The Bright Unknown

by Elizabeth Byler Younts

  “Yes. And she is well now after many years of sickness.” Then, like he knew I needed to know what sort of illness, he spoke again. “Polio.”

  Angel and I looked at each other and smiled. This was good news.

  “Wait, now, what did you say your name was?” he asked.

  “Brighton.” I sat up straighter. “My mother said it over and over again to the nurses when I was born. Does it mean something?”

  His head bounced up and down, and he pulled in his lips. After a minute he leaned forward on his elbows again.

  “That’s not your name,” he said.

  “What do you mean? Of course it is.” I wanted to laugh but instead felt panicked and my hand found Angel’s.

  “I knew your name sounded familiar.” He stood and pulled an envelope out from his desk and handed it to me. “Look at the return address. Brighton is the name of the town where your aunt lives. She wasn’t choosing your name; she was telling your nurses where to send you. To Brighton, Michigan, to Margareta—your aunt.”

  I looked in the corner of the envelope and saw for myself that the city was Brighton. He was right, Brighton was not my name. It was the name of a town.

  I had no name. I was registered as dead and I was nameless.

  1990

  Love, Nursey

  I am not sure how prepared I am to hear from Joann. It’s been decades since I hugged her goodbye. Called her Mother. And watched her walk away. I am back in my hotel room with the letter in my hands. One letter after all these years.

  I know that if she were alive, she would be eighty-five. Our years have grown closer; we wouldn’t be like child and mother anymore.

  The front of the envelope has two Return to Sender stamps from a postman years ago. One is scribbled out. My father’s Philadelphia address was written in Joann’s curled script. I turn the envelope over in my hands and read what has been written on the outside flap.

  My darling Brighton, I don’t know when or if you’ll ever get this letter. I sent it to your dear Aunt Eddie to put with your precious belongings in the hopes that maybe someday it will all be returned to you.

  I lift the flap and remove the photographs again. I don’t look at them this time, not wanting to travel that journey twice in one night. But this diverging road I am on will be much harder to bear. When I inhale, the pungent stench of the dayroom and the feel of a razor running along my scalp return to me. My hand grazes my bobbed hair—still there. Just a memory, I remind myself.

  September 15, 1941

  My dearest Brighton,

  You’ve been gone for four months now, and there have been days where I’ve stayed in bed missing you. If it wasn’t for Sid and for our baby, perhaps I would still be there. The realization of all that I did that hurt you is overwhelming. I must ask your forgiveness again. Though that grace may be a deeper scar yet.

  I have walked the halls of our ward in my mind looking for your smile, but I know I won’t find you there. And that is as it should be. The guilt and regret I carry is also as it should be. But they play tricks on my mind, and I have fought to hold on to reality.

  I never returned to Riverside after your escape. And while there was some investigating, everyone covered for us. In the end, your escape just became more skeletons in the closet. I do know that Angel’s father was furious after learning of his disappearance.

  I need to tell you something. In one of your father’s letters when you were around ten, he mentioned an aunt. He said she was recovering from polio in Brighton, Michigan, and asked if Helen would ever be able to live with her when she was well. Of course Helen was too ill to do that, but this was when I realized that your poor mother meant for you to be sent to your aunt in Brighton—not to name you. But, my darling girl, you are still Brighton. You’ve never been anyone else in the world but Brighton. Please don’t question who you are.

  I regret I never learned anything more about your aunt. But since you’d been documented as deceased for so many years, Sid and I both would’ve lost our licenses to undo the mess I’d made—and I would’ve lost you, which I wasn’t prepared to do at the time. I don’t suppose I’ll ever really forgive myself for all of this.

  I wish I could tell you that I did everything out of my love for you. But there was more to it. All around me were women who were hurting and unable to bear the burden of their pain. That was and still is my greatest fear for myself. My fear that I would become one of them if I lost you, since losing you would be like losing a part of me.

  I don’t suspect we will meet again in this life, but I pray you can forgive me, though undeserved. So I ask God to give me peace. Know I love you and always will.

  Love,

  Nursey

  P.S. I have a baby son. His name is Jason, because it means “healer.”

  Have I forgiven Joann? Yes. Every day. That’s how often I take it back and then spit the venom of bitterness from my mouth. Perhaps I will go to the grave still learning how to forgive the woman who both loved and hurt me most.

  1941

  Unbright

  It would not have mattered if Lorna had walked into the apartment yelling one of her clichés. Or if Carmen was complaining loudly from the other side of the room that there hadn’t been enough food on her plate to feed a mosquito. I would not have heard anything. My ears were filled with cotton. Filled with water. Filled with lies and the bitterness of truth.

  I looked at Angel. My eyes must have covered most of my face and my mouth was open, but nothing was coming out. I looked then at Ezra. My father. His mouth was moving, but I still couldn’t hear anything. He looked sad and worried. What was he saying?

  I was shaking, but it seemed like it wasn’t me. Angel was shaking me. Trying to wake me up from being awoken.

  “Brighton, Brighton,” I finally heard.

  “That’s not my name,” I whispered back. My ears were ringing.

  “But it is. It became your name, regardless of what your mother intended. My name was never really Angel. I don’t know what my name is.” His voice was like the peeled wallpaper from my asylum room—brittle and broken.

  I squeezed my eyes closed until they almost sank inside my head. I needed to get away from this new pain. I needed for it not to fill my mind and taunt me. Surely Joann knew what my father had just explained to me. The anger I’d let go of last night came back to me like the years I’d spent at Riverside were stacked upon my heart, pressing down.

  The burden of truth had exhausted me. My eyes were heavy. My arms were like rods of iron. My very heart seemed to question if it had the strength to beat once more—and once more.

  And what would happen next? Would my father ask me to stay? The tenderness we had shared in those moments speaking of Mother had to mean something. But he had said nothing of helping or of us staying or of how we could start a life together.

  Did he wish I’d stayed dead?

  My father’s face was pained and waning, but he didn’t look away from me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what to say.

  “For what?”

  For coming. For intruding. For not being dead.

  “For”—I wasn’t sure which one to say—“coming.”

  His eyes burst with blueness, and I could see where there were fragments of a handsome face.

  “Do you see this way that I live?” He gestured around the room, his gaze landing out the window briefly before returning to me.

  Was I supposed to nod? Then he went on.

  “This isn’t the life I wanted to live. Helene and I wanted so much more. We talked about children and family.”

  Why had he never married another?

  “I made many promises to your mother and couldn’t keep any of them. Your grandfather was a harsh man, but he did his best—life was hard.”

  “Because of my grandmother?”

  He nodded. “When he saw Helene fighting the same demons, he thought America the beautiful would hold all the answers.” He paused. “Do not be sorry
, for I am not sorry that you came. You are like a star in the night sky. Now I know Helene will live on.”

  “But?” I asked.

  “But you cannot stay. This is no place for you.”

  “I could get a job. I wouldn’t be any bother to you. And Angel is a hard worker too.”

  “It will not work, meine schatzi.”

  Hearing him call me meine schatzi was like a gentle restraint around my heart. Was I really his dear one? Was he avoiding the use of the name that wasn’t mine as a kindness or manipulating me with a false endearment, or did he really see me as dear? Pretty words were soft like cotton. But when a patient was wrapped in cotton for therapy, when dampened and allowed to dry, it squeezed the breath from their lungs, forcing some to faint from lack of oxygen. That’s what his words did to my soul. “There’s no room here for three.”

  “But we have nowhere to go.”

  “I have family.” Angel spoke like the rush of a breeze coming through the enclosed room. He looked at me. “I went through my bag when you slept on the train. I found part of an address.”

  “But Joann—” I started until I saw Angel pull out a folded paper. Lines of black marker crossed out large sections. Angel showed Ezra the address.

  “These are admission papers and an address is here. I think they just missed crossing it out,” he said.

  “This address is not so far,” Ezra said. “It’s on the outskirts of the city.” Then he paused. “And this is your family?”

  “Joann said not to go to them,” I inserted and had to fight the urge to grab the paper from his hand and tear it up.

  “I have to try.” Angel looked at Ezra. “Maybe you could help me find this address?”

  While this exchange had lasted only a few minutes, Ezra’s rejection would linger with me much longer. He didn’t want me.

  In slow and unhampered movements he pulled out a map from his cabinet. With quiet steadiness he showed Angel the area the address was in. I didn’t look at the map but heard soft words about a cab drive and asking if we had enough money.

  Ezra didn’t want me, but he had wanted my mother—even with her fits. And soon we would leave and I would probably never see him again.

  I got up. I needed air. I needed the expanse of the inky sky. I needed out.

  “Where are you going?” Angel asked.

  “I need—I’m just going to take a walk.”

  My step out of the house did not lift the weight I bore. The stench in the air was insulting and severe. I’d withstood horrible smells my whole life, but the outside air had always been a salvation and rescue from that. But here, I was trapped.

  My toes wiggled in my shoes as I stood on a burdened sidewalk that had known more lives than I could wonder over. Across from where I stood was another row of wearied, dull houses and farther in the distance were the initialed stacks that poured putrid smoke into the night air. My eyes traveled up. The sky was a mere charcoal canvas. No blue night, no splash of stars, no tiny Crux to be seen.

  “In Germany the sky bursts with stars over castles and forests.” My father’s voice came from behind me. I hadn’t heard him come outside.

  “It does at the hospital too,” I offered.

  Ezra stepped up to stand at my side.

  “The factory and city lights have stolen away all that beauty from us.” He said it so dearly and affectionately I turned to look at him.

  “You deserve better, meine schatzi.” He’d said dear one again. He squared his shoulders to look at me. Was he going to hug me? His arms went up a little, then he lowered them. “I have nothing to give you. But your aunt and I write sometimes,” he said with a shrug. “I have her address. It is different from the one you have.”

  “Why didn’t she come and get my mother out?” I asked. “Even if she thought I was dead?”

  “She was very ill for a time—polio—and had to care for herself. She has had a hard life. When she was well enough, she asked me about Helene, but the asylum doctors had already told me that your poor mother was too unwell to be released to anyone.” He tilted his head as he looked at me. “You remind me a little of Helene’s mother.”

  But hadn’t she been mad and hadn’t she committed herself to eternity?

  “Don’t worry—not the way you are thinking. You do not have their eyes, where the madness shows. You have mine. But your build and porcelain skin, the way you are. Mannerisms, I think they are called, are your grandmother’s before she was afflicted.” He smiled and stepped forward, touched my shoulder-length hair. “I knew her before her mind deceived her. You would’ve liked her. A woman of light and—well, nervous energy, Otto used to say.”

  He dropped his hand.

  “Please, let me stay.”

  “Brighton, go to your aunt. Maybe someday you will let me know that you are settled. I will write back. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve a real home. I cannot give that to you here.” His eyes lingered over mine for only brief moments. I knew what shame looked like because of my own reflection. His shame would force him to give me up a second time. The first time because I was dead and the second time because I was alive. Then he cleared his throat and looked back off into the night.

  “There’s a war coming, you know.”

  I shook my head. We’d heard very little about it in the hospital.

  “I will tell you that Germans are not loved here in America because of this war.” He niggled the sidewalk pieces with his toe. “They will let me go from this job soon, I know this.”

  “Because you’re German? But you’re not in a war.” This was all very confusing.

  He didn’t answer right away.

  “We are always in some war.” His gaze returned to me. “When you make it to your aunt’s home, let me know—perhaps if I am let go from this job, as I suspect, I will travel to you. Come now. You and Angel stay for the night. Everything will look better in the morning.”

  But it didn’t. The next morning I said goodbye to a man I’d only just said hello to. I agreed to write him, and he promised to write back. This was all I could hold on to.

  Ezra hugged me gently when we parted and gave me some photographs and my aunt’s address. He was going to work, and we were setting off into another unknown.

  1941

  Welcome Home

  When we walked out of the apartment, the same three little children were on their steps again. I went over and gave them the rest of our bread. I was sure they needed it more than we did. The oldest took it fast and distributed a slice to each.

  “Thank you, lady,” the oldest said, and the others followed after a few elbow jabs.

  I stood there and watched them. What did their future look like?

  Angel came up from behind me and wrapped an arm around me. His other held his bag. This way of holding me was new. There had been so many new things.

  “I don’t know if I can leave.” I was glad I didn’t have to look at him when I spoke. My tears were at the ready, and I didn’t want them to spill over.

  “Your father said he’d write back.” Angel turned me around, put down his bag, then wrapped both of his arms around me. I nodded but didn’t trust my voice. The way he looked at me made me think about what he’d told Joann in the train station parking lot. That he loved me. “We will find our place, Brighton.”

  “Don’t.” I looked away and closed my eyes. “Not that name anymore.”

  He leaned into me and whispered, “Brighton.”

  Then he did something I wasn’t expecting. He lowered his lips and pressed them gently against mine. For several long, perfect moments my worries were gone and my heart glowed like his skin. This was a kiss. I’d only ever seen Dr. Woburn do this to Joann but never imagined I’d ever get the chance to be kissed myself. What else I hadn’t expected was how our lips touching would bring to the surface every bit of love I’d ever felt for Angel. His hold on me tightened and my arms mimicked his and brought an added headiness to the kiss.

  When he pull
ed away I looked at him in confusion. Why now, and why did he stop?

  “You can call yourself whatever you want. But you’ll always be Brighton to me, and you will always be the person I love most in the world.”

  I sank into his chest and loved him back with all my warmth and my hold, even though I had no words to put to it except for one question.

  “Why now?”

  As he held me he rubbed my back through the thin satin of my shirt, sending warm sensations from my abdomen to my head. I didn’t know what that feeling meant or what it was, but I’d never felt so whole. It gave me such hope and expectation. He pulled me away and looked into my eyes.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. But now we get to start a real life together.” His voice was husky and serious. He kissed me again with a surge of passion I didn’t know existed in him. I didn’t want him to stop.

  “For the first time in our lives, we get to make choices for ourselves. And I choose you.”

  I caressed his face and couldn’t believe how long I’d loved him this way without knowing it. “And I choose you.”

  Then we picked up our bags and, with fingers entwined, I led him back up the steps we’d traveled the day before.

  When we reached the top, we began walking toward the city. There was a strange feeling where my heart, mind, and stomach were three tangled strands because the skyline ahead of us bore a familiar engraving in my memory. How quickly memories could master the soul and make natural things that were unnatural only a short time ago.

  This alien familiarity happened again when out of a reflex I didn’t know I had, I raised my hand and called out, “Taxi.” The driver waved an arm out his window that he’d heard me. I turned and grabbed Angel’s arm and pulled him with me. The instinctual moment made me smile. I had learned something in such a short time in my new world.

  This cabdriver was not like the last one. He had black hair that waved over his forehead. He had tan skin and friendly, dark eyes.

  He winked at me when I got in, but Angel’s entry put the driver in a different mood quickly.