Glenda woke up. It was pitch black in the motel room, and the clock read 2:13 am. She was sprawled horizontally across her bed, still wearing her clothes from the previous day. Sweaters covered her teeth from having not brushed them, and her phone lie on the floor, still flipped open. Glenda then remembered the sequence of events of 5 hours earlier: Glenda had listened to her voicemail, heard a message from her biological daughter telling her that she had found her, and then Glenda fainted. For the second time that year.
Glenda briefly considered the fact that she should probably see a doctor regarding all of her recent fainting, then brushed off the thoughts – she had more important things to worry about. She picked the phone up from off the floor. Thankfully, it hadn't been cracked or even scratched by the fall. She dailed one to reach her voicemail. "You have no new messages," said an automated voice. "To listen to old messages, press one." Glenda did as she was told, and soon enough her daughter's message began for the second time. "Hi, Glenda. Or, well, I guess I should say Mom. My name's Caitlyn and I'm your daughter. I'm 17 years old and I live in an orphanage in City Block. Um, well this is really awkward, I was hoping to talk to you, so give me a call when you get this. Thanks."
Whoa. Once again, Glenda was dumbfounded. So many different feelings and emotions tugged at her. First off, she was relieved to not have to make the decision as to whether or not she would contact her daughter ... but at the same time, she was a little freaked out and overwhelmed as to whether it was the right decision. And, of course, she was extremely impressed that this girl had the guts to contact Glenda. Aware of how anxious Caitlyn must have been, Glenda hit the re-dial button and the phone began to ring. After 3 rings, an elderly woman whose voice Glenda recognized picked up. "Hello, St. Magdaleyn's, how can I help you?"
"Um, hi, my name is Glenda..."
"Glenda! I recognize that name! Lovely to hear from you! Have you decided to donate some more items for the orphans? Or would you like to come help out over here?"
"Oh, haha, no actually... I received a call yesterday. From a girl named Caitlyn."
"Oh. Caitlyn did make a phone call yesterday. The children are actually at school right now, but I'll have her call you back later." And with that, the nun hung up the phone.
Meanwhile, Caitlyn sat in the parking lot, skipping class. She peaked in through the window and saw the nun hang up the phone. Caitlyn was more anxious and nervous than she had ever been in her life. It was one thing for her to call her mom, but a complete other thing for her to call a woman who she wasn't even sure was her mom. The private investigator she had hired – The Detective, as he called himself – had died a few days ago, leaving Caitlyn hanging with 3 possible leads as to who her mother was (oddly enough, another random person in City Block had also died a few days ago, but that was an entirely different story). With nothing else to go by, Caitlyn got up the nerve to call all 3 women, but so far, none had called back. She watched as the nun scribbled on a post-it note and stuck it on the phone. She then walked away.
Caitlyn had to see what that note said. She looked left then right, then tip-toed into the back door of the orphanage and to the phone. On the purple post-it note read "For Caitlyn – call Glenda." Caitlyn's eyes grew wide and her stomach fluttered. She gulped down a mouth-full of spit, ignoring her body's signs that she was about to throw up. She slowly dialed the number she had memorized at this point after staring at it for so long. Well, she thought, I hope this means I've found my mom.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Voicemail
Glenda sat on the beach, sipping a mojito. In the past six days, she had probably blown all of her savings from the past nine months, but at least she was less stressed. Unfortunately for Glenda, to interrupt her relaxation, her phone had been ringing incessantly for the past hour.
"Are you going to answer that?" the waiter asked as be brought her another mojito. Glenda reached for the mojito, lifted her sunglasses off of her face, and shot him a smug smile. "I think not," she said. She knew that she was coming off as a pretentious bitch, but she hadn't been able to live so gloriously for at least a year, and she missed her former life. Glenda reached for the phone and flipped it open. 23 missed calls, read the screen. Ugh, thought Glenda. I told everyone I'd be gone for at least 10 days, why are they calling me? She was about to turn it off to avoid it all-together when it rang again. This time, it was a number she didn't recognize. Ignore. And with that, Glenda turned the phone off and dozed off into a lazy slumber.
That night, as she climbed into bed, she turned her phone back on. Whoever had been trying to call her must have given up, because only 24 missed calls appeared on her screen. Oddly enough, however, she had only one voicemail, and it was from the number she didn't recognize. Hmm, thought Glenda. I wonder who this is...
"Hi, Glenda. Or, well, I guess I should say Mom. My name's Caitlyn and –" The phone dropped from Glenda's hand. She stared at it, in shock. Well, she thought, I guess the decision has been made for me.
"Are you going to answer that?" the waiter asked as be brought her another mojito. Glenda reached for the mojito, lifted her sunglasses off of her face, and shot him a smug smile. "I think not," she said. She knew that she was coming off as a pretentious bitch, but she hadn't been able to live so gloriously for at least a year, and she missed her former life. Glenda reached for the phone and flipped it open. 23 missed calls, read the screen. Ugh, thought Glenda. I told everyone I'd be gone for at least 10 days, why are they calling me? She was about to turn it off to avoid it all-together when it rang again. This time, it was a number she didn't recognize. Ignore. And with that, Glenda turned the phone off and dozed off into a lazy slumber.
That night, as she climbed into bed, she turned her phone back on. Whoever had been trying to call her must have given up, because only 24 missed calls appeared on her screen. Oddly enough, however, she had only one voicemail, and it was from the number she didn't recognize. Hmm, thought Glenda. I wonder who this is...
"Hi, Glenda. Or, well, I guess I should say Mom. My name's Caitlyn and –" The phone dropped from Glenda's hand. She stared at it, in shock. Well, she thought, I guess the decision has been made for me.
Panama City, baby
Finally, miraculously, the clock struck 5. Glenda's afternoon shift was over. She absentmindedly strolled back to the apartments. After an odd day at work, all Glenda needed was to have a clear head. There had been some odd requests today – some overly bubbly woman dressed in pink bought 3 boxes of frozen waffles ("It's spring, I'm Spring, and I'm going on a trip to the Grand Canyon!" she had said), and another man, probably in his late 20s, ordered one single piece of bacon. An odd day indeed. Glenda needed a break.
As she ascended the apartment on the creaky old elevator, she had a thought. Maybe I should just leave. And not come back. A few years ago, after she and her husband had had a really big fight, Glenda left. She threw four or five outfits into her Louis Vuitton duffle, hopped into her Lexus, and drove down to Panama City Beach. She had only planned on staying there for a few days, based off of the number of outfits she had packed, but 4 days turned into a week, which turned into 2, and finally, after a glorious month alone at the beach, Glenda decided it was time to come back home. When she arrived back home, her marriage was better than ever, and nearly 6 whole months went by before she and her husband had another fight.
Henry wasn't the problem – the problem was Glenda's stupid job at Casa D' Waffles and her indecision as to whether or not she should meet her biological daughter. Being April now, it'd been 4 months since she first saw her daughter. 4 months of indecision. Glenda had always been a notoriously bad decision maker – even choosing what to eat for breakfast every day was hard for Glenda – so this life-changing decision was certainly a challenge. Clearing her head – and skipping town to do so – was just what Glenda needed. Fortunately for Glenda, one of her old friends lived at Panama City – she owned a little motel right on the beach. It didn't come close to the Hiatt, but it would do. It was Henry's spring break, so she didn't have to worry about checking up on him, and she had accrued enough sick days that she could afford to take off from work. Oddly enough, the decision to go away for a few days was an easy one for Glenda. There weren't too many factors to the decision, so she called up her friend, swung by the ATM, and already had a tentative packing list in her head upon arriving to her apartment.
When Glenda entered the apartment, Henry was no where to be found. Perfect, she thought. She placed the money on the kitchen counter, and began drafting a note. "Henry," it began, "I'm going out of town for a few days. Here's some cash that should last you the week. I know it's your spring break, so try not to get into too much trouble. We'll celebrate the big one-seven when I get home. With love, Glenda. PS: Do NOT forget play practice."
Glenda then began throwing clothes and toiletries into her duffle – it was no Louis Vuitton, but it would do. At 7 pm sharp, she was sitting on the bus stop bench when the Greyhound rolled up. "Panama City," she said to the driver, and the bus rolled off into the night.
As she ascended the apartment on the creaky old elevator, she had a thought. Maybe I should just leave. And not come back. A few years ago, after she and her husband had had a really big fight, Glenda left. She threw four or five outfits into her Louis Vuitton duffle, hopped into her Lexus, and drove down to Panama City Beach. She had only planned on staying there for a few days, based off of the number of outfits she had packed, but 4 days turned into a week, which turned into 2, and finally, after a glorious month alone at the beach, Glenda decided it was time to come back home. When she arrived back home, her marriage was better than ever, and nearly 6 whole months went by before she and her husband had another fight.
Henry wasn't the problem – the problem was Glenda's stupid job at Casa D' Waffles and her indecision as to whether or not she should meet her biological daughter. Being April now, it'd been 4 months since she first saw her daughter. 4 months of indecision. Glenda had always been a notoriously bad decision maker – even choosing what to eat for breakfast every day was hard for Glenda – so this life-changing decision was certainly a challenge. Clearing her head – and skipping town to do so – was just what Glenda needed. Fortunately for Glenda, one of her old friends lived at Panama City – she owned a little motel right on the beach. It didn't come close to the Hiatt, but it would do. It was Henry's spring break, so she didn't have to worry about checking up on him, and she had accrued enough sick days that she could afford to take off from work. Oddly enough, the decision to go away for a few days was an easy one for Glenda. There weren't too many factors to the decision, so she called up her friend, swung by the ATM, and already had a tentative packing list in her head upon arriving to her apartment.
When Glenda entered the apartment, Henry was no where to be found. Perfect, she thought. She placed the money on the kitchen counter, and began drafting a note. "Henry," it began, "I'm going out of town for a few days. Here's some cash that should last you the week. I know it's your spring break, so try not to get into too much trouble. We'll celebrate the big one-seven when I get home. With love, Glenda. PS: Do NOT forget play practice."
Glenda then began throwing clothes and toiletries into her duffle – it was no Louis Vuitton, but it would do. At 7 pm sharp, she was sitting on the bus stop bench when the Greyhound rolled up. "Panama City," she said to the driver, and the bus rolled off into the night.
Baby bird
The mail slot creaked open then slapped shut. "Glenda," shouted Henry from the other side of the apartment. "You got a magazine." Glenda continued brushing her hair, but focused on the wrinkles on her face that became more and more noticeable every day. She knew that all this stress couldn't be good for her, but she could no longer a) lead a life as stress-free as she used to, or b) afford expensive products – like Mario Bedescu's wrinkle guard – to reverse the damage the stress had caused. Glenda quickly swiped on some mascara – nothing fancy – and walked to the kitchen. Henry handed her the magazine – People Style Watch, the cover said. Glenda shoved it into her bag, not even bothering to look through the pages. The expensive products it advertised only reminded her of the life she used to live and the things she only wished she could afford. Not to mention, the beautiful cover girl, Blake Lively, was a near spitting image to the other thing that was nagging the back of Glenda's mind – her biological daughter.
"Henry, I'm tackling a double shift today," Glenda said as she pulled her black Casa D' Waffle apron out of the dryer. "I won't be home til about 10 tonight. There's a lean cuisine in the freezer, but shoot me a text if you want a waffle or something." With that, she left the apartment and made her way to work.
Glenda had been doing lots of thinking. It had been one week since she saw her daughter, and she still couldn't decide whether or not she wanted to meet her. On one hand, her motherly strings were pulling. Just two days ago, for example, as she passed Sherwood Park on the way to work, she saw a little boy, probably 4 or 5 or so, struggling to catch wind to fly his kite. Glenda spent nearly 20 minutes helping him to fly that kite – and subjecting herself to nasty stares from her coworkers when she arrived to work tardy. On the other hand, as it approached her biological daughter's 18th birthday, Glenda felt that meeting her would simply be more trouble than it was worth. Her daughter hadn't tried finding Glenda yet, so that meant she didn't want to meet her, right? So, still unsure as to what to do, Glenda pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind in an attempt to avoid the problem.
It didn't make matters any better that on this particular day, as Glenda walked to work, a baby bird lay on the sidewalk, trying to flap its wings. Seriously?, Glenda thought. She couldn't just leave it there... but then again, it wasn't her responsibility to take care of it. How symbolic, thought Glenda. Ultimately, after staring at it for a few minutes, she took off her apron, and picked the bird up with it, so as to not get her human germs on the baby bird. Since the town didn't have a veterinary clinic, the only thing Glenda could think to do was take it to the Good Samaritan Clinic. Here's to another day late to work, thought Glenda as she marched into the clinic.
"Hi there! How are you!" said the clerk as Glenda entered. "My name's Clara Kate. How can I help you out today?"
"Well ..." began Glenda. "I'm actually in a bit of a hurry, I'm running late to work, but I found this baby bird. He – or she, I guess – can't fly, so I thought I should probably help it out. May I leave it with y'all?"
"Ummmmmmmmm, I've never dealt with animals, but since you're in a hurry, we'll deal with it," Clara Kate said. "There aren't many people who would've brought a bird in for care. You sure are a nice person."
Glenda smiled, put the bird – and her apron – on the counter, and ran on to Casa D' Waffle.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
The Post Office
As Glenda strolled home after dropping the her friend's car off down Willow Lane, her mind raced. Being near her daughter brought about a mix of unwanted feelings that Glenda thought she had erased from her memory. The guilt she felt bubbling in the bottom of her stomach mimicked how she had felt nearly 20 years ago. But this time around, the pain was pure guilt – it wasn't combined with the piercing kicks on the inside of her pregnant stomach – and she couldn't put a finger on why she felt so guilty.
Feeling as if she was going to faint again, Glenda sat on the nearest steps, the steps of the Post Office. They were the exact same steps that Glenda had sat on 17 years before – the summer she lived with her grandmother while she was pregnant – and in that moment, Glenda realized why she felt so guilty.
"Glenda," cried her grandmother. "Come on down for dinner. My salad won't stay cool long in this blasted heat." Mmmm, salad, thought a 19-year-old Glenda. She hoisted herself up from her chair, but with difficulty. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and she had gained almost 30 pounds, making it hard for her to do just about anything. Her back ached as she waddled down the stairs, and it took her nearly 3 minutes to descend just 12 steps. When she reached the kitchen, she wished she hadn't put so much effort. On the table was a gleaming bowl of salad. But it wasn't the leafy mixture Glenda had hoped for. It was potato salad. Mayonnaise laden potato salad, just as any traditional southern grandmother made. Glenda almost gagged.
"Ya-Yaaaaa," she groaned. "I really appreciate the effort, but you know I can't eat that. Mayonnaise makes me sick. And all that egg in there can't be good for the baby."
Her "Ya-Ya" chuckled and began dishing a heap of the salad onto Glenda's plate. "How would you know what's good for a baby," asked YaYa. "Honey, you're barely old enough to have done any nannying, let alone old enough to mother a child."
Gee, thought Glenda. Thanks for rubbing it in.
"Now, eat up. Like I said, this is going to get cold real quick." Glenda sat at the table, closed her eyes tightly, and sighed heavily. She then picked up the fork – begrudgingly – and began eating the salad, trying to ignore the awful taste.
As soon as she finished eating, she chugged a big glass of water to wash the taste out of her mouth. She then stood up, slowly, from the table, and began waddling to the front door.
"Where do you think you're going?" asked YaYa.
"YaYa, I'm just going to town for a minute." Glenda needed to get out of the house, away from her grandmother.
"Be home in 20, we've got Wheel of Fortune to watch, and you need rest."
Glenda didn't even nod to acknowledge. She opened the front door, and made sure to slam it on her way out. She walked as fast as she could down the street, headed toward the pawn shop. For some reason, looking at the antiqued rings and necklaces always calmed her. Before she made it to the shop, however, her fast paced walking made her tired (her baby was due in just three short weeks, after all), and she had to sit on the nearest steps, the steps of the Post Office, to take a break. As soon as she sat, she began sobbing. Though it was well past 5 pm, when the post office closed, the postmaster was still inside, sorting mail. He was an older black guy, probably about 65, and he had run the post office for years – his calloused hands and insight into everyone's gossip revealed it.
"That baby's due any day now, huh? You know, you're gonna be a great mom, I can just tell by looking at you," he said, trying to bring a smile back to Glenda's face. But the gesture only made Glenda cry more. "Aw, honey, what's wrong?"
"Sh-sh-she can make me eat nasty potato salad," Glenda sputtered, "and make me watch Wheel of Fortune, and give me a stupid curfew, but she cannot take my baby!" The postmaster had sat down next to Glenda at this point. "B-b-but I know, deep down, that she's not going to let me keep her ... she always gets her way. I see her eyeing that orphanage every day when we go walking."
And Glenda was right. Before she had even had the chance to see her beautiful baby girl, YaYa had taken her to the orphanage. "Trust me," she had said. "You're life will be better without a child to raise."
But as Glenda sat on those same post office steps nearly 17 years later, she knew that her grandmother had been wrong. She may have been able to hide her guilt by doing as many acts of service as possible – she married a rich man in order to throw charity galas with his money, after all – but she would never be able to erase her guilt entirely. And now, her daughter was nearing the age that Glenda was when she was pregnant, and she didn't even know her own mom's name. She didn't know any mom's name. She lived in an orphanage with no mom and no love, and it was Glenda's fault for not fighting harder to keep her.
Glenda stood up from the steps. I should just go, she thought to herself. March myself right into that orphanage and adopt her right now. But who was she kidding. She hadn't fought her grandmother hard enough 17 years ago, and she couldn't fight her own fears today.
Feeling as if she was going to faint again, Glenda sat on the nearest steps, the steps of the Post Office. They were the exact same steps that Glenda had sat on 17 years before – the summer she lived with her grandmother while she was pregnant – and in that moment, Glenda realized why she felt so guilty.
"Glenda," cried her grandmother. "Come on down for dinner. My salad won't stay cool long in this blasted heat." Mmmm, salad, thought a 19-year-old Glenda. She hoisted herself up from her chair, but with difficulty. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and she had gained almost 30 pounds, making it hard for her to do just about anything. Her back ached as she waddled down the stairs, and it took her nearly 3 minutes to descend just 12 steps. When she reached the kitchen, she wished she hadn't put so much effort. On the table was a gleaming bowl of salad. But it wasn't the leafy mixture Glenda had hoped for. It was potato salad. Mayonnaise laden potato salad, just as any traditional southern grandmother made. Glenda almost gagged.
"Ya-Yaaaaa," she groaned. "I really appreciate the effort, but you know I can't eat that. Mayonnaise makes me sick. And all that egg in there can't be good for the baby."
Her "Ya-Ya" chuckled and began dishing a heap of the salad onto Glenda's plate. "How would you know what's good for a baby," asked YaYa. "Honey, you're barely old enough to have done any nannying, let alone old enough to mother a child."
Gee, thought Glenda. Thanks for rubbing it in.
"Now, eat up. Like I said, this is going to get cold real quick." Glenda sat at the table, closed her eyes tightly, and sighed heavily. She then picked up the fork – begrudgingly – and began eating the salad, trying to ignore the awful taste.
As soon as she finished eating, she chugged a big glass of water to wash the taste out of her mouth. She then stood up, slowly, from the table, and began waddling to the front door.
"Where do you think you're going?" asked YaYa.
"YaYa, I'm just going to town for a minute." Glenda needed to get out of the house, away from her grandmother.
"Be home in 20, we've got Wheel of Fortune to watch, and you need rest."
Glenda didn't even nod to acknowledge. She opened the front door, and made sure to slam it on her way out. She walked as fast as she could down the street, headed toward the pawn shop. For some reason, looking at the antiqued rings and necklaces always calmed her. Before she made it to the shop, however, her fast paced walking made her tired (her baby was due in just three short weeks, after all), and she had to sit on the nearest steps, the steps of the Post Office, to take a break. As soon as she sat, she began sobbing. Though it was well past 5 pm, when the post office closed, the postmaster was still inside, sorting mail. He was an older black guy, probably about 65, and he had run the post office for years – his calloused hands and insight into everyone's gossip revealed it.
"That baby's due any day now, huh? You know, you're gonna be a great mom, I can just tell by looking at you," he said, trying to bring a smile back to Glenda's face. But the gesture only made Glenda cry more. "Aw, honey, what's wrong?"
"Sh-sh-she can make me eat nasty potato salad," Glenda sputtered, "and make me watch Wheel of Fortune, and give me a stupid curfew, but she cannot take my baby!" The postmaster had sat down next to Glenda at this point. "B-b-but I know, deep down, that she's not going to let me keep her ... she always gets her way. I see her eyeing that orphanage every day when we go walking."
And Glenda was right. Before she had even had the chance to see her beautiful baby girl, YaYa had taken her to the orphanage. "Trust me," she had said. "You're life will be better without a child to raise."
But as Glenda sat on those same post office steps nearly 17 years later, she knew that her grandmother had been wrong. She may have been able to hide her guilt by doing as many acts of service as possible – she married a rich man in order to throw charity galas with his money, after all – but she would never be able to erase her guilt entirely. And now, her daughter was nearing the age that Glenda was when she was pregnant, and she didn't even know her own mom's name. She didn't know any mom's name. She lived in an orphanage with no mom and no love, and it was Glenda's fault for not fighting harder to keep her.
Glenda stood up from the steps. I should just go, she thought to herself. March myself right into that orphanage and adopt her right now. But who was she kidding. She hadn't fought her grandmother hard enough 17 years ago, and she couldn't fight her own fears today.
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