Track 9: Mystical Alchemy
“Your mom and dad made those,” Martha said as she washed dishes in the big sink in the back of the café.
I was dusting off some hand-thrown pottery mugs that I had found hiding deep in a cabinet. Each one was beautiful and different with a unique pattern. I paused and wondered how that was possible and then I shouted over the clanking dishes and faucet noise, “When? Those five days back when my mom was nineteen?”
Martha looked at me but didn’t say a word. I think she realized her slip and so did I.
One of the mugs went crashing to the ground when I absentmindedly set it on the edge of the counter. “Dammit!”
Martha came over to help me pick up the pieces. When I picked up the bottom part of the mug, I saw a heart inscription between my parents’ initials. I set the piece down and jumped up. “I’ll be right back.” I ran out the door and bolted to my apartment. I ran past Will, who was standing at the kitchen counter. I went straight to the closet and yanked the big box of my father’s pictures and documents down. Kneeling on my bedroom floor, I hastily sifted through the contents of the box until I came across a manila envelope. I pinched the metal prongs, opened the flap, and turned it upside down. Two tiny boxes fell out, along with a file of documents and a stack of letters and pictures. I don’t know how, but I realized right away that I was holding proof of some kind of history that had been kept from me.
I went to the pictures first. There were three black-and-white photos. The first picture was an artsy closeup photo of my father lying on his side, shirtless, and looking down. My mother is peeking up from behind him, staring right into the camera lens with a seductive look. They were both very young and it could have easily been taken during the notorious five days. I imagined my father’s version of Andy Warhol’s Factory. My mother looked so different, so vibrant and uninhibited. Her hair was long and straight and contrasted beautifully with her fair skin; she was clearly the muse. The second photo was of my mom lying in a bed, shirtless and nursing her baby. My eyes welled up when I realized the picture was taken in the very room I was sitting in. That photograph with my mother, the peaceful look on her face was a gift in itself, but it was a gift that was hard to appreciate because at that moment I was still very torn and confused. The third picture was of the three of us lying on the same bed. I must have been six months old, lying in between my mother and father, both of them looking serenely at me.
By the time I got to the fourth photograph, I was a blubbering mess. It was my mother and father standing in front of the courthouse. My father was dressed uncharacteristically in a suit and my mother was in a white, knee-length, A-line dress. I knew immediately it was their wedding photo. The photos were images of events I had wished were real my whole life and now they were.
I started sifting frantically through the file of documents. I saw their marriage license and the divorce decree. They were married six months before I was born and it lasted one year, almost to the day. The boxes held two gold wedding bands and a beautiful pair of diamond earrings.
I looked up through blurry eyes to see Will standing quietly in the doorway. “Go away, Will,” I said, sniffling. His expression was pure compassion, but I raised my eyebrows at him like what are you waiting for. He turned slowly and walked out as I continued sobbing. There were two letters, one addressed to my father and one addressed to me. I opened the letter addressed to my father and glanced down to the bottom. It was signed Lizzie. It was the name my father had called my mother.
Dearest Alan,
I’ve decided to go back to Ann Arbor; I know you sensed that it would come to this. I don’t fit in here; this life is not for me. I love you, but we want different things and you said yourself that we create our own destiny. You’ve been so good to me and it breaks my heart to hurt you this way. I know you will be a wonderful father to Mia. I promise that I will make you a big part of her life. Please understand. I’m so sorry.
Love you always,
Lizzie
I cursed my mother, then opened the letter addressed to me.
Luv,
I knew one day you would start asking questions, so I am writing this letter from my heart. Your mother and I never wanted you to feel that our marriage failed because of you, so we chose to wait to share this information. We shared a deep love for each other, but we realized that we wanted different things in life. We hope you’ll understand our choices. We love you more than anything, Mia, and we love each other and always will because of what we share in you. These rings and earrings belong to you as a memento of your parents’ love.
All my love,
Pops
When I finished the letter my head was pounding and shirt was drenched with tears. I felt Martha’s warm embrace around me. I hadn’t noticed her walk in but she knew I was hurting. She held me silently for a long time. I realized it was my mother who made the choice, not her parents. It wasn’t because my father couldn’t be faithful, it was because they were too different and my mother didn’t want this life.
“How will I ever forgive her?” I whispered.
“You don’t have to forgive her, you’re not Jesus. Your mom was still figuring out who she was when she met your dad. She didn’t do anything wrong except try to protect you. Your parents loved you so much, but your mom wasn’t happy here,” she said gently.
“I’m just like her, that’s why I can’t be happy. I’m just like my mom and here I am in my father’s life,” I said between sobs.