Mommy sang to me. She meant to sing only to me, but she sang to you too since you were there as well. She could sing more notes than there were stairs leading up to the fourth floor where our apartment was back when we lived in the city. This was before she bought our first house, \u201ca house of our own, Sweetie,\u201d she said. It was small, like a box, with only the rooms we needed. I sometimes wanted a bigger house like my friends. They had more toys and space to play, more indoor space away from the mud and slush in our front yard, my play space. Still, I liked our house. I could hear the birds sing from my window every morning and identify them by their calls, like you had taught me. Then we moved again. I did not know why then, Tobias.<\/p>\n
Mommy and I moved a lot. There was a time when I was four when Mommy and I moved late in the night. She had me hide in a suitcase. That was the night I learned grown-ups could be scared. She told me to go in, and that she would zip me up. \u201cDon\u2019t make a sound,\u201d she said. \u201cIf you do, we\u2019ll get in big trouble.\u201d Shortly after I was all zipped up, I heard loud angry voices climb up the stairs of our apartment. I think they broke down our door. I squeezed myself as small as I could. The suitcase was so tight, and I felt the fabric all around me. I could not see anything it was so dark. The air was stuffy, and tasted like sweat and cloth. I shuddered and tried not to squirm. I wanted to scream, but I remembered Mommy\u2019s words, so I put my hand over my mouth and cried really quietly.<\/p>\n
I listened and heard a man\u2019s voice call Mommy \u201cPaula\u201d. I had recently learned that Mommy had another name that grownups called her: Paula. He kept asking where Genevieve was. Genevieve, Genevieve, Genevieve. Mommy said that she put her up for adoption, something like that. Eventually, the men left, and Mommy said I could come out of the suitcase. I gasped to breathe the air. She slumped into a chair breathing heavily. She looked like I felt when I would come crawling into her bed after a scary dream. I thought she was afraid, so I cried, and Mommy held me. We left hurriedly, scared that we would be seen since it was a full moon, but only a barn owl saw us as it flew across the sky. You told me what type of bird that was later.<\/p>\n
Maybe that night is why I met you, Tobias. We were on a train, while Mommy and I were in the process of moving. It was the day after she had me hide in the suitcase. I think she was exhausted. I had never seen her nap before. I sat on her lap while her head fell back into the seat. Her eyes closed, and her mouth fell open. I stared at her. Her head lurched with bumps, and she never reacted. I poked her arm, surprised that she did not scold me, because it is rude to poke. Instead she continued sleeping, and I remembered being in the suitcase. I started crying again, but then I met you. You sat across from us at that moment in our compartment, calmly watching us. You were a grownup like Mommy with forest colored eyes and dark hair. I startled. You had not been there before, and I knew Mommy had locked the compartment. <\/p>\n
\u201cMommy, Mommy,\u201d I said, and like any mommy, she woke up at the sound of her child\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d she groggily answered with her eyes closed.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook,\u201d I said pointing at you.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLook.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the seat.\u201d And then you were no longer there.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh.\u201d I said. \u201cI poked you when you were sleeping.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, you shouldn\u2019t have.\u201d<\/p>\n
Afraid of where the conversation could go, I changed the subject. \u201cMommy, who\u2019s Genevieve.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh you heard that. I had hoped you had fallen asleep in the suitcase.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut who\u2019s Genevieve?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSweetie, Genevieve isn\u2019t real. She\u2019s someone that man wants to be real.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s apopsion?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAdoption? Adoption is when you don\u2019t have parents, so other parents become your parents.\u201d
\n
\nI did not understand how someone could be \u201cgiven up for adoption\u201d and how Mommy could have given up someone for adoption, especially somebody fake. I thought about it, and Mommy slid back into sleep on the train. Maybe grownups lived in a bigger different world than me, but I was big. I was four.<\/p>\n
The train took us to a town where we spent the night in a house that belonged to some grownups that were older than Mommy. Their names, at least to me, were \u201cGrandma\u201d and \u201cGrandpa\u201d. Mommy called them \u201cMom\u201d and \u201cDad\u201d. Tobias, Mommy called them \u201cMom\u201d and \u201cDad\u201d. Adults had mommies and daddies too? And if Mommy had a daddy then-<\/p>\n
\u201cMommy, do I have a daddy?\u201d I asked when we had finally completed our travels and had a house of our own.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do you ask, Gracie?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you have a daddy. Or do only mommies have daddies?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEveryone needs a mommy and a daddy to be born, so yes, you do have a daddy. He just wasn\u2019t nice to Mommy, and I didn\u2019t think he\u2019d be nice to you, so I had to leave him. That\u2019s why you don\u2019t know him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh. Why wasn\u2019t he nice?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSometimes people stop being nice. Now, would you like to sing a song with me?\u201d<\/p>\n
And so Mommy and I sang. Mommy did not like songs like \u201cOld McDonald\u201d so we sang \u201cFor the Beauty of the Earth\u201d and \u201cHey Jude\u201d. I liked singing. Singing was fun, but the friends I made did not know the songs Mommy and I sang. You did though. You did. <\/p>\n
When I played with other kids from church and preschool sometimes the other moms looked at my mommy strangely. Other times other moms were really really kind to us and would give us meals though Mommy said she could care for herself.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do they treat us differently?\u201d I asked you once when I caught you sitting on our old couch in the living room. <\/p>\n
\u201cYou will know when you\u2019re older, child,\u201d you said. Your voice was soothing.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut why can\u2019t you tell me now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause it\u2019s something you need to learn for yourself at your own time. You\u2019re a child. I\u2019m here to keep you that.\u201d You crouched down. \u201cNow do you want to tell me about the cool thing you did in preschool today?\u201d And I did.<\/p>\n
I wished I spent more time in our house. I went to preschool, and then later real school for big kids. I went to daycare. I had play-date after play-date after play-date with the kids whose mommies who were kind to my mommy. Mommy said that she did not spend much time at home either since she worked and worked a lot, but I did like it. I watched you follow me. <\/p>\n
I liked school and learning. I liked to play dress-up and dolls with my playmates. I liked it when I would play outside and feel the mud beneath my feet and the sun on my arms. You told me the tree in our yard was an American Basswood. Then you told me the names of the sparrows, chickadees, and other birds that landed on it. Mommy never knew how I could name the birdies. \u201cHow do you know that\u2019s a barn owl?\u201d she said. <\/p>\n
She did know how I could find and name chrysanthemums, her favorite flowers, though. That was because she taught me that instead of you. She pointed at the bright orange splotches one day and said, \u201cSee those, Grace. Those are chrysanthemums, my favorite flowers because new life can come in the fall.\u201d I think she thought our peace would end. She had me practice packing for if we ever had to leave in an emergency.<\/p>\n
When I was six, I got back from first grade to see Mommy sitting at the kitchen table. Normally when I got home, she took me to a friend\u2019s house or daycare while she would go to work again. Instead she just sat at the kitchen table with her phone out in front of her. She played something on her phone. It was a voice message, a man\u2019s voice. \u201cI know where you are, you liar, and this time I\u2019m taking Genevieve with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then she saw me and sighed. \u201cHoney,\u201d she said. \u201cYour name is Grace Louise Colden. Never let anybody call you anything else, especially not Genevieve. We need to move now. Go pack like I told you.\u201d<\/p>\n
As I went to do as she said, I heard her muttering to herself, but really to the man on the phone. \u201cKeep underestimating and warning me, you bastard, because I will always win. You might have taken everything, but you can\u2019t take her.\u201d She didn\u2019t win.<\/p>\n
I think you knew what he wanted though, for you whispered at night to me while you stroked my hair in the motel room that Mommy and I slept in, \u201cRemember you matter, my child.\u201d<\/p>\n
When we got to my grandparents\u2019 house, they treated Mommy like she treated me when she was upset. \u201cWhy did you come here?\u201d they asked with their faces tense while Grandma grabbed Mommy\u2019s arms. \u201cHe knows you\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow, how, how?\u201d she asked as she collapsed into the living room chair with her face in her hands. She looked up at them, her face paling and collapsing.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe don\u2019t know how. Why didn\u2019t you cover your tracks?\u201d Grandma said throwing her hands up.<\/p>\n
\u201cI did. I did everything I could, but he still found me, so I left and came here. It was the only place I could go. He had found my previous homes. How do you know he knows I\u2019m here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe called two hours before you arrived,\u201d Grandpa said. \u201cHe said you were coming and that he was taking her with him.\u201d Grandpa pointed at me when he said \u201cher\u201d. All three of the adults looked at me, like they had just noticed I was also in the room. <\/p>\n
\u201cHas she ever met him?\u201d Grandma asked.<\/p>\n
Mommy shook her head. \u201cWhat did he call her?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cGenevieve Susanna Olsen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe can\u2019t even call her by her name. He always had to have his way.\u201d She looked back to me. \u201cGracie, I need you to listen to me. While we are here, you are never to leave the house unless you are holding hands with one of us. Do you understand me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Mommy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know what that means?\u201d I looked back to her. \u201cIt means no going outside, no playing outside, no anything out. I know it\u2019ll be hard, but you need to stay in here, so what are you to do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStay in the house and never go outside.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long will you stay here?\u201d Grandpa asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cUntil I can get something figured out,\u201d Mommy replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about school for her?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe can miss parts of first grade. She already knows how to read.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes she now?\u201d Grandpa turned to me and pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. He scrawled a word on a blank page and showed it to me. \u201cWhat does this say, Sweetie?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCat,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n
Grandpa wrote word after word on the sheet until he got to sentences, but those were easy too. I could read books. He wrote for me until Grandma scolded him for not helping her prepare dinner. Mommy had slumped into a chair with her face in her hands, and once again I was left unattended, so I went after you. I found you upstairs sitting on my bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you afraid?\u201d you said as I rushed in for a big hug. I nodded glumly. \u201cI will be here for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mommy said she was looking for a place for us to go, but it looked like all she really did was mope. Grandma and Grandpa made a few phone calls where I heard Mommy\u2019s and my names come up. A day or two later, two new people, a man and a woman close to Mommy\u2019s age but maybe a little older, came to the house. The woman looked a lot like Mommy. <\/p>\n
Right as they entered, the man bent down and said with his face very close to mine, \u201cYou must be Gracie. I\u2019m your Uncle Luke.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him for a moment with my mouth open while I quietly said, \u201cHi, Uncle Luke.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked up to the woman who accompanied him and said, \u201cSee, Tracy, she really does look like Paula, and wouldn\u2019t Lila be her age?\u201d<\/p>\n
The woman, who I took to be Tracy, looked to me and looked back to the man. \u201cYes, Lila would be her age.\u201d She looked at me and said, \u201cHi Gracie, I\u2019m your Aunt Tracy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHi Aunt Tracy.\u201d Uncle Luke shuffled along and followed Grandma and Grandpa to the kitchen where Mommy was, but Aunt Tracy stayed. <\/p>\n
\u201cSo, how old are you, Gracie?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cSix.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWow, so are you in first grade?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you learned a lot in first grade?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, I got better at reading and writing. I can do math, but I wish Mrs. Snow would teach us more about plants and animals, like Tobias does,\u201d I said letting your name slip.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd who\u2019s Tobias?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo one.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay. I think I need to go talk to your Mommy, but I would love to talk with you later.\u201d Then she followed Uncle Luke to the kitchen.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do they need to talk to Mommy?\u201d I asked you realizing that you had entered and put your hand on my shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey need to decide what\u2019s best for your safety.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom him. But don\u2019t worry now. Let\u2019s look at the birds.\u201d You led me away to the window. You knew there was no one around to see me. We looked at the birds and flowers from the window, and watched the clouds go by. Grandma and Grandpa came over after a while and led me to the kitchen, and everyone but Mommy asked me if I wanted to go visit Uncle Luke\u2019s and Aunt Tracy\u2019s house. <\/p>\n
I liked the idea, so I nodded along. Mommy did not like my response. She smashed her palms into the table and yelled, \u201cShe\u2019s my child!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf she is, then why haven\u2019t you treated her as such and gone to the police?\u201d Grandpa asked<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy haven\u2019t I gone to the police? I thought I made that clear years ago. When I first threatened to take Grace, leave him, and file a police report, he promptly introduced me to his lawyer. Now he’s gotten even richer. You can\u2019t fight against Jeff Olsen.\u201d She had said his name, a name I later repeated to you each night before I fell asleep. The other grownups all startled and stared at my mother.<\/p>\n
Grandma was the first to collect herself. \u201cHe\u2019ll never follow her to your sister\u2019s. They live in the middle of nowhere. He tracks you,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you\u2019d do the same as him to me!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe needs a normal life,\u201d Aunt Tracy said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou just want what you can\u2019t have.\u201d<\/p>\n
The grownups went quiet. Aunt Tracy put her hand over her mouth resting her elbow on the table while Uncle Luke stood behind her with his hand protectively on her shoulder. They all looked at each other, and I learned at that moment that adults could cry. Mommy\u2019s face fell into her hands while she sobbed. These were not the cries of a little kid. Aunt Tracy turned to me and said, \u201cLet\u2019s go pack for a vacation.\u201d<\/p>\n
The moment I got up the phone rang. Mommy, who was closest to it, answered it. I could tell from the sounds that it was a man\u2019s voice, and my mother\u2019s face twisted angrily while she listened. She could not even let him finish. \u201cYou will never fucking have my daughter!\u201d she screamed before slamming the phone on the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s a child here!\u201d Uncle Luke snapped.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know that!\u201d my mother snapped back.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut clearly, after all this moping, you\u2019re not in full acknowledgment,\u201d Aunt Tracy replied. Then she looked at me and said, \u201cCome Sweetie, let\u2019s go pack your things.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll of them.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mommy watched Aunt Tracy lead me away with her eyes wide open and her mouth half closed. Aunt Tracy and I packed up all my things, neatly folding all my clothes. Aunt Tracy sang happily while we packed, but her voice was not as low and deep as Mommy\u2019s. She also tucked me into bed that night. That was weird, but you tucked me in a second time. The next morning, I had to have a talk with Aunt Tracy and Uncle Luke.<\/p>\n
\u201cSince you will be living with us,\u201d Aunt Tracy said, \u201ccould Luke and I be your mommy and daddy? Can we adopt you?\u201d<\/p>\n
It sounded cool to have a daddy, but \u201cI already have a Mommy,\u201d I said. <\/p>\n
Aunt Tracy nodded her head and raised her eyebrows at that and said, \u201cI know. You won\u2019t have to call me \u2018Mommy\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you can\u2019t be Grace Louise Colden anymore,\u201d Uncle Luke added. \u201cYou need another name so people can\u2019t find you who shouldn\u2019t find you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes that mean I need to be Genev-\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cNo! No! No!\u201d Her shouting surprised me. \u201cYou will never be Genevieve. Don\u2019t even say that name.\u201d She took a deep breath. \u201cYou are just going to have a new name.\u201d I could change my name? \u201cYour last name will be Singer, since that\u2019s our last name. What would you like your name to be?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo I have to choose now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. You can take the whole day to choose.\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought for a several hours that day until I looked out the window to the autumn day outside. I saw some shrubs and color, Mommy\u2019s favorite flowers, and I knew what my name was to be. \u201cI have a name,\u201d I said to Aunt Tracy and Uncle Luke that evening at dinner. \u201cChrysanthemum.\u201d<\/p>\n
They both looked at each other. \u201cAre you sure that\u2019s what you want your name to be?\u201d Aunt Tracy asked. I nodded while they continued looking at me questioningly. I even knew how to spell chrysanthemum.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you have a middle name?\u201d Uncle Luke asked.<\/p>\n
I shook my head. I had not thought of one, but at that moment, I knew what I wanted it to be. \u201cHope,\u201d I said. \u201cMy middle name will be Hope.\u201d They liked that. The next few days were a blur. Phone calls were made. Something about avoiding CPS came up. Uncle Luke apparently went to a shady place and came back with a fake birth certificate where my name had always been Chrysanthemum Hope. I eventually realized that Grace Louise Colden no longer existed. Mommy watched all this happen silently from across the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cGive your mommy a hug,\u201d Aunt Tracy said as we were leaving. Mommy shot Aunt Tracy an angry look. She hugged, but the hug was not as big as she usually gave. <\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to take a bath,\u201d Mommy said when I pulled away from her.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d Aunt Tracy asked.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to take a bath,\u201d she said louder for everyone in the house to hear.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell you go do that.\u201d With that we drove away. It took about seven minutes of driving in their minivan before Aunt Tracy realized something was wrong, but it was already too late then. <\/p>\n
\u201cLuke turn around,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTurn around.\u201d Uncle Luke followed her command.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs something wrong?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere shouldn\u2019t be,\u201d she replied. There are some adults that cannot lie to children. When we got back to the house, the adults rushed in leaving me to follow in behind and forgotten. Grandma was at the bathroom door. Aunt Tracy and Uncle Luke joined her. <\/p>\n
\u201cJoe! Joe, get over here!\u201d I heard Grandma yell. Joe was the name other adults called Grandpa. \u201cI need you to help me break down the door!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d Grandpa shouted. Then I heard his footsteps take off towards the bathroom. I began to feel what I felt when Mommy had hidden me in the suitcase two years prior–fear. In that instance, I felt your hand softly press against my shoulder, and I looked up and stared into your eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs something wrong?\u201d I asked you, knowing I could expect a response.<\/p>\n
You knelt down so you were level with me and said turning my face away from the bathroom, \u201cYes, something is very wrong, but have faith. Come here.\u201d You opened your arms, to hug me. I readily fell in. That was when the bathroom door fell down and the screaming began.<\/p>\n
You pulled me closer, allowing me to press my face against your shoulder and smell the scent of forest that accompanied you while your soft hands went through my hair. \u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d I whispered to you.<\/p>\n
\u201cSomeone will tell you soon.\u201d<\/p>\n
We heard the screaming of the adults, and we heard the same sound that my mother had emitted earlier while sitting at the table–sobbing. We heard adults weeping. We heard grief.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened?\u201d I asked you.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to let one of them tell you, but remember that I am with you, child.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCall 911,\u201d we heard Grandma say followed by the sounds of phone dialing.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what do we do about the girl? They could betray her to him,\u201d we heard Grandpa say.<\/p>\n
\u201cPaula taught her to hide. Paula.\u201d Sobs.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh my God!\u201d we heard Aunt Tracy shout as if she had just remembered something. There was silence, and we heard Aunt Tracy\u2019s feet go towards me. You let go of me so I could face my aunt, but your hand remained present on my shoulder while you knelt behind me.<\/p>\n
\u201cChrysanthemum,\u201d she said as she stood in the doorway. Her face was red with crying. \u201cChrysanthemum.\u201d She rushed to me and enveloped my small body in a hug. She pulled her face away, swallowed, and grasped my arms. Your hand remained on my shoulder. \u201cGracie,\u201d she began again, \u201cI\u2019m going to tell you something hard. Your mother is dead.\u201d Her face twisted. \u201cDo you know what dead means?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt means she\u2019s gone. She\u2019s gone forever. She\u2019s gone to Heaven?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. Come here.\u201d She pulled me into a deep hug. \u201cGo ahead and cry, Sweetheart.\u201d And I cried. I cried and cried, realizing that there would no longer be anyone singing \u201cThis Is the Day\u201d to me in the morning, no larger fingernails for me to paint pink, and no one to tell me stories of a life with me when I was too young to remember.<\/p>\n
Police officers and EMS were in our house for hours getting all the details of my mother\u2019s death. I was told to hide in the closet in my room and not make a sound so he would not come after me. You were with me in the closet the entire time, holding me while I cried. I did disobey the instructions to be quiet once though, as you know. I looked you directly in the eyes in that dark closet and said, \u201cTobias, promise you\u2019ll never leave me. Promise.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI promise. I promise to never leave you unless you want and need me gone.\u201d And I was comforted.<\/p>\n
I do not know if I slept that night. I do not know if anyone in the house did, but the next morning, we had to leave. \u201cAre you sure it\u2019s safe to take her to the same state as him?\u201d Grandma asked as we left.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019d never think to look under his nose.\u201d Uncle Luke said. \u201cAnd besides, it\u2019s not like we\u2019re going to be anywhere near the city. Plenty of New Yorkers have never been to New York, if you get what I\u2019m saying.\u201d<\/p>\n
That move from my grandparents\u2019 house was my last childhood move. It was a long trip, but we made it to a small house in the middle of nowhere. It literally was the in middle of nowhere, in the woods in a mountain range called the Adirondacks. We were in a small lakeside town whose population fluctuated with the beauty of the weather in the summer, the color of the leaves in autumn, and the freshness of the snow conditions in winter. The only time it was desolate was in the spring. Aunt Tracy and Uncle Luke, who wanted me to call them \u201cMom\u201d and \u201cDad\u201d ran a business that rented out jet-skis in the summer and snowmobiles in the winter. Uncle Luke\/Dad was the president of the town\u2019s snowmobile club.<\/p>\n
They sincerely desired for me to call them Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad. Calling Uncle Luke \u201cDad\u201d came naturally enough. There had never been anyone in my life to call \u201cDad\u201d before, not even you. Ever since I had played with children from other families, there had been a small desire to have someone in my life to call \u201cDad,\u201d but calling Aunt Tracy \u201cMom\u201d was another matter. She was not Mommy. That woman was dead. At least Aunt Tracy acknowledged it. For a while, she seemed weighed down. I could not call her \u201cMom,\u201d but once when I was eight I came home from school, and she gave me a giant bear hug. <\/p>\n
\u201cChrysanthemum,\u201d she said, \u201cI wronged your mother.\u201d We never spoke of my mother in the open day for fear of being overheard. \u201cAnd in doing that, I wronged you. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d She never explained more, but she was crying. An adult was crying\u2026again.<\/p>\n
You saw it happen. \u201cYou must call her \u2018Mom\u2019 now,\u201d you said after that, and calling her \u2018Mom\u2019 came easier. <\/p>\n
That small town in the Adirondacks was the perfect place for me to finish my childhood and grow up. The years went by much more peacefully than they had ever gone by when I had lived with my mother, my biological mother. We never moved from that house in the woods. The seasons came and went every year with the thick white blanket that covered the land in winter amidst days where it was too cold to go to school, the fresh musty scented wet and floral springs, the mosquito laden summers where the forests and lakes turned gold at sunset and sunrise, and the wild tumultuous autumns where the mountains turned sun colored. <\/p>\n
This was a house of our own. This was what having a home was supposed to feel like, and it seemed that the threat that kept my mother and me on our toes during my early childhood had all but disappeared, but I knew he was still there. I kept a small suitcase always packed in my closet just in case. I awoke in the middle of the night shaking with visions of being in a suitcase and hearing the screams of my grandparents and adoptive parents in front of the bathroom door. I remembered the name no one wanted to speak as I spoke it to you every night: Jeff Olsen. I learned, as the education I garnered broadened my world, that I could keep track of him. He was not a man of low profile. His name occasionally ended up in the newspapers, and I could always find those pages torn out and in the trash. The computer taught me more, as long as the browser history was deleted. He was rich. He ran a company. He worked on Wall Street. Destroying other stock brokers seemed to be a hobby of his. He never mentioned once having a wife and daughter.<\/p>\n
I continued to watch the seasons go by from our house, fearing the day when we would have to leave in the middle of the night. School was never a difficulty for me, and my teachers always lauded me with praise, but you were the only one who taught me about the woods I lived around, what I cared about. You were the one who went on countless hikes with me. You were the one who reached up and took hemlock needles to suck on, and dirtied your fingers digging up Indian cucumber while we both tasted the sweet white root. You were the one who stood out in thunderstorms with me to feel the pounding of the clear water drops, feel the booming of the thunder, and see the bright flashes of light up close. My teachers were surprised to find that I had no ambition of applying to any big name colleges during my senior year of high school. <\/p>\n
I said money was the reason. It really was not like renting out jet-skis and snowmobiles made a lot of money, and that was why everyone believed it. You knew the real reason though, why I still woke up in the middle of the night in cold sweat, why I got anxiety in crowds, for fear of being seen, and why even the idea of going to Albany scared me. I dared not leave the isolation my aunt and uncle raised me in. I spent my first two years at the closest community college to me, determined to hide. I commuted for an hour every day to get to class. I worked a few days a week at my aunt and uncle\u2019s business. Everyone knew that I could have applied for and received a scholarship, so everyone wanted me to do that and transfer my junior year. That was what expected of me, so I applied to transfer to a state school near Canada. <\/p>\n
By April, it seemed that the plan was set. I knew where I would go, yet I clung to our house in the middle of the woods. I clung to the trails I hiked up. I clung to the trees and tasted the wet bark. I gazed for loons out on the lake. I put my hands in the wet mossy April dirt beneath my feet. And so, on that one weekend, I took myself up a mountain while the landscape around me hurled itself through pounding rain and burning sun. I found you in a grove. I knew you had been waiting for me, but I was not ready for what you had to say.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not going to go to Canada for college.\u201d Thus ended any sweet soothing remarks or lecturing.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe school still is in New York.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut that doesn\u2019t change that you deliberately applied to it because it was as close to Canada as you could get.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not going there. You need to stop hiding.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at you. I gazed at your face, my friend, still completely unchanged after all these years. I looked at you, you who never failed to care for me. The wind tousled your hair, but you left no footprints in the dirt. \u201cYou know,\u201d I said determined not to change my plans, \u201cmost people don\u2019t keep their imaginary friends after age six.\u201d<\/p>\n
You took my arm, and I felt your warm hands against my cold skin. \u201cYou\u2019re not most people, and I\u2019m not imaginary,\u201d you said. You paused locking your eyes with mine. \u201cWe\u2019re going to New York City today.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou heard me. You need to stop running. It\u2019s time to end this fear.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt myself pale. \u201cI can\u2019t\u2026I can\u2019t go there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou will.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom will never forgive me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy child, if she practices anything she believes in, she will. As I said, we\u2019re going to New York, and I\u2019ll be with you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took my truck. My adoptive parents would easily believe I was going camping for a weekend. It was something I did again and again, and I had taken a tent. They had forgotten the threat that had haunted my past, as long as they never spoke the name. My hands shook as I drove south constantly looking to make sure you were still in the passenger seat. <\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know where we\u2019re going?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, I do.\u201d And you did, as you directed me out of the Adirondack Park and through the highways that crossed the state as the day wore on. The wilderness that we had lived in vanished, and buildings became more and more frequent and closer and closer together as the sky grayed and darkened. I tensed and breathed more heavily. \u201cI am with you,\u201d you said, \u201cand you are going to do this.\u201d I was. <\/p>\n
We entered the city after hours of driving, and careened through the loudest, worst, and most stimulating traffic I had ever been in. The world was now made of concrete, fake light, and noise. When we pulled into a parking spot in a parking garage, I put my hands over my face and screamed. The air did not smell of musty trees, but of burnt carbon and people. I did not hear birds in the air, but the buzz of voices, and the constant hum, honk, and screech of cars. When I stepped out of the car, I vomited on the concrete. There was so much concrete, so much concrete everywhere. You grasped my arms, looked into my eyes, and said, \u201cDon\u2019t fear, kid. Come on.\u201d<\/p>\n
You led me out of the garage, and gave me space to cover my ears when we stepped out into the crowds, flickering blinding lights, and noise. I breathed, and we continued to move on. I just looked at you while we moved. You were the only constant in the overwhelming cityscape that surrounded me. You were the only person out of the many I could not avoid bumping into who was actually with me, though you seemed to walk through the people, as they could not see you. <\/p>\n
At one point, I realized we had stopped, and you were staring at the glass doors of a high rise in front of us. \u201cWe timed this well,\u201d you said looking to me. \u201cHe\u2019ll come out at any moment.\u201d At that, while staring into the tungsten light of the building, I felt my head begin to spin and my vision grow fuzzy. I could not do this. I could not confront this man. I could not confront Jeff Olsen.<\/p>\n
\u201cThink of your mother,\u201d you said to me. \u201cThink of Paula Colden,\u201d and I remembered the soothing contralto and the long hair I played with. I remembered the first voice I ever heard. If it had not been for that man, she would probably still be alive; however, I would not be. When that man, that man who my aunt and uncle refused to speak of, stepped out of that building, I knew what to say. I felt your hand on my shoulder as you stood behind me.<\/p>\n
\u201cJeff Olsen,\u201d I said. He must have heard people calling him all day and knew what voices to listen to and knew what to ignore, but he stopped for me. He turned. He looked, and I saw fear in his eyes when he took in my face. \u201cYou killed my mother. You drove her to her death. Paula Colden. I hope you remember that name.\u201d<\/p>\n
He glanced to my left, to where you were standing with your hand on my shoulder, and then back to me. \u201cGenevieve?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you seriously think I\u2019d answer to that?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked in your direction again. Odd. He cautiously took a few steps towards me. \u201cWhy are you here?\u201d He said that to me, but his eyes flickered back to where you were standing.<\/p>\n
With your hand still on my shoulder, I heard you say to both his and my surprise, \u201cWell, Jeffrey, I did say you would see me again.\u201d I heard something in your voice that I had never heard from you before, anger.<\/p>\n
I whirled to face you. \u201cWhat?\u201d I said as you removed your hand and turned to face that man.<\/p>\n
\u201cTobias?\u201d His face was white. \u201cShe sees you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course she sees me. I made it that way.\u201d You grabbed both our arms and began to lead us. \u201cCome,\u201d you said. \u201cLet\u2019s go someplace private so people don\u2019t start thinking either of you are insane as you talk with someone invisible.\u201d<\/p>\n
You led us through the maze of people, flashing lights, erratic noises, and bad air. I felt myself breathe more frantically and my vision began to become spotty again, but you squeezed my hand. \u201cBe not afraid,\u201d you breathed into my ear, and I calmed. I looked at the man who followed, and he seemed just as placeless as I did.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re at my apartment,\u201d he said when we stopped in front of another high-rise. <\/p>\n
\u201cThat we are,\u201d you said. \u201cYou must let us in.\u201d I watched as the man took a key card from his wallet and used it to let us in the building. He led us through a brilliant white lobby with a fountain and a suited doorman to an elevator lined with spotless mirrors. He inserted his key card into the slot and pressed the button that took us up to the penthouse, and the elevator zoomed up faster than I had ever cared to ascend. The silence of the building contrasted to the city outside, but it was stifling, nothing like the silence of nature. I leaned against the elevator wall, and looked at the man\u2019s unblemished business suit. He had a leather wallet. His shoes were leather. His smartphone, which he took out of his pocket to glance at, looked brand new. I had never had any of these things. This man was my father.<\/p>\n
The elevator ride to the 97th floor was a short one, and the doors opened directly into the foyer of the penthouse. The place looked like it was from a catalog for the most expensive furniture imaginable. The outside walls of the penthouse were made entirely of glass, leaving the apartment permanently illuminated from the lights of the city. You walked in, the most comfortable of our party. You swung your arms, turned around to face us, and said, \u201cThat elevator won\u2019t hold you forever.\u201d<\/p>\n
With that, the man and I both walked out. You pulled out a chair from the dining room table and fell into it, with your elbow propped on the table. \u201cPlease, take a seat,\u201d you said. \u201cWe have work to do.\u201d We both obeyed. \u201cJeffrey,\u201d you said, \u201cthis is your daughter. You ruined her childhood. She has been answering to the name Chrysanthemum since she was six. My child, this is your biological father. Do either of you have anything to say?\u201d I was silent. I gazed outside through the glass. I had never been this high on a man-made structure before. It was disconcerting to know that only steel and concrete were holding me up instead of a mountain.<\/p>\n
The man remained sitting as rigidly as a badly sculpted stone. \u201cI never thought I\u2019d see you again,\u201d he said to you. \u201cWhere have you been all these years?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I did say you\u2019d see me again. Let\u2019s see, I did some wandering, but I\u2019d say I spent most of the absence raising your own daughter!\u201d You drove your fist into the table with a loud thud.<\/p>\n
The man looked up at you with his brows furrowed and his hands up. \u201cWell maybe if Paula hadn\u2019t stolen her, I would have raised her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStolen her?\u201d You got up from your chair as you said that. \u201cStolen her?\u201d Your fist collided with his face, and both he and I yelled in surprise as he fell out of his chair on to the floor. Your foot drove into his chest, and then your other foot drove into his back.<\/p>\n
\u201cTobias!\u201d I shouted. You were violent?<\/p>\n
You stopped and looked back to me with a deep mournful expression. You turned back to him lending your soft hand. \u201cI\u2019m not going to kill you,\u201d you said as he took your hand. \u201cI would never kill my children.\u201d The tenderness left your voice. \u201cAnd when your colleagues ask about the bruises, just tell them you fell.\u201d You paused. \u201cLike your wife!\u201d<\/p>\n
He sat back down and shuddered. He turned to you and said, \u201cWhat do you want from me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think you should ask her,\u201d you said motioning to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not what I want from you,\u201d I said, \u201cit\u2019s what you wanted, or, at least, why were you after me, and why did you stop?\u201d<\/p>\n
The man stared at the table for a moment. He slowly blinked, but then he rubbed his lips together and shook his head. He grimaced and kept his mouth shut. \u201cAnswer her,\u201d you ordered.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere was no point in going after you when Paula died.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnswer her first question.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2026I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you sure?\u201d you asked, \u201cbecause I know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen why don\u2019t you tell her?\u201d You straightened up and put your palms flat on the table. He shrank back.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you need to tell her yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe last time you told me I needed to do anything, you were telling me to do something that would cost me my success in college, which led to my success in life.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd so you kicked me out, but did that improve your life?\u201d He was silent. \u201cYou know, Chris Parkton is a superintendent of a competitive school district in California with two adopted children in medical school.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell good for Chris. So that\u2019s where you went in between me and her and why he suddenly wasted his potential and went into education in college.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid he waste his potential?\u201d Silence. \u201cI know you and your friends thought he did, but he\u2019d disagree, and since we\u2019re talking about wasting potential here, I have a girl here who, thanks to you, we\u2019d both agree is wasting hers.\u201d You both looked to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow?\u201d The man asked. Did he not realize the impact he had on my life?<\/p>\n
\u201cI probably could’ve gotten into Harvard, you know.\u201d He looked back up to me at that. He had gone to Harvard. \u201cBut I didn\u2019t even apply. My high school was pathetically small. There were only twelve kids in my graduating class. I think they were off to SUNY schools or nowhere, but my teachers had other plans for me. I managed to take AP Bio and get a 5 on the exam even though my school didn\u2019t offer it, so they naturally thought I was destined for bigger and better things. Too bad I had no plans to leave the Adirondacks. You know, shortly after I learned where you lived, I developed an irrational fear of cities and then just plain crowds. No Ivy Leagues for me. Do you know why that is?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked confused and questioning. \u201cI think all throughout my childhood, my mother had me practice hiding and being silent, but nothing compared to the real thing. When I was four, I had to hide in a suitcase while men came and broke down the door. Can you imagine the sort of impact that can have on a four-year-old? Then there were other moves in the middle of the night. I didn\u2019t know what was going on. When I was six, my own mother committed suicide, and I had to hide in a closet while emergency services were in our house so I wouldn\u2019t be found and brought to you. I had to change my name and do my best to erase that past life of my mother. Now I know it was all you!\u201d I was shouting.<\/p>\n
The man looked away from me and then back to you, but you remained impassive. He grimaced and turned back to me. \u201cYou look just like her, you know,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd you sound like her too. She was around your age when we met, though obviously, I was older. So, what do you want now, me to pay for you to go to Harvard?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. Why would you think I came here for that? Although that does sound nice.\u201d He looked puzzled. \u201cBecause that\u2019s what you\u2019d want,\u201d I answered for him. I got up from my chair and shoved it back in loudly. His gaze followed me, and I looked to you. Truth to be told, I did not even know what I wanted. You had decided to bring me here. Your arms were crossed, and you were looking down. What happened to your elder child, my dear friend?<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter with you, Tobias?\u201d he asked. \u201cYou never looked so somber when I was a kid.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis isn\u2019t how I raised you after your father died,\u201d you replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, why do you think I kicked you out?\u201d He looked back to me. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you want me to pay for your education? Look, I can give you even more than that if you want.\u201d<\/p>\n
I walked over to you and put my hand on your shoulder. \u201cDon\u2019t think you failed,\u201d I whispered in your ear, as you would have done to me. <\/p>\n
\u201cI haven\u2019t yet\u2026child,\u201d you whispered back. Child.<\/p>\n
\u201cI met Tobias on a train when I was four,\u201d I said to him. \u201cHe comforted me in ways no one else could’ve while you were pursuing us. How did you meet him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy father\u2019s funeral when I was five.\u201d He looked down. \u201cHe did the same\u2026He did the same. Tobias,\u201d he began and you looked up, \u201cI never thought I\u2019d see you again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMore than that. You stopped thinking I was even real.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man suddenly jumped in his seat and stared out the window. I turned and saw the tail end of a large bird flying by. \u201cThat was a barn owl flying high in New York City,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d you said. You had not even looked. <\/p>\n
The man got up and looked around, staring out the window as if to catch another glimpse of the bird. \u201cIt\u2019s a full moon too,\u201d you said, \u201cthough you can rarely tell in the city.\u201d<\/p>\n
He walked to the window and pressed his hand against the glass. \u201cI remember the owl moon that night.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou should,\u201d you replied still not looking.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe went a few nights after the funeral. My mom was sleeping, but you took me out in the cold to see the owl moon. Those days in the woods were the best days of my childhood. I can\u2019t remember the last time I saw a barn owl.\u201d<\/p>\n
You got up to join him in staring out the window. After a while, I followed in suit. \u201cDawn\u2019s coming,\u201d he said. He recognized the time of night. We watched and waited while the sky slowly purpled. An arabesque of colors formed banishing the remnants of darkness from the sky, while a glowing red orb crept its way up from the horizon between the towers in front of us. No matter how far removed from nature the city could be, the sunrise could not be taken away. So the three of us watched it. It was a new day. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Mommy sang to me. She meant to sing only to me, but she sang to you too since you were there as well. She could sing more notes than there were stairs leading up to the fourth floor where our apartment was back when we lived in the city. This was before she bought our …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":87667,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,279,19584],"tags":[19585],"class_list":["post-114003","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-other","category-tcl-24-summer-2017","tag-the-colored-lens-24-summer-2017","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/114003","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/87667"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=114003"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/114003\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139478,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/114003\/revisions\/139478"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=114003"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=114003"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=114003"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}