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“Well, I fuckin’ did anyway,” he replied.
I looked up at him as he stepped closer to me.
“I wanted to give ya somethin’.” Jonathan pulled out a folded up piece of paper and handed it over to me. “I know it’s been a while, and I don’t know where we stand now, but I said I’d find out what I could, so I did.”
Tentatively, I reached out and took it from him. As I unfolded it, the letterhead was instantly familiar—a stylized crucifix within a circle of woven wheat. There was also a State of Ohio seal on the bottom of the paper, and across the top were the words “Certificate of Adoption” followed by my name.
There were two names on the paper with signatures scrawled below them. The signatures were just above the words mother and father. I could feel my pulse in my wrists as I looked over the document confirming my adoption from Alexander Janez and Anita Arden to Sister Margaret Arden.
My maternal grandmother.
I knew who Sister Margaret was—she had often taken care of me and the other children at the orphanage. She died when I was in seventh grade—around the same time Mother Superior started spending more time with me.
“I confirmed that they’re both deceased now,” Jonathan said. “So is the nun who adopted you, but there’s addresses on the back that’ll tell you where they’re buried. You know, in case you wanted to go there or somethin’.”
I couldn’t speak as I stared at the paper and tried to make sense out of it beyond the obvious. Were they too young to take care of me? Were they pressured into giving me up by her mother? Why raise me as an orphan instead of letting me know who my grandmother was?
Jonathan opened the sliding glass door, and I followed him dumbly into the apartment and sat on the couch. My heart continued to pound. I could only stare at the paper and try to make some kind of sense out of it. Questions I had considered far beyond answering were popping into my head though I hadn’t thought about it all in years. I had decided I didn’t care—whoever my parents were and why they decided to ditch me would always remain a mystery. Now that I had a smidge of information, I wanted more.
“Well,” Jonathan said quietly, “I just wanted to give ya that. I’ll leave ya be now.”
I found my voice.
“Hey, Jon?”
“Yeah, brotha?”
“I have something for you.” I went back into the bedroom to retrieve the “Save Ferris” T-shirt I had bought for him some time ago, still in its plastic bag. I handed it over to him, and he opened it up.
At first he looked a little confused, and then his eyes darted over to me.
“It ain’t my birthday,” he remarked.
“I missed your birthday.”
“That was six months ago.”
“I bought it in December.”
“Why were you going to kill me in December?”
Jonathan always was a lot more perceptive than he appeared, and I needed to remember that. I smiled a half smile at him and shrugged.
“I was just checking on something. You were clean, though.”
“Uh huh,” Jonathan mumbled skeptically.
“I was considering it a few minutes ago, too.” I smiled a bit more.
Jonathan laughed.
“I guess I’m definitely thankful for this—in more ways than one. Thanks, brotha.”
We shook hands, and he started for the door.
“Oh yeah,” Jonathan said as he snapped his fingers. “I got ya something else, too, but I didn’t bring it with me. Here ya go.”
He fished around in his pocket, came up with a couple lighters, shoved them into the other pocket, and then pulled out a key. He tossed it to me with a flick of his wrist and walked out the door.
