Five

Sarah

Sarah looked over at her sleeping husband, her hands resting on her barren womb, and the hope of baby news was at the forefront of her mind as usual. The paperwork for the adoption was done! The only thing left to do was to sit and wait on their baby. For some reason Sarah imagined adopting a little girl, but she didn’t care what it was! As long as it was soft and new and hers’. Sarah’s lifelong dream was finally within reach.

Clinton’s face was soft and handsome as he dreamed. She knew that he was coming around when he returned home after a long day of work with a teddy bear for their imminent bundle of joy. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Oh, I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. But I’m awake now.” Clinton sat up and looked at the clock. “Can’t sleep?”

“Not really.”

“Want to try for a baby?” Clinton winked and kissed Sarah’s neck.

“Why not just make love like we used to? We don’t need to try for a baby anymore.” Her eyes closed as she savoured the sensation of his lips. It had been awhile since she had enjoyed sex. For a year it revolved around sperm and eggs instead of love and desire.

Clinton, who was more than thrilled about the chance to forget babies, just couldn’t forget babies. Now more than ever he wanted his little fellows to swim for their lives. He didn’t want to adopt a child, he wanted to Father one. As Sarah let loose and finally just gave into the overwhelming love that she felt for her high school sweetheart, he prayed for a miracle. He prayed, for the first time since the whole process began, that his wife would get pregnant.

Clinton wasn’t sure why he was so opposed to adopting, but something about it scared him. He ran through the lists of reasons why people give their children up, and knew that most of the reasons were things that compromised his future child’s DNA. Drugs, poverty, promiscuity, poor health-- no matter what the reason, he didn’t see it ending well. Clinton did not want someone else’s baby. He looked down at his wife, so beautiful and innocent, so passionate about motherhood, something she had only seen through the veil of her permanent pair of rose colored glasses. She didn’t know what she was getting herself into. She didn’t realize, but he just couldn’t make himself break her heart. So instead of telling her that he would never adopt a baby, he closed his eyes, and prayed for offspring.

“That was amazing!” Sarah whispered, holding Clinton close to her. She didn’t want to let go.

“It was.” Clinton rolled over and went to sleep. He hoped that he had accomplished his goal, but only time would tell.

Sarah still couldn’t sleep. She spent the last year waiting for a positive pregnancy test result, and now she was still waiting. Sarah was waiting for a phone call. Every time the phone rang, Sarah knew that she was one phone call closer to being a Mommy.

“I bought you something…” Clinton home late after closing on a house.

“You did?” Sarah looked up from the magazine that she was reading, and held out her hands. She couldn’t wait to see what he got for their future baby this time. After four teddy bears, she hoped it would be something a little different.

“Here.” Clinton set a pregnancy test in her open hands.

“What?” Sarah jumped and threw her hands up like he had just handed her a slug or a used tissue.

“I just thought after the other night, that you might need it. Sometimes the stress of trying to get pregnant stops people from getting pregnant…” Clinton wanted her to take the test. Every time the phone rang he knew that they were just a little closer to an abandoned baby. “Maybe since the stress is gone?”

“No!” Sarah couldn’t believe her husband and felt like crying. She wasn’t pregnant. She was infertile. The pregnancy test on the floor in front of her felt like a slap in the face.

“It was just an idea.”

“A bad one.” Sarah who was usually nice no matter what, was angry enough to snap at Clinton. He was taken aback, picked up the test, and headed into the kitchen to warm the plate that she had left for him. If she was pregnant, they weren’t going to find out tonight. It was probably to soon to tell anyway.

Four

I promise you that I am not as horrible as I sound. I don’t hate the world, I just dislike it very much. I am realistic and pessimistic in general. For some reason finding out that I was adopted stirred a sleeping monster inside of me. I was twelve when I found out. My Dad and I were arguing, he always stayed on my case, and he blurted out “Thank God you aren’t really my son!” I saw in his face that he had finally given the underlying problem in our relationship a voice. I didn’t even have to ask questions when he tried to back pedal and take it back. I knew. My Mom came in and explained the truth, and suddenly my entire life made sense. I understood why I felt different and disconnected. I realized why my Dad looked at me like I was an alien-- I was an alien.

My Dad. He’s a good guy, he works hard, loves Mom, and pretty much stays out of my way these days. He’s a real estate celebrity around here. You’ve probably seen his face plastered on signs. Clinton T. Malone, let HIM find YOU a HOME! That pretty much says it all.

My Mom. She’s a saint. She loves me, even though I am not really hers’. She follows Dad around with a broom sweeping up the messes that he makes, and reminding me that he “didn’t mean it,” and that he “doesn’t know what he’s saying!” I always assumed she would leave him eventually, but because he is an honest, faithful husband, she stays by his side. Did I mention she’s a saint?

Today I contacted a company about finding my biological parents. They were perky and helpful. I felt like gagging. Why do I need to find my real parents anyway? That, I don’t know. The woman I spoke with told me that the search started with me. I am supposed to be upbeat and excited about the long a grueling process that awaits me. She told me to make a list of information that I know about myself, starting at the beginning. “Write down everything you know about your birth and adoption, from the name of the hospital in which you were born to the agency which handled the adoption! Everything you know!” she sounded like she was beautiful, her voice was soothing and reassuring, but she was probably four hundred and thirty pounds. You could never tell by a woman’s voice. So now, I start with myself…


Name: Myers Malone

Birthday: September 28^th, 1984

Hospital: Inova Alexandria Hospital, Alexandria VA

Birth Mother: Unknown

Birth Father: Unknown

Reason they didn’t want me: To Be Announced

Date of Adoption: September 29^th, 1984

Agency that handled adoption: Unknown

Adoptive Mother: Sarah Sterling Malone

Adoptive Father: Clinton T Malone, let HIM find YOU a HOME!

And that’s about all I know.


The next step? Approaching my adoptive parents for possible clues. I am supposed to write down every little miniscule detail because “you never know which insignificant detail will be a lead.” The beautiful voiced bombshell told me to ask as many questions as I was comfortable asking… That would be none. I am skipping this step. Mom couldn’t handle this step. She doesn’t need to worry about this. She and Dad really were enough, they would have been more than enough for most people. Only problem is that I am not most people.

It looks like I’ll have to do it on my own. It won’t be the first thing that I’ve handled alone. I’m in my mid-twenties now and can only remember three times in my life that I have asked for help… I plan to keep that number at three.
　

Three

Fawne

The corner of the bar was musty and smelled of smoke. No place for a pregnant teen, but Fawne sat in the corner and waited. She studied the people around her and wished for her old life, the carefree ease of a teenager flashing fake Ids and sipping random strangers’ beers. She met him here for the first time, the baby’s Father. He watched her all night, and eventually made his way over to her, with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was handsome and rich. She couldn’t resist. He was nothing like the boys at high school who popped her bra strap and passed her notes.

Fawne fiddled with the tattered leather bar stool, realizing that he wasn’t going to come this time. He stood her up more now than he ever did before. “Forget about him, honey,” the waitress could tell by the look on her face that she was disappointed.

“Oh, I’m not worried.” Fawne lied, sliding down from the chair and heading for the door, her hand on her growing belly.

“Need a ride?” John was coming up the sidewalk, wearing a suit and over coat.

“About time.”

“Sorry, baby. I got tied up at work.” John kissed her passionately, not a normal after work kiss, but an eager one with tongue and all.

“I can’t stay mad at you.” Fawne slid her arm around his waist and headed to his car with him. “Which hotel are we going to tonight?”

“Days.” he winked, after nearly six months of seeing each other she knew his patterns. An eager kiss hello meant a hotel room. He had never pretended to love her, but she knew that if he wanted her that he must. He just hadn’t told her yet. “You taking the vitamins I gave you?”

“Everyday.” The seatbelt cut into her stomach, but she tried to ignore it. John always made her buckle up.

“That’s good.” John’s face lit up each time they passed under a street light, and Fawne wondered what he was worried about. She could see tension that hadn’t been there before. Maybe he was worried about the baby, or her living conditions, she tried not to mention much about her life back home. Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" came to a sudden stop as Fawne slid a mixed tape into the cassette player and replaced the mellow ballad with Berlin's "Metro."

“You okay, Johnny?” Fawne asked tapping her feet to her favorite song, calling him the pet name that made her feel like he was all hers’.

“I’m fine, Fawne.” John pulled into the parking lot of the hotel and headed inside to pay while Fawne waited for her cue. He would take his jacket off and fix his hair when it was time for her to come in, he would meet her in the elevator.

She watched as John slid his credit card and signed his name. She had a perfect view of the lobby. Fawne loved John with all of her heart, and knew that he would take care of her and her baby. He was a good man, even if she did meet him at bars and shady hotels, she knew a good man when she saw one. John gave the signal and she opened the heavy car door, ready to find safety in John’s older and wiser arms. She would be seventeen in a week, and couldn’t wait to see what he would get for her. Something fancy she was sure.

The elevator doors closed around them, and John pulled her close for a quick kiss. “I love you, Johnny.” Fawne wrinkled her nose and giggled at the sound of it. She felt so grown up.

Before he could answer the doors opened and they followed the carpeted path to room 312. She knew the routine and began to undress as soon as the door clicked shut behind them. “No, wait.” John stopped her as she unbuttoned her oversized shirt.

“What?” Fawne was confused. She thought that people who loved each other had sex.

“I brought you here to talk.” John sat on the edge of the rose covered comforter.

“Oh, to talk.” Fawne sat down beside him and stared down at her dirty keds. John had never wanted to talk before, even when she asked him about his life and career, he never had anything to say.

“Fawne baby, I can’t see you anymore.” He didn’t waste time or puff it up with faux regret.

“What do you mean? We’re having a baby.” Fawne stood up and stared down at the man who she thought was hers’ to keep. She didn’t understand and decided that he must be joking.

“I can’t see you anymore. I don’t know quite how to say it, but my brother and his wife confronted me last night about you. They saw us together, and I just can’t do this.” John was lying, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to take the fact that he was just done with her. She was young and wouldn’t understand. He never planned on marrying the poor girl, he was already married. She knew that from the start, but he had apparently let things go on for too long. He wasn’t even completely convinced that the baby was his. There was no way that a girl a beautiful as Fawne was only with him.

Fawne fell to her knees and begged him to change his mind. What would she do without him? She clutched her belly and watched as his mouth moved but she didn’t hear a word he said.

“Fawne, I can’t keep sneaking around. I’ll give you money to take care of the baby. I just can’t risk getting caught, it would ruin my career.” John was telling the truth now.

“Please!”

“I’m sorry.” John watched as she begged, but there was nothing he could do. He was through with her. With enough money, he could clean up the mess he made. He could help her get back on the right track.

“Please, no, please!” she felt like her heart was being ripped from her chest. What was she going to do? She couldn’t raise a baby on her own. She was only sixteen!

“Check out is tomorrow at eleven,” John squatted down in front of his young lover and slid a one hundred dollar bill into her shirt pocket. “You can call a taxi and this should give you enough money for food and other things you’ll need for the baby. I’ll keep sending money.”

Fawne nodded, her head was in a fog. She watched as John put his long overcoat on and headed out into the dimly lit hall. Johnny didn’t love her, after all. He was no better than her own father who ran out on her mama when Fawne was four years old. He was no better than her mama who ran out when she was seven. John walked away without looking back, and Fawne realized for the first time that he didn’t say he loved her back because he didn’t. And now she was stuck with his baby.
　
　
　
　
　　

Two

Sarah

“Is it time yet?” Sarah asked, bracing herself for another pregnancy test result. For the past year she and her husband had tried without any luck to start a family, and Sarah wanted to be a mother more than anything. She spent her entire childhood rocking baby dolls, swaddling them, and getting up through the night to feed and change them. She was the best pretend Mommy that the world had ever seen.

“Not yet, sweetie.” Her husband Clinton said, pacing back and forth, back and forth. The stress of trying to have a baby was taking a toll on their relationship and he felt so sorry for her. He knew that Sarah wanted nothing more than a baby to call her own.
　
“Come sit down, Clinton. Walking a hole in the rug won’t help the test finish sooner.” Sarah said. She loved her husband and wanted more than anything to give him a baby. She held her hands out to him and he sat down beside her, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Every time Sarah talked to her mother she had to explain why she wasn’t pregnant yet. Her mom had dreamed of being a grandmother almost as long as Sarah had dreamed of being a mommy. She crossed her fingers and waited, maybe this would be the test that changed things! Maybe this would be the start to her pregnancy! She sure hoped so.

The kitchen timer let out a startling ring, and they both rushed to the bathroom. “I can’t look!” she exclaimed. Sarah felt tears stinging her eyes, this was it!

“Me either!” Clinton confessed. “Let’s look at the same time.” He didn’t try to play it cool anymore, he was nervous. Clinton, who was a successful realtor, usually came across calm cool and collected, but not when it came to his wife’s life-long dream of changing diapers. His insides were churning at the prospect of either another let down or a life changing "YES." Either result would make for an interesting night.

“Okay.” Sarah whispered, holding his hand tight and bracing herself, as she squeezed her eyes closed and counted, “One, two, three!” They both leaned in over the bathroom counter. They were good at deciphering the cryptic tests and knew immediately that they had nothing to celebrate today. Sarah had taken hundreds of dollars worth of pregnancy tests, and not once had they seen a brown doughnut appear in the bottom of the test tube. Sarah had never wanted a doughnut so bad in her entire life.

Clinton wrapped his arms around his wife’s empty stomach and kissed her gently. It didn’t matter, they could be happy without a baby, couldn’t they? “I’m sorry, Sarah.” he said, staring at their reflections in the mirror. He watched as her face drained of all color and her eyes filled with the all too familiar sadness. He suddenly felt the need to console her.“Maybe you knocked it when you set it down? Those tests are sensitive you know…’

“It’s not your fault, and I didn‘t bump the test. Why do you always say that?” her voice cracked as she broke free of his embrace. She didn’t need pity or false hope, she needed motherhood.

The days following the pregnancy test were tense, and the couple barely talked. Sarah was embarrassed. She felt like a failure, and couldn’t help but wonder if her husband would rather be with someone who could make babies.

“Clinton, we need to talk…” Sarah said, not even taking the time to tell her husband hello. Clinton had barely gotten in the door and put his briefcase away before she bombarded him. Sarah led her husband to the living room and grabbed a handful of tissues. She was already crying and knew that she would cry more.

Clinton had no idea what to expect. He knew that things had been strained, but hoped to God that his wife wasn’t leaving him. “What is it?” he questioned, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. They had been high school sweethearts, and he just couldn’t imagine his world without her. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m trying not to.” Sarah said as she swiped away a tear from her porcelain skin. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” he asked. His heart sank. He didn’t know what to say to make her stay. He loved her and would do anything to make her see.
　
“I can’t keep trying to get pregnant. It is killing me.” she said, wondering what her husband reaction would be. Sarah knew that she was disappointing him, but she didn’t know how to avoid it. She couldn’t provide the baby that would complete him, no matter how many times they tried.

Clinton pulled her to him. “Oh Sarah! We don’t have to keep trying… We’ll be okay. Just me and you.”
“But that’s just it. We’re not okay without a baby. I want one. I’m ready to be a Mommy.” Sarah said, pulling away from him and looking him in the eyes. She knew that Clinton was completely opposed to adoption, but she knew it was her only hope. She had to convince him. He had to see. “Please, let’s adopt.”

Clinton knew that they had plenty of money saved, but explained once again how expensive adoption could be.

“Maybe eventually…” he said, dangling one last little bit of hope, tainting it with his own selfish hopes that she would forget.

Sarah stood up and asserted herself more than she ever had before. “No. Not eventually.”

Clinton saw that she was serious. He saw in her eyes that she was at the end of her rope. He had no other choice but to give in. If he didn’t want to lose Sarah, he had to find a way to help her fill the empty nursery that was decorated in all neutral colors. He had to.

“I’ll call around and find out what our options are.” Clinton said, he simply saw no way around it. He loved her enough to do anything for her.

“You will?” The relief in Sarah’s voice soon made its way to her face.

The pain behind his wife's eyes turned to possibility, and he knew immediately that he would spend the next eighteen years of his life raising some other man’s child. He had no other choice.“I may have to sell a few extra houses to afford it, but we’ll make it happen.” He couldn’t help but be happy for her, regardless of the feeling of doom that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Sarah hugged her husband tight. She couldn’t believe her ears and felt like jumping up and down. She was going to be a Mommy! Finally she could forget about pregnancy tests and times of the month! They were going to be parents, and finally Clinton was going to see her in her element. Someday, and someday soon, she was going to have a baby in her arms.
　
　
　

One

You and I have something in common.

We were born.

Birth is the one life event that you can’t escape. If you are here, you were born. Presidents were born, murderers were born, astronauts were born, beggers were born, movie stars were born, garbage men were born. It is something that we all have in common. We all may die different deaths, but we are all brought into the world in the same way; Naked, screaming, covered in goo. Even Jesus himself made his grand debut in the same exact fashion as me and as you.

Birth, however, is where our similarities end. You are nothing like me. Did your parents ever tell you how you were conceived? Where you were conceived? Was it in the backseat of a Chevy Nova? Was it on the first night of the fanciest honey moon money could buy? Was it in the grass on a humid summer night under the stars? Was it in the same bed that you crawled into when the monsters under your bed kept you awake? More than likely you have a story. Even if you haven’t asked them, you could ask now and know. This is one piece of my identity that I don’t have-- don’t get me wrong, I am not losing sleep over not knowing where my parents got busy or anything. I just can’t help but look at little things like that, the unfair advantage that normal people have. I don’t even know who my parents are.

Your story may begin on a romantic candle lit night with two people who were so in love that they made love, but my story begins in a hospital when I was handed over to perfect strangers. My story begins when a cheap black ink pen glided over an official form, signing my life away. I always imagined that my parents stood in front of a whole line up of babies. Different shapes, different sizes, different colors, different sexes. They probably had a list of things they were looking for, and eventually the used baby salesman narrowed it down to me. A baby boy fresh off the lot.

You may be the happiest person in the world, but me? I’m bitter. I’m cynical. I’m pissed off at the world. I was adopted into a loving home eager for a baby, I was raised as their own, I was given birthday parties every year, I had nice clothes, I even had a shiny red bike-- but even with all those things I am mad. I’m greedy I guess, but I want to know what happened before the moment that papers were signed. You know that funny story that you have about the furnace going out during a snow storm and your parents making babies to keep warm? I don’t have that. No matter how hard I try, or what I do, I’ll always be missing that.

You may already find yourself hating me, and I understand. I have made it a point to be unlikable. It isn’t as easy as you think. I spent my teen years trying to make my parents want to send me back, and came pretty darn close with my Dad, but no matter how hard I tried they tried harder to make me feel accepted and loved. I had wild parties, broke precious souvineers, picked on my sister relentlessly, and even started a small house fire, but none of those things were enough to make them send me back. It occurred to me one day, not that long ago, that even if I did drive them to the point of not wanting me, that I would never find that simple little story that I seek. It wasn’t like I could just press rewind and try again with my real Mom. After thinking long and hard about it, I decided that the only way to complete my story was to find my parents. You know, the people who didn’t want me. The people who I inherited my stunning good looks from. The people who handed me over to complete strangers. Those were the people I wanted to meet. Those are the people I want to meet. Maybe finding them will help me understand myself, but more than likely it won’t. I am a highly misunderstood person-- even I am willing to admit that.