AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I just glared at those sharp cheekbones in the bathroom.
My auburn hair with dark lowlights falls over my shoulder, and though the image is in black and white, I can envision the true shade. I just brushed the same loose waves my father has, only my locks fall to my waist.
I have my mom’s eyes. The thought rushes through me as my fingertips trace the edges of the photo. Just under his jawline, peeking from beneath his collar, is a tattoo I can’t quite make out. I trace the edges of the tattoo, wondering just what lies there within the black ink.
My biological father was beautiful in a cruel way. It’s in the way his eyes track whoever he’s watching and the way they appear taunting.
I flip the photo over, not wanting to look at him any longer. Beneath it is another photo. This one is an insignia. Blown up and blurred, I can’t tell what it’s on or where it’s from. The black color is no longer black, but gray, and the gold appears faded, almost tarnished. Letters are cut off at the bottom, but I know exactly what they spell.
Bonanno.
“How strange,” I whisper and take a long sip of my wine as I flip it back. The next photo is of my mom, her head thrown back in laughter as she sits on the ground with roller skates on her feet and her hands on the ground for support. She looks beautiful, free, and happy. She must have been young here, no older than sixteen.
I know that in less than a year, she’ll have me, and her world will change forever.
My fingers trace the delicate lines of her face, her smile, and the way she has her head thrown back.
Deep grief sweeps through me, and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t contain the sob that spills out of my mouth. “Why did you leave me?” I whisper to her ghost, even though she can’t see me. “I need you, Mom. We need you.”
Tears burn my eyes, and I sniffle into my wine. I chug the contents and savor the buzz that settles in my head. I dare it to chase away the pain I feel.
My eyes land on a man in the background. My father rests his elbows on the wall of the skating rink, his eyes on my mom as though she is prey. The look he’s giving her is obsessive, and it chills away the burn of alcohol in my system.
I flip the picture over.
The next page is all about my mom—her birth records, her parents, both deceased, and their place of birth. It’s all ancestry information that’s priceless. Even more priceless than that? I wasn’t born in New York. Neither was my mom or her parents. We were all from Vermont. So why did she move here?
I flip the page.
Licking my lips, I stare at my father’s birth record. A furrow forms between my eyebrows, and I try to rub it away as I struggle to comprehend just what I’m seeing.
“Bonanno.” I swallow thickly and flip the page, looking for more information. That’s when it really hits me.
The next piece of paper is another image. This one is of Sal and my father with their arms over each other’s shoulders.
I can feel my breaths turn to pants as I go back to his ancestral information.
Bonanno. Mother.
“No, no, no.” I repeat the words over and over, even as bile fills my stomach, and it clenches and twists. My body flails as I throw myself upwards, my bare feet crumpling the pages as I launch myself into the bathroom just in time to throw up.
My whole body burns, and sweat beads on my forehead as I heave and sob all at once.
This can’t be real.
Life doesn’t work like this. Life is linear. You are born, you go through the stages of life, and then you die. It isn’t this twisted drama. It isn’t…this.
Spitting into the bowl, I turn around and glare at the folder. The dim light of the room seems to focus only on that file, on the papers I scattered running to the bathroom.
Tears burn behind my eyes. I barely even dented the top of the file—the file given to me by Harlow, which she got from…from…
I swallow and crawl across the tile to the carpeting, then back to the file. My wine glass sits on its side, and I right it before placing it on the end table. At least I drank it before it spilled.
I need to look through the rest of the file. I need to know my life wasn’t one big lie, and that it wasn’t somehow directed and orchestrated by unknown players.
My fingers shake as I lift the papers and smooth them out. I make two piles—one for Mom, one for my sperm donor—then and only then do I focus on the next paper. One paper at a time.
I can do this.
