Living on the Borderlines

by Melissa Michal

  Another envelope, small and square, was also addressed to her. This writing appeared unfamiliar. Yet because of the handwritten address, she knew it was not junk mail.

  The opened flap revealed an ivory card with a purple border—nothing else. Strange writing filled the page. Gabriella caught herself on the edge of the counter.

  Dear Gabriella,

  I’m your sister. It took some time to track you down. So the agency is sending this out. I know this is sudden. But I felt it was the right time. Our mother—your mother—believed we should leave you alone. “She has a new family,” Mom would say.

  Mom passed away two months ago. We’ve all been wanting to contact you. There are five of us all together. Me, Nathan, Dee, Jeremy, and you. You came last. But that’s a story for another time. We hoped you would come visit and learn about us and our Seneca background. Please come see us. We need to get to know you. We have for some time.

  Please call me and let’s set something up.

  Love, your sister, Mia

  She walked upstairs to her bedroom, all thoughts of fall gone. Even the ornate banister could not hold her up. Her vision clouded and cleared, clouded and cleared. On the bed, surrounded by large pillows, she remained until dusk darkened the walls and window.

  Gabriella’s parents had told her they adopted her—different ways for different ages. At three, “Mommy didn’t grow you in her own tummy, another mommy did.” At seven, “We love you the same. And we honor your parents who knew we needed you. You are a gift.” At sixteen, “Sometimes, parents can’t care for their children. Circumstances just don’t allow it.” Those were the only words, though, the only parts to the story.

  As she grew older, she rarely thought about why, or about her birth parents.

  Keys clinking in the door awoke her from the fuzzy spin. No one could miss how loudly the thick wooden door slammed.

  “Hello,” Stacy called out. A few minutes later her heels marked her climb to the second floor. “Hey, Gabbie.” Stacy put her hand on her hips. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” She looked at Stacy and then back at the wall, not seeing either.

  “You seem lost.”

  “I’m okay. Just tired.”

  “Oh, okay.” Stacy’s heels carried her into her own bedroom at the end of the long hallway. They lost their pitch after she closed her door.

  Gabriella folded the card which had sat in her hand all afternoon back into its envelope and put it in her bureau drawer.

  “So, you’ve been mopey the past few days,” said Lucia. She handed Gabriella coffee and a homemade pumpkin-spice muffin. “Come on, tell me. I even put extra vanilla in your coffee today.”

  Gabriella sipped the hot liquid and let the sweet bean coat her throat. She smiled at Lucia.

  “A few nights ago, Stacy found you. She told me—”

  “Yeah.” Gabriella put up her hand. She pulled bits off the muffin and chewed them slowly. Lucia topped off her coffee and waited without saying anything. Gabriella sifted through the contents of her purse until she found it. The square envelope was now marked with pen and mineral makeup. She had moved the letter from space to space, carrying it with her, yet not opening it again.

  Lucia took the envelope and opened it. Gabriella watched her roommate’s eyebrows move up and down, and her mouth purse and open. “Gabbie.” She put her hand on Gabriella’s. “What are you going to do?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t understand yet, I guess.”

  Lucia nodded. She passed her another muffin.

  “These are good. As always.” Leaves knocked on the window as small drafts blew their branches. She put the letter back in her purse. “Why now? It seems so … like the movies.” She shook her head and sighed.

  “Are you going to tell your parents?”

  “No … Maybe. This could hurt them. I think they always dreaded me even asking about my birth parents. So I never did.”

  Lucia poured Gabriella’s coffee in a travel mug. Gabriella slugged on her coat and grabbed the mug.

  Sun in the fall felt like rays digging deeply into the skin—rays that had been hiding since the summer. Rochester, New York, had few sunny days to begin with, and the heat of it warmed the interior of Gabriella’s little Honda. She wished the warmth would last longer than this one day.

  That night, she walked through the door into Stacy hugging her. Gabriella put her hands on her hips. “Really, she told you?”

  Stacy smiled. “Oh come on. You had to know that would happen.” Stacy plopped onto the couch, enveloped by the incredibly soft cushions, and folded her legs.

  Gabriella stood there. She detested that couch. No support. It was a Stacy buy long before they all roomed together.

  “Are you curious?” asked Stacy.

  Gabriella shrugged.

  “You should go.” Stacy’s voice hit high notes. “I would go.”

  “She’s dead. I’m not sure what there is to go for.”

  “Your sister. Your other family. Your culture.”

  Gabriella’s head shot up at the last word. Her parents never shared this background with her—maybe they didn’t know. She had nothing against Native Americans. She simply was not sure how she felt about being Native American. It didn’t mean anything to her.

  “If nothing else,” Stacy continued, “go to get to know your sisters. My relationship with my sister, Charlotte, is great. At least since we haven’t lived in the same house.”

  “Maybe.”

  Stacy nodded and bounced out to the kitchen. Gabriella heard pots clanging and the clack clack clack of the gas. How on earth does that girl find the energy?

  Gabriella went up to her room and pulled the card out of her purse. She read it again. “Please come see us,” stood out. “We need to get to know you.”

  “Need” versus “want” showed her a desire for connection. What did she want, though? She usually wanted connection. She even picked up people’s energy. But upon reverse, others didn’t always want to know her. So she blocked taking anything in from them.

  She didn’t have a bad feeling or something nagging her mind about the letter or the family—simply fog.

  Gabriella moved her mouse over the “call with video” button and clicked. The Skype line beep-beeped, resonating vibrations much like she imagined phones did back when you had to call the operator.

  “Gabriella,” said her mom. Her mother’s picture popped up after a small swirling timer. “How are you?”

  Her dad stood behind her mom. He seemed to be puttering with something at the desk. The wet curls hanging in her mother’s face and large silky overshirt indicated a recent swim.

  She waved at her parents. “Enjoying Atlantis?”

  “Ohhh,” her mother moaned. Her hand moved to her heart, which usually meant she was too happy for words. “The warmth, the sand, the blue of the water. Someday, you should come here.”

  “Not sure I like the idea of paradise trumping real life.”

  “Someone’s moody.”

  Gabriella shifted in her chair.

  “So why the insistence on talking today, hon? And like this? It couldn’t wait for a phone call later?”

  Her mother, adoptive mother, the mother who raised her she guessed, preferred bluntness. “I received a letter a few days ago. From my sister, you know, my biological sister.”

  Her father turned around and peered down into the camera. Light fell across the screen, blurring her mother’s image. She imagined her mother unflinching.

  “Mia. Her name is Mia. She wants me to visit.” Gabriella tilted the screen a bit for better light.

  “That’s great.” Her mother’s image returned. She sat next to her dad, their faces now equally sharing the screen side by side. Her dad nodded. The wallpaper behind him gleamed with sheen, as did the pillows around them.

  “I’m still deciding if I will go.”

  Silence continued. While plucking a pen cap off and then snapping it back on with her thumb and fingers, her dad looked from he
r to her mother. Gabriella raised an eyebrow. Even through the screen, she felt the pressure—for themselves, for her.

  “Did you know I was Native American?” She waited a moment.

  “That was in your records, yes,” said her mom.

  “And you decided not to tell me?”

  “Well, we didn’t see the significance. There was so much going on during those first years … Will you go? To see her?”

  “Them. I have four siblings.”

  “Oh. Them then.”

  Gabriella went silent.

  Her parents waited. They said nothing. Her dad looked down. He had a hard time with direct stares, which had always made her uncomfortable. How can someone not look someone else in the eye? That also meant her mom spent the most time having the difficult teenage talks.

  Her mother’s answers made her very uncomfortable now, though. She couldn’t place why.

  “Yes, I think I will.”

  “Well … have fun. When do you leave?”

  “Next week.” Gabriella searched her mother’s eyes and hands, the pockets of her mother’s emotions. Nothing.

  “Call us after?” Her mother leaned in. The light played with her face again, mottling her forehead and cheeks.

  Gabriella nodded and waved. Her dad’s wave back swung awkwardly.

  The screen went blank.

  She stared at it a few minutes longer.

  Gripping a piece of paper in one hand and steering with the other, Gabriella curved the car, making turns down back roads as she followed the directions Mia texted her.

  After pulling into the driveway, Gabriella sat in the car. She stared at the medium-sized tan house with a large lawn and low wooden fence. The trees lining the driveway stood in even rows marking the entrance. Large rolling hills flanked the backyard, a typical Canandaigua/Bloomfield landscape. It had taken her only forty-five minutes to get there. All along, they had literally been down the road from her.

  She had not noted signs for the reservation and wondered if she was somewhere on one. Around her, trees dropped yellow leaves, blanketing the lawn. She popped the trunk and yanked out her small suitcase. She had somehow agreed to stay the weekend, even though they were so close. Mia insisted it would be easier with late events. So here she was. Lucia forced her into several long talks. Gabriella hadn’t really wanted to come. Not once had she thought about the strangeness that would surround her.

  Lucia tricked her with the darn muffins, though. They may have also changed her pants size, which she also did not appreciate.

  Her palms grew damp and her underarms moist. Gabriella checked her makeup, dabbing her nose where her sunglasses had been. The makeup was almost gone from sweat.

  A petite woman with an asymmetrical cropped haircut and long purple beaded earrings made her way down the front stairs to Gabriella’s car.

  “Hi,” Mia said. Her nose and eyes were the same as Gabriella’s, in shape and size.

  “Hi.” Gabriella touched her fingers to her nose.

  The two stood next to the car. Mia surveyed her car and suitcase and smiled. Her hands folded in front of her stomach. The trees around the house framed her in that moment.

  “Umm, well, it’s good to meet you,” said Gabriella.

  Mia made a gesture as if she were about to wrap her arm around Gabriella for a hug, but then dropped her arm. A hugger. She shivered. Instead, Mia pulled up the handle of the suitcase and rolled the bag up the front walk. Gabriella followed.

  There were neighboring houses set with enough space between. Each one was distinct in color and style, but most were a square shape similar to Mia’s. Gabriella noted that here you were not looking into each other’s windows. The designs were smart with the window placement and that much space separating them. Compared to her and her roommates’ house, though, this was smaller inside and more modern.

  Cookies were set out on the kitchen table with bottles of Ocean Spray juice. The cookies were the hard kind from the bulk bins at the grocery store.

  “Why don’t you settle into your room and come out for something to eat in a little while.” Mia rolled the bag, and it bumped along the wooden floor to the back of the house. Bright colors with yellows worked across the middle covered the bed. The white cast-iron headboard curled along the wall.

  “There are hangers in the wardrobe.” Mia pointed to the tall furniture piece across from the bed, then pointed to the window. “That’s the best view in the house, especially in fall.” She paused. “Do you need anything?” Her voice rose on the last syllable and her hands shook slightly.

  “No thanks.”

  She stood at the window after Mia closed the door. The afternoon sun lit the trees, igniting a fire of orange, red, and yellow. Greens appeared sharp in contrast to the colors. Trees and taller mums waved back and forth. She felt the floorboards’ chill go through her socks.

  Gabriella would have preferred to remain curled up on the bed, but she only stayed there a few minutes.

  Mia set a mug with hot water in front of her. “We have peppermint, orange, Earl Grey, and cinnamon spice.”

  “Cinnamon spice,” she said.

  “Yeah, that’s a good one for fall.” Mia dunked a bag in and out of Gabriella’s water and then let it go. “We decided not to overwhelm you today with everyone greeting you. They’ll be here tonight for supper, though.”

  It was as if a cinnamon stick had been waved under Gabriella’s nose. This was not one of those teas that fooled around with flavor. She picked up a cookie—a round one with sugar sprinkled on top. By its brown color, she assumed it would be molasses. When she bit into the cookie, it was difficult to chew. Hard did not fully describe its texture. And the molasses tasted more like cardboard and spices. She put the cookie down and sipped her tea.

  “What do you do?” asked Mia.

  “I work for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.”

  “Wow. Not-for-profit. That must be a tough job.”

  “It is. But finding them can make the month or the year. Amber Alerts help now.”

  “Huh. Good for you.” Mia held a cranberry-pomegranate juice bottle over a glass. “Do you want juice, too?”

  “Tea’s fine.”

  “Jeremy teaches at Cornell University. He travels back and forth weekends during the semesters because his family lives here. He’s in this weekend to meet you. Nathan’s security at a publishing company, Thomson. Dee helps out at Ganondagan. And I’m an LPN over at Highland.”

  Gabriella nodded, but did not recognize some of the places Mia mentioned.

  Mia dunked a chocolate-looking cookie into her tea. She caught the soaked pieces which fell off into her hand.

  “Did you grow up here?” Gabriella pointed around the house.

  “Not this house. My husband and I got it together. He’s away at some farming conference. He’ll be back tonight.” Mia poured more hot water into her own tea cup. “We grew up on the rez and lived in a small trailer. Most of us moved off rez, though. Mom stayed there, until her last few months.” She peered at Gabriella.

  “This isn’t the reservation?” Behind Mia, Gabriella could see the turning trees out the large window. Robins and sparrows had been flitting around the yard since she sat down.

  Mia put her hand to her mouth and raised her eyebrows. Gabriella saw she tried to stifle a giggle. Her moving shoulders gave her away. “No, this is not the reservation. We’re all going to a social tomorrow night. That way you can meet people. But that’s also not on a reservation.” She stood, picked up the teapot, and refilled it with water.

  Gabriella could tell Mia was still laughing. It was not that funny. Didn’t some Indians live on reservations?

  Gabriella sat up in bed. She had lain down to rest for a few minutes. Looking at the clock, she realized she had dozed off for an hour. Butter and rising bread wafted in, as did deep voices and laughter.

  She padded down the hallway, assuming they had begun dinner. When she heard her name, she stopped.
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br />   “She’s nice. I haven’t had a lot of time with her,” said Mia.

  “What did she say?” asked a deep male voice.

  “Nothing much.”

  “Did she ask about Mom?” said a different female voice.

  “No.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t care,” said the male voice.

  “She’s here,” said Mia.

  “That doesn’t always mean anything.” The male voice had gone cold and distant.

  Gabriella tiptoed back to her room, opened the door, and closed it loudly. The voices stopped. She walked back down the hall, straightening her shoulders.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Mia said. She smiled and gestured for Gabriella to sit at the head of the table. Settings were simple with plates, napkins, and silverware. Everything looked worn, but not terribly. Lived-in. A flower basket sat in the center; she believed they were mums. Much of the house was white with white farmhouse cupboards and molding. But blues and greens acted as accents. It was a bit mismatched.

  The siblings introduced themselves. The male voice turned out to be Nathan. His handshake was warm and firm, but his wary smile distanced them. All together, Gabriella noted their darker skin, much more olive than hers. Except Mia’s Charley. He was closest to her complexion. But nothing about them was what she expected to be Native, like turquoise jewelry or men with ponytails.

  Mia brought out a fruit salad and one with beans, which she called “Three Sisters Salad.” Then she carried out soup and a platter of chicken legs, wings, and breasts.

  Gabriella took a little of each item and a chicken breast. The others heaped food onto their plates and filled their soup bowls. Food passed to the right, and sometimes across—no true pattern. Jeremy scraped his chair back.

  “The bread,” he said. He returned with a large loaf, glistening with butter and steaming. He handed it to Gabriella first.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  He patted her hand as she held the plate and took a slice. His eyes held light which matched his smile.