those hazel eyes that were so intense that when you looked right into them they would sparkle like no other eye would sparkle. He looked over at me. “Oh, you’re awake. Breakfast’s ready. C’mon.” he said. I backed away tentatively, even though he looked like a kind man. “What? Do I look scary? All I want to do is help ya, and you back away like I’m some sort of monster? Christ, what has the gotten into these days?” He said. I took a step forward. 
“Who are you?” I asked. As if on cue, another man walked into the door and said, 
“Sam, you’re apples are here.” Apples? Seriously? Christ, what has gotten into him these days? Sam took the apples, paid the man, and then asked me if I want some. “I still don’t know who you are,” I continued. He laughed, and he proved his point. “I don’t know who you are either.” I sighed. As I walked toward the table, the aura of the breakfast made me drool. I sat down and started devouring the food. It was the best food I had ever tasted. Plate after plate, I ate everything as fast as a tiger would eat a slab of steak. He laughed and laughed, spit coming out of his mouth. Then I remembered my duty. “Um…Sam? Have you by chance ever heard of the name Arsin Lemble?” His expression immediately hardened. “How do you know…” His voice faltered. “Yes…yes I have.” He corrected himself. “Do you have any idea of the person who killed him?” I asked demandingly. “Killed…? He was never killed, my friend. You see, Arsin is still very much alive.” He added. My mouth dropped open, my brain all fuzzy. We’ve thought he’s been murdered all these years, and now he’s suddenly never been killed? I shuddered. “You mean…there isn’t a murderer?” I asked. “No.” He repeated. “Do…do you have any idea where he is?” I squeaked. He was silent for a few seconds, and then muttered, “South east corner of Navy Pier. You’ll find a shop he owns called ‘Ben’s Bistro’. It’s a small shop but has lots of customers. And may I ask why you are looking for him?” I hesitated. It seems like my dad had some sort of secretive name. Why would he call it “Ben’s Bistro” if his name was Arsin? 
“Hold on. First off, why would he call his bistro Ben’s if his name is Arsin?” I asked, aloud this time. Sam stared at me with interest. I stared him down until he decided to tell me. “He goes by Ben because after the incident where the robber came, he wanted to basically start a new life. With his family members gone, he renamed himself Benjamin Fisher. Therefore naming his Bistro ‘Ben’s Bistro’. I told him that this wasn’t the best option, because his family would probably think he was dead. And you heard from a family member of his, and then you were eventually sent to come find him, I’m guessing.” 
Sam summed up that if I knew about his secretive name – Arsin Lemble, that I would know about the robbery. “Now I know this may seem weird, but I am his son, Jacob Lemble, so I should in fact have some interest to find my father.” I stated. He glanced at me curiously, and then said,
“You know, you do sort of look like him, and I’ll take your word. I’ll take you to the bistro, but you have to promise that you don’t tell him that I took you there. You can tell him that I gave you clues, because I don’t want to take all of the credit or what such a brave young man like you did – run away from your home to find your beloved one.”
“You know, actually I came here to avenge the person that I thought who killed my dad, not for finding my dad, because I thought he was dead.” I said. He smiled.
“No matter. You were brave enough and kind enough to come here to do something for your father. Fair enough?” he said. I bobbed my head up and down, smiling. For all of my life, I have never met anybody so humble and kind to a ragged boy like me.  
     
     He took me to the store next to the bistro, and from there I could see the huge line that extended across the Pier. I smiled kindly at Sam, thanked him for his help, and waved him goodbye. I swirled around, took a deep breath, and advanced towards the bistro. I cut through many people, saying “Excuse me” or “Coming through”. I came to the back, which had an open door, and I walked through, and a tall skinny man told me that I wasn’t aloud to come in there. I told him, “But I’m looking for Ars……….I mean Ben.” 
He studied me awkwardly, but then let me in. “His workspace is down the hall, and then to the left.” He told me. I walked down, and on the door, the nametag read – Benjamin Fisher, Founder. I didn’t bother knocking, because he was family. But I guess it was still rude. He turned around, and squinted. “ Who let you in?” he asked.
“The tall guy.” I said.
“Ugh. George. Tell me what you want and then get out.” He blurted.
I examined him discreetly, trying to find anything weird. I sighed. “Mom said that you were brave, kind, loving, and gentle. Judging by what I’ve seen so far, you’re nothing but brave, to say such a thing to your own son.” He looked at me, and lowering his voice a bit, said, “What do you mean, ‘son’? I don’t have a son.” I closed the door and quietly said, “Arsin Lemble, I am Jacob, your younger son, if you’ve forgot.” I could see that I had hit the bull’s-eye, because he started walking towards me, with tears coming down his face like a waterfall. Through the tears, he said, “Jacob, is that really you?” I managed a smile and nodded, immediately followed by a giant bear hug from my father. Soon enough we were both crying and laughing, and I swear that if you gave us ten more minutes we could’ve flooded the room. Suddenly I was feeling a feeling of family that I had never felt before.

     I finally understood that this whole time, my mission wasn’t to find the thing that created the missing puzzle piece - the burglar. My mission was to find the missing puzzle piece. 

And I found it. 
 

         

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The Mission	6-8	P. 1