Like most major events in one’s life, this one came
completely unexpectedly. The email was
direct, and to the point. “My name is
Susan and I think I am your sister.” The
body of the email revealed that she had been looking for him for years on and
off after their parents had split. He
had been very young when they had been separated to different
grandparents. He remembered so little of
her it was like trying to remember a dream.
She was now living in a modest home in Florida, and hoped to see him
when she traveled to the city next week. "It would be great to get caught up!"
Attached was a file.
He clicked on the attachment to reveal a video. It was an old film shot on Super 8 converted
into a digital file. A small boy smiled
for the camera in a dated style long sleeve shirt. He must have been about four years old. Behind him was a young girl around six years
old mugging for the camera. His mind
inserted the whirring click of a film projector as he watched the soundless
film. It was him with his long lost sister. He had seen photographs of himself at that
age but never film. It was odd to see himself
in motion. He struggled to remember the
version of himself that he saw. The boy
smiled with complete innocence and joy, expressions that seldom found their way
to his current face. He couldn’t connect
this boy who was undoubtedly him to the present version of himself.
His earliest complete memories were later in life. He grew up with his grandparents and mother
in a small bungalow. He remembered
almost nothing of his father, a man his mother reliably called “a bum” whenever
she referenced him. His mother would sit
in the recliner in the living room with the TV on when he got home from
school. The cigarette smoke hung in a
haze in the dim light with the shades drawn.
When she had been drinking, she would tell him he looked like his father
with an edge in her voice that made him anxious. He never saw his father. The extent of the contact were the infrequent letters his
father had written him which his mother always threw away without opening. His father called long distance a week after
his mother died. His grandmother wouldn’t
allow him to speak to him. “You’re
better off without that bum.” That had
been about it.
He stared at the video. There was a cut. He was now being lifted in the air by a young
man. He was smiling and laughing
uncontrollably. The man smiled and spoke
silently as he moved him up and down in the air. It must have been his father. His father was so young in the film, just a
kid really. He must have been a 22 or
23 year old young man. A petite pretty woman moved into the
shot and leaned in to wave at the camera.
It was his mother. She was almost
unrecognizable as a pretty young girl.
He only knew her as the spiteful woman in the chair. His sister bounded into the frame to hug her
mother. His head swam. All those years being told his father was a
monster. He wasn’t a monster. He was just a kid. They were all kids. The version of his family history he had
lived with was a myth.
His eyes welled. It
was too much to handle at 8:17 am on a Tuesday.
He clicked the video closed. The
email stared back at him and begged a response.
“Would you like to get together when I come to town next week? It would be great to get caught up!” He exhaled.
His hand paused for a moment over the keyboard until he clicked “delete”
on the email. He closed the laptop and
got started with his day. He could
forget this if he tried.
That's some heavy shit...
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