|
Why I Write
When I write, I draw on my experiences as a woman with a painful past, a rapturous wife and mother, a world traveler, and a spiritualist. For me, writing is an art form. Like an artist, the work becomes more than I imagined it would be. When I set out to write a story with a particular idea or character in mind, words I cannot claim as my own flow from a magical and mysterious place through me and onto paper. The work takes on a life of its own; it is living art. The process fascinates me, satiates me, and makes my life more meaningful.
Please read my stories! If you would like to offer me feedback on my work, please click here and sign up for a free membership: http://heftynicki.Writing.com
I hope to see you there!
|
Under Dock and Key
Under Dock and Key
“I have a right to be angry, Mom-Mom! She took the answers to all my questions to her grave! I mean, how could she...she--?” Samantha’s voice broke in a sob.
The lush, wildflower-speckled countryside beyond the windshield reduced to a roiled rainbow as bitter tears stung Samantha’s eyes. Stress seized every fiber of her body. Achy and stiff, she gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. She hadn’t meant to shout at Marla, and hated the hard edge in her voice. Then she felt Marla’s warm hand touch her shoulder and knew immediately she’d already been forgiven.
“I know you’re hurting, sweetie. These past couple days have been, well, unbearable at best. But your prayers were answered. After all this time, you know who your mother was. That is a gift.”
Samantha kept her eyes on the road but let her head drop to the her shoulder, pressing her cheek against Marla’s plump hand. No adoptive mother loved a child more than Marla loved her. “I’m sorry. I know you’re right.”
Samantha mustered a smile to denote her gratitude. Marla was the one person she could always count on. Sweet Marla, who’d raised Samantha from infancy, had always called herself ‘Mama Marla’ and never hid the fact that she wasn’t Samantha’s biological mother. But in little Samantha’s baby voice it came out ‘Mom-Mom’ and the name stuck. In a way, it fit perfectly. Marla was twice the mother anyone could ask for. Her unconditional love filled Samantha’s heart and offered her security from a cold world where mothers gave their daughters away.
“I’m so glad you came up here with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Marla’s fleshy bosom rose and fell as she chuckled. “Honey, I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” She paused, and then added, “It’s amazing that after years of blocking that adoption agency from opening your file, your mother’s last request sent an attorney right to our doorstep.”
Samantha set her jaw and the white around her knuckles on the steering wheel returned. “It just proves she knew where I was; all this time, she knew. Why didn’t she contact me before? Didn’t she imagine for a second that I might like to meet her? Didn’t she wonder what kind of person I was?”
Marla fingered the envelope on her lap then lifted her chin in Samantha’s direction. “Do you remember the first time I realized you’d snuck out your bedroom window onto the roof?”
“The first time?” Samantha said with a slight titter. “You only found me out there once.”
Samantha glanced over to find Marla staring at her with one eyebrow noticeably higher than the other. A guilty blush crept across her face in the glow of that stare. “Okay, I spent a lot of time out there. But, it became my favorite place! When I lay up there, higher than the houses and the trees, it felt like I was floating in a sea of stars. I stared into that black, flecked ocean for hours, thinking about my mother, wondering where she was and whether she was looking into the sky at that moment and thinking about me.”
“Well, honey,” Marla said softly, holding up the large envelope, “this proves she was thinking of you.”
Two days ago, Samantha answered the door to find a tall man in a suit standing on the porch who identified himself as the estate attorney for the late Ms. Donna Tracey. He explained he was sent to carry out a stipulation in her will instructing the delivery of an envelope to Ms. Tracey’s daughter, Miss Samantha Langford. Samantha stood holding that envelope for a long time after the man left, mute and shocked, unable to move, to shut the door, or to open the envelope. Marla found her there and coaxed her back into the house. She’d brewed a pot of coffee and together they opened the envelope.
There were just two papers inside. The first was a sheet of loose leaf paper on which an old, rusty key was affixed with scotch tape. Beneath the key was a handwritten note that read, “What this key unlocks is yours to keep forever.” It was signed, “Your loving mother, Donna Tracey.” The second paper was a computer printout of a series of directions that began at the Boulder Municipal Airport, where they’d flown in this morning.
As they passed a road sign announcing ‘Talmo 10,’ Marla grabbed the glasses hanging around her neck and set them on her nose. Consulting the computer printout, she said, “Sweetie, keep your eye out for a right hand turn coming up. It says we need to take Lake Shore Drive, and that it’s an unpaved road.”
Samantha glanced at the torn envelop resting in Marla’s lap. “You know what I don’t get? Why isn’t there any explanation included on that paper? No address --just directions and a rusty, old key. What the hell?” The edge was back in her voice.
Marla’s eyebrows raised and she shrugged. “I don’t know, but there’s the road we need.”
The tires crunched on gravel as Samantha turned off the highway and onto the dirt road. She lowered both front windows and the fresh smell of grass flooded the car. Samantha felt her body relax. She looked over at Marla who said, “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?”
The road traversed a tall, grassy field flanked on all sides by evergreen-dominated forest. The drone of insects hung in the perfumed air. When the road entered the woods, sunlight filtered through the dense trees in radiant beams.
“There’s only one instruction left on this paper,” Marla said. “Take the first left’.”
A minute later, Samantha pointed. “There it is!”
As Samantha steered the car from the dirt road onto a still narrower path, both women gasped. Into view appeared a quaint, white building with large windows overlooking a lake. The shore was lined with a sandy beach and a narrow, wood-plank dock stretched thirty feet into the water. Gentle mountains rose in the distance, giving the scene a picturesque and protected semblance.
“No way,” Samantha exclaimed. “Do you think….?”
Marla tore the key off the paper. “Let’s see what this unlocks,” she said with a mischievous smile.
Samantha led the way up the steps. Rollercoaster riding was one of her favorite childhood activities and the excitement mingled with fear in her stomach now reminded her of the sensation she got standing on the quay about to board the ride. The key quavered in her hand but slid fluidly into the lock. It turned with a loud click and the door swung open a few inches. Samantha looked over her shoulder at Marla, who gave her a reassured nod.
Light flooded the cottage’s main room. Out the lakefront windows, the cloud cover was breaking apart. Dazzling sunlight danced on the gentle waves near the shore; its fiery flecks reflected like diamonds across the ceiling. The space was divided into areas of function: one corner housed a kitchenette outfitted with a sink, gas range, refrigerator, and café style table and chairs; the opposite side sported a seating area with overstuffed armchairs and coffee tables stacked high with glossy books. The center of the room was dominated by a rustic oak table. One end served as a desk, with writing implements and papers. The rest of the table was littered with tubes of paint, jars of gesso, and vases sprouting from their necks paint brushes of every size and shape. A large easel holding a half-covered canvas stood at the table’s edge.
Marla approached the table, while Samantha moved to the paintings hung on the walls. The subject of every one was a female child, though no two were portrayed with the same physical characteristics. She took a few deep breaths to slow her racing heartbeat. She started when Marla called her name.
Samantha joined Marla at the table. “Look what I found!” she said, handing Samantha a leather-bound journal. She opened to the first page. In handwriting she now recognized as her mother’s, Samantha read aloud, “June 28th: Dear Baby, I can’t wait to meet you! I’m Donna, your mommy, and your daddy’s name is Seth. We found out today that you are on the way, coming into our lives, and we are so excited! I am going to write in this journal daily so when you read it some day, you’ll know exactly how you came into this world!”
Stunned, Samantha looked up with large, dewy eyes. “I don’t get it?” she whispered. She began scanning the pages covered with descriptions of doctor’s visits, sonograms and morning sickness.
Reading over her shoulder, Marla suggested, “Sam, skip ahead to your birthday.”
“Good idea.” She flipped through the months looking for March 10th, but following the February 17th entry the pages were blank. Shaking her head, Samantha turned questioning eyes on Marla. She thumbed the remaining pages and discovered more writing further into the book. Opening to where it recommenced, Samantha read, “December 5: I haven’t had the courage to write since the fire.”
She gasped, her hand covering her mouth. Marla slipped an arm around her waist, sending waves of comfort up Samantha’s back. Samantha took a deep breath and read on. “I lost everything that night. Seth is gone. The baby is gone. And what’s left of me is hideous and repulsive. All that’s left for me is pain.”
Samantha stopped. Marla said softly, “Why don’t you take your time with this?”
Without a word, Samantha took the journal to an armchair and began to read in silence. She drank in her mother’s words describing the fire that erupted in their suburban house that terrible night. She and Seth had been trapped, but fought through the flames to escape. Both were badly burned. Seth passed away the first night in the hospital. Samantha learned the doctors had performed an emergency cesarean section, fearful her mother would die but hopeful they could save her baby. Three months later, conscious but immobile and in constant, excruciating pain, her mother made the heartbreaking decision to put her baby up for adoption. Tears blurred the words when Samantha read, “What kind of selfish person would I be to condemn my daughter to life with a monster? What hope of a normal life would she have?”
Marla’s offerings of coffee and cookies found in the cupboard went cold and untouched. When Samantha finished reading, evening waned and the last glow of sunset lit the sky over the lake.
“Why don’t we spend the night here, sweetie? There’s a second bedroom in the back, and I found food in the freezer I can make for a dinner.”
“Sure, Mom-Mom, I’d like that. Do you mind if I get some air?”
Samantha listened to her hollow steps as she walked out to the end of the dock. The earlier clouds had disappeared, and the first stars were visible. The water’s surface was still and peaceful, like her soul. She kicked off her sandals and sat on the end of the dock, letting her toes sink into the cool water as the last light of day extinguished.
Samantha lay back on the dock, and stared up at an ocean of brilliant stars. At this elevation, the sky seemed closer to earth; the stars looked bigger. Suddenly, an orb of light streaked across the heavens.
As Samantha watched the shooting star fade into the velvety sky, she whispered, “Thank you.”
(WC according to Word, without title: 1918)
This story was written for
March 2009
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Featured in Shadows: A Paper Doll Gang Publication Volume 1: Issue 1, May 2009
 
© Copyright 2009 NickiD89 Scuba Classes! (UN: heftynicki at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
NickiD89 Scuba Classes! has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|
|
