Thanks to Mel for being my beta, and making this readable for the rest of you.
And this is for Mac, who bullies me into writing. I love her for it.
How do you fit your whole life, your past, your present, and everything that makes you you, onto paper? At first I thought, Oh, I can do that. I mean I'd managed to write an autobiography for 8th grade English, this can't be that much different. So I opened the saved document, and stared at all the dates and names that I'd shoved together to explain my life. And then I realized, all those numbers and letters floating around, they didn't even begin to explain me.
So, here I sit, staring at a blank computer screen. I know there must be words to describe me. It's like they are right there, just out of my sight. The longer I stare, the further away the words seem. It almost feels like that black cursor is sitting there, just to taunt me.
This all started a couple of months back, towards the end of the school year. I'd noticed her silver car sitting across the street again. I didn't approach her that time, I just watched out of the window until she drove away. Nine days later she came again. I thought maybe that was it, maybe she had lost interest, but she came back. This time I went outside, I sat on the lawn and pretended to read a book. But mostly I just watched her, watching me.
It's strange to find out you aren't who you thought you were. And as I think that, I wonder if it's totally false, I mean I am who I thought I was. Nothing has really changed, and yet everything has! I could've been Madison Sinclair. That's who I was born to be, wasn't it?
Mrs. Sinclair started coming about once a week. Each time I would go outside. I wasn't sure what else to do. Should I approach her? Would she approach me? If she did, what would I say? The questions didn't go unanswered for long. On the fourth week she got out of her car. She crossed the street slowly, shuffling her keys back and forth in her hands. She sat down next to me on the grass, and mimicked my cross-legged pose.
"How long have you known for?" Her voice was a forced kind of calm, but her hands kept clasping and unclasping in a nervous rhythm.
"Not long, I guess, I always knew that well that I wasn't like the rest of my family, but it was around my birthday I found out."
She nodded slowly at me, letting the information I offered sink in. We sat in an uncomfortable silence waiting for the other to speak.
"Have you had a good life?" Her voice trembled with the question.
"I yeah, I have. I mean I haven't travelled the world, like Madison " And even as I said it, I realized my mistake. She cringed and a clear look of guilt masked her face. A single tear ran down her cheek. I didn't dare touch her, and I didn't know what to say.
"I knew I knew by leaving you here, you wouldn't have the same " I watched her wordlessly as she searched for the appropriate explanation. "...Opportunities." She finally finished her thought, still seeming unsure of it. "It was the hardest part of the decision. If if I had my way I would've taken you both." A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I know Mrs. McKenzie felt the same. She she wanted you both too."
"Will you ever tell Madison the truth?" She sat kind of stone faced, looking at her car across the street. It wasn't the reaction I expected, but then maybe the question wasn't one she expected. A part of me knew, if I was ever really going to be a part of her life, my sister's life, and that of the biological father I had never even seen, first they would have to tell Madison.
As I watched her something clicked inside me, she didn't want to lose Madison. She didn't even really want to share her daughter. Even if it meant gaining me! She must have seen the hurt in my eyes as she reached a hand out to touch my knee. And I knew, that I didn't want her touching me, not right then. So I jumped up and ran for my house.
I looked over my shoulder at her before disappearing inside. She sat, just as I had left her, her hand that had been reaching for me, now resting in her own lap, her head drooping just a little.
It wasn't the last time I saw her, she continued to drive by my house, even stopping sometimes. I know, because I spent a huge part of the rest of my summer sitting at my window, waiting for a glimpse of her. But I never went outside again. I didn't give her what she wanted, to be able to see me. At the same time I didn't know why I was denying it to her.
And so now, here I sit. I kind of thought writing her a letter would fix it. I could tell her everything about me that she wants to know, and I wouldn't really be putting myself out there. I wouldn't even have to face her again. I could just mail it off, fill in all the blanks in her mind, and
I don't know.
You see all these things on TV, where people are reconnected with their biological parents, and it's this great tear inducing moment. Their lives suddenly make sense and everything they have always been searching for is right in front of them. And I think it's probably a good thing that that is the only moments they show. Those first few moments, when the parent or child is perfect and wonderful. They have your hair, or your eyes, and you just know that they would be the best mother, or daughter. That every problem you ever had in your real life would not have happened, if you had been a part of the family you were born into. Eventually though, the cameras are turned off and they start to talk to each other, and you can't help but lose the perfection. The truth is my life wouldn't have been problem free and perfect, the problems just would've been different.
Reaching around my laptop I flip the power off. The computer was too impersonal, I tell myself, reaching for a piece of paper and a pen instead. I write her name in small neat letters across the top of sheet. Then I stare at it, as it stares back at me.
I try to think what it is I want to tell her, which leads me to wondering, what it is I want from her. The truth is I don't want her to be my mother. I have a mother, one that loves me, and I love her. She hasn't always been just what I wanted, but really whose mother is? She teases me about the weird food I eat, but she always takes the extra time to prepare it for me. It sounds like something little, and silly. But it's a part of who my mom is. We don't have a lot of the same interests, but she's always encouraged me in whatever I was interested in. She has always supported me. And she has always loved me. And I have a father who builds shelves for me without my having to ask. As soon as he sees that I'm running out of room, he is there making more. And a little bother who drives me insane, but I remember going to hospital when he was born and my mom telling everyone that I got to hold him first. I remember sitting in the chair at the hospital clutching him, all the other adults worrying that I would drop him, and I looked up at my mom and she smiled at me. Then she told everyone else in the room that they didn't have to worry, that I was his big sister, and I would take care of him. And I do, just like they all take care of me. That's what a family does.
Standing up, I crunch the paper up into a ball, and threw it into my trash can. She wouldn't get to know me through words on paper. Maybe next time she drove by I would go outside and see her. Maybe I wouldn't. Maybe someday she and I would be friends. We would never be mother and daughter, that place was already filled in my life. It was already filled in hers too. But maybe someday we would sit down together and really talk, she would get to know me, and I would get to know about her. And if that day ever comes, I'll tell her, that she made the right decision. That, I am exactly where I belong.
And this is for Mac, who bullies me into writing. I love her for it.
How do you fit your whole life, your past, your present, and everything that makes you you, onto paper? At first I thought, Oh, I can do that. I mean I'd managed to write an autobiography for 8th grade English, this can't be that much different. So I opened the saved document, and stared at all the dates and names that I'd shoved together to explain my life. And then I realized, all those numbers and letters floating around, they didn't even begin to explain me.
So, here I sit, staring at a blank computer screen. I know there must be words to describe me. It's like they are right there, just out of my sight. The longer I stare, the further away the words seem. It almost feels like that black cursor is sitting there, just to taunt me.
This all started a couple of months back, towards the end of the school year. I'd noticed her silver car sitting across the street again. I didn't approach her that time, I just watched out of the window until she drove away. Nine days later she came again. I thought maybe that was it, maybe she had lost interest, but she came back. This time I went outside, I sat on the lawn and pretended to read a book. But mostly I just watched her, watching me.
It's strange to find out you aren't who you thought you were. And as I think that, I wonder if it's totally false, I mean I am who I thought I was. Nothing has really changed, and yet everything has! I could've been Madison Sinclair. That's who I was born to be, wasn't it?
Mrs. Sinclair started coming about once a week. Each time I would go outside. I wasn't sure what else to do. Should I approach her? Would she approach me? If she did, what would I say? The questions didn't go unanswered for long. On the fourth week she got out of her car. She crossed the street slowly, shuffling her keys back and forth in her hands. She sat down next to me on the grass, and mimicked my cross-legged pose.
"How long have you known for?" Her voice was a forced kind of calm, but her hands kept clasping and unclasping in a nervous rhythm.
"Not long, I guess, I always knew that well that I wasn't like the rest of my family, but it was around my birthday I found out."
She nodded slowly at me, letting the information I offered sink in. We sat in an uncomfortable silence waiting for the other to speak.
"Have you had a good life?" Her voice trembled with the question.
"I yeah, I have. I mean I haven't travelled the world, like Madison " And even as I said it, I realized my mistake. She cringed and a clear look of guilt masked her face. A single tear ran down her cheek. I didn't dare touch her, and I didn't know what to say.
"I knew I knew by leaving you here, you wouldn't have the same " I watched her wordlessly as she searched for the appropriate explanation. "...Opportunities." She finally finished her thought, still seeming unsure of it. "It was the hardest part of the decision. If if I had my way I would've taken you both." A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I know Mrs. McKenzie felt the same. She she wanted you both too."
"Will you ever tell Madison the truth?" She sat kind of stone faced, looking at her car across the street. It wasn't the reaction I expected, but then maybe the question wasn't one she expected. A part of me knew, if I was ever really going to be a part of her life, my sister's life, and that of the biological father I had never even seen, first they would have to tell Madison.
As I watched her something clicked inside me, she didn't want to lose Madison. She didn't even really want to share her daughter. Even if it meant gaining me! She must have seen the hurt in my eyes as she reached a hand out to touch my knee. And I knew, that I didn't want her touching me, not right then. So I jumped up and ran for my house.
I looked over my shoulder at her before disappearing inside. She sat, just as I had left her, her hand that had been reaching for me, now resting in her own lap, her head drooping just a little.
It wasn't the last time I saw her, she continued to drive by my house, even stopping sometimes. I know, because I spent a huge part of the rest of my summer sitting at my window, waiting for a glimpse of her. But I never went outside again. I didn't give her what she wanted, to be able to see me. At the same time I didn't know why I was denying it to her.
And so now, here I sit. I kind of thought writing her a letter would fix it. I could tell her everything about me that she wants to know, and I wouldn't really be putting myself out there. I wouldn't even have to face her again. I could just mail it off, fill in all the blanks in her mind, and
I don't know.
You see all these things on TV, where people are reconnected with their biological parents, and it's this great tear inducing moment. Their lives suddenly make sense and everything they have always been searching for is right in front of them. And I think it's probably a good thing that that is the only moments they show. Those first few moments, when the parent or child is perfect and wonderful. They have your hair, or your eyes, and you just know that they would be the best mother, or daughter. That every problem you ever had in your real life would not have happened, if you had been a part of the family you were born into. Eventually though, the cameras are turned off and they start to talk to each other, and you can't help but lose the perfection. The truth is my life wouldn't have been problem free and perfect, the problems just would've been different.
Reaching around my laptop I flip the power off. The computer was too impersonal, I tell myself, reaching for a piece of paper and a pen instead. I write her name in small neat letters across the top of sheet. Then I stare at it, as it stares back at me.
I try to think what it is I want to tell her, which leads me to wondering, what it is I want from her. The truth is I don't want her to be my mother. I have a mother, one that loves me, and I love her. She hasn't always been just what I wanted, but really whose mother is? She teases me about the weird food I eat, but she always takes the extra time to prepare it for me. It sounds like something little, and silly. But it's a part of who my mom is. We don't have a lot of the same interests, but she's always encouraged me in whatever I was interested in. She has always supported me. And she has always loved me. And I have a father who builds shelves for me without my having to ask. As soon as he sees that I'm running out of room, he is there making more. And a little bother who drives me insane, but I remember going to hospital when he was born and my mom telling everyone that I got to hold him first. I remember sitting in the chair at the hospital clutching him, all the other adults worrying that I would drop him, and I looked up at my mom and she smiled at me. Then she told everyone else in the room that they didn't have to worry, that I was his big sister, and I would take care of him. And I do, just like they all take care of me. That's what a family does.
Standing up, I crunch the paper up into a ball, and threw it into my trash can. She wouldn't get to know me through words on paper. Maybe next time she drove by I would go outside and see her. Maybe I wouldn't. Maybe someday she and I would be friends. We would never be mother and daughter, that place was already filled in my life. It was already filled in hers too. But maybe someday we would sit down together and really talk, she would get to know me, and I would get to know about her. And if that day ever comes, I'll tell her, that she made the right decision. That, I am exactly where I belong.
