February Love, Mid-Autumn Day
November 13th, 2020
In my childhood home, there are blue-black constellations. “November 13th, 2002,” recites the painting above my toilet.
There is nothing I can explain, because who remembers the day they’re born. My birthday isn’t really special. It’s sometimes just a reminder of when I found my home.
My birth dad is out of the picture. I’ve known since I was a kid. My birth-mom remained a word. A no-name no-face no-emotion idea that sometimes floats around when people talk about “family”.
Everyone is always shocked when they hear I was adopted.
I have never asked too many questions, I leave that up to the people I tell.
How old were you? Do you know your birth mom? Birth dad? Do you want to? But you look so much like your parents!
But the thing is I’ve never known anyone to look like my mom besides my mom. And I make myself forget there’s that possibility. And I say this because the concept of two mothers must hurt when I am her child. Her baby. I know it hurts.
The most it’s ever stuck is when the doctors ask about my “family history”. I mean really isn’t it just “genetic history”?
But...does she look like me?
November 21, 2021
We’re sitting at a coffee shop somewhere in New York City.
The light is artificial, my shaky hands aren’t. The lines on your face are starkly defined. They match the shading on the painting behind you. I’ve memorized it because I’m scared to make eye contact.
It’s only because I’ve been meaning to ask you some things. And I know I need to say them, but the words won’t leave my mouth.
I don’t want to hurt you. But I know this will - no matter how softly I pull the trigger, it's a sheet of metal pellets that I am confronting you with. And they’re hitting me too.
Last week I watched “Juno” with my friend. I had been told it was a great movie, a “must see” for anyone interested in the basics of film. The critics weren’t wrong. It brought up a lot of questions. I didn’t feel sad. But I needed the answers.
“Mom, can I ask you about my birth mom?” The words scratch out from under my trembling lip.
I knew this would make you sad. I’ve always known.
A word becomes a name, but there’s no face.
As a kid I knew my mom remembered her name.
Along with that name came the knowledge of a letter her 15-year old self wrote. I’m scared. I wonder what clarity it might provide - if any.
December 26, 2021. 8:50 pm
After pleads, promises, and a lot of hesitation, the paper is in my hands.
Your rope tugged just a little harder. A lot.
You needed shots to give it to me. I knew this would sting but it is more painful to carry this burden you took me in with. Neither side can be right so how can I pick one?
Hearts decorate the corner. It’s purple.
The human who conceived me wrote this when she was 15 years old. When she was me, but me 4 years ago. I didn’t know anything then. How did she know anything then?
December 26, 2021. 8:52 pm
She knew a lot. She knows a lot. She speaks of the value of family, something I am still trying to learn. She explains why I am here with this family, but I knew that already. She tells me she loves me, “forever and always.”
Does forever last until now?
We have the same handwriting.
This name loves me. This name? This silly name I know too well.
This name loves me. How can a name love me? I really don’t know.
We have the same handwriting. Does she look like me?
Not that it really matters, I suppose. But does she?
I have questions and more questions. I wonder if I will get the answers or break you first. How much more can you take before one of us caves?
I’m worried about you, but I want to be selfish. I want these answers you can’t find in a book but you have it all memorized.
I don’t know how to trek across this unloved, unwatered land.
It’s bare, empty and cracked.
We have the same handwriting.
So there must be more. ★
Julia Neumann is a freshman who grew up in Utah. She was raised on a good book and finds solace in nature and even more so with good company. You'll always find her defending Blind Pilot and Coldplay (bring back their good music!). She's not sure what the future holds, but hopefully it includes more writing.