My Stupid Girl

by Smith, Aurora

  I left the house that somehow looked brighter, even though the lights were still off.

  * * *

  It was a cold day but sunny, so the walk was nice. It felt good to clear my head and really take in what had just happened. After wandering around the old neighborhood for a while, I walked into a big bank a few blocks away from my father’s house. I figured I would figure out this other bank account I had. With a few hundred bucks I could just scratch my other one and go with this one. I walked over to a very attractive teller with a heart-shaped face dotted with random freckles. I smiled because she reminded me of Lucy. Also because I was beginning to realize I had a thing for freckles.

  “Hi.” The echo surprised me; I didn’t realize how quiet it was in there.

  “May I help you?” She pulled off her glasses off and looked slightly affronted by my appearance. The scar was still out, and my makeup probably hadn’t recovered from crying.

  “Yes, can you tell me about this account?” I held one of the statements.

  “Ok, sir, take a seat and I’ll pull that right up for you.” She put my paperwork down in front of her and started typing furiously. After a few seconds, her eyes opened wide and her head snapped up to look at me. “Whose account is this, sir?”

  “Mine, I guess. My father just told me about it today.”

  “Can I see some ID please?” She held her hand out irritably.

  She might have looked a little like Lucy but she sure didn’t act like her.

  “Sure.” I pulled out my wallet, slid my driver’s license out, and held it out for her. She looked down at the face and up at me, then down again at my license. Her eyes squinted, trying to find a lie somewhere. She huffed noisily, handed me back my license, and hit a button on her computer that made her printer fire up. I was surprised how many papers were spilling out. A few of them fell on the floor. She stood up and walked over to the printer to gather them. She stapled them and then walked them back to me, her mood much more respectful, but still distant. Now she was curious.

  “Thank you.” Maybe politeness would win her over. I knew that my appearance and the fact that I had an account I didn’t know about was probably causing this poor girl serious alarm. I smiled kindly at her, hoping she would feel more at ease. Her thin smile wasn’t very encouraging. Oh well.

  I looked down at the top paper in the stack. The first date was July 28, 1992, a few days after the day I was born. A hundred dollars had been deposited. I smiled, thinking about the man I had just left. Here was proof in front of me that they really had planned to give me a good life. But then it got better. After the initial hundred that they’d opened the account with, the same large amount kept repeating down the page. It was like someone took a stamp, didn’t bother to change it, and just started banging it down on the paper, one after another after another. I saw, four months after I was born, a deposit for four hundred and eighty dollars. The month after that, another four hundred and eighty dollars. Next to each amount was the memo, “World Life Insurance.”

  “No way.” I breathed out in disbelief. I had become unaware of the beautiful but stiff teller still glaring suspiciously at me but I didn’t care. Page after page sported the same numbers, mostly hundreds, with four hundred and eighty dollars appearing on the same date every month. On the seventh page I noticed that a thousand dollars had been deposited on my sixth birthday. On my next birthday another grand had been put in. Mouth open and my head reeling, I went to the last page where I saw the number, “two hundred and twelve thousand two hundred and sixty dollars” in big, bold print.

  “What?!” I said, practically yelling. My mother must have had life insurance. The amount of four hundred and eighty dollars had been put into my account since I was a few months old. Every single penny from my mother’s life insurance was in my account; he had given it all to me. Not one withdrawal had ever been made. This entire time, through each drunken, angry outburst, having to leave and go to a foster family, my dad had been saving money for me, building me a future.

  It was becoming painfully obvious that this was the only way he really knew how to show he cared. I would take it, though. It was better than him not caring at all, which is what I’d thought of him when I’d woken up this morning.

  Then I looked closely at the one thousand dollars that had been deposited on every birthday since I was six years old. I assumed it was from him again but I couldn’t figure out why he would bump up the amount for my birthday when he was putting hundreds of dollars in every month already. When I looked closely at the date of my last birthday, though, a new name shone brightly from the page: “Anthony Pfalmer.”

  22. BIRTH FATHER

  A thick smell of sulfur and mud filled my nose as I walked cautiously through what looked like a thick forest. Obviously, I was dreaming. But that knowledge didn’t really do anything for me and the feeling of pure terror and helplessness that was growing in my chest. I couldn’t see anything but black leaves and impenetrable trees. A light shone randomly through the wall of leaves in front of me. I put my hand out and pushed aside the low branches but they stung my palms.

  “Help.” I heard a soft cry from the other side of my leafy prison and it made me push harder, despite the cuts I was getting. The leaves must have been knives, designed to keep me in place. I heard the cry again; it sounded like Lucy. I wanted to run, and tried, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. No matter how hard I pushed my feet they stood still.

  “Lucy!” I screamed, still trying desperately to shift my weight and force my feet to do what I wanted them to do. I would get one foot up, but the other forgot to work so I was stuck with a knee up in the air like an awkward black flamingo.

  “David, help me!” She sounded even more terrified. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to advance, one foot in front of the other. I was moving slowly but I was getting there. I didn’t care how long it took. I was going to get to her. I pushed against the sharp leaves, blood spilling out of my hands, but it dried before it fell from my fingers, like it was mocking me, saying that it didn’t matter how hard I worked, I would have nothing to show for it.

  Eventually, the light got brighter and the leaves became fewer. The smell got more pungent and my eyes burned from the heat, but I dug deep and continued. Two suspension bridges appeared, side by side. I couldn’t see where they led. They looked endless. Beneath the bridges was a ridiculous, cartoonishly deep chasm. Peeking from mist in the bottom were sharp rocks, many stories high, sharp points glistening in the light.

  One bridge looked slightly more stable than the other. Of course, then I noticed Lucy standing on the one that was dilapidated, crackling, and swaying. Seeing her knocked my legs back into “move” mode, so I ran to the end of the bridge she was on and called out.

  “Lucy, come back. We can take the other one together.” I beckoned to her with my arms wide and my fingers outstretched but when she tried to walk back the wood under her feet would crack in protest. She looked up at me with her piercing blue eyes, hollow with fear. I didn’t know what to do. If I went out on her bridge we would both fall. If I didn’t, Lucy would be lost. I couldn’t save her.

  “Lucy, try to climb on the rope!” I shouted, putting my hands out to indicate that I would catch her. She put her leg over the rope and it instantly vanished, leaving her in midair with nothing to hang on to but pieces of wood, dancing around her. And then she fell.

  I sat straight up in my bed, drenched in sweat. My arms were still out in front of me in a beckoning position. I breathed a deep sigh of relief when I saw my clean room in front of me and felt my warm bed beneath me. I crumpled back into the sheets and shuffled my legs irritably. Stupid girl. Only Lucy would pick the bridge that wasn’t safe. Even in my dream she wasn’t observant and careful. I smiled and closed my eyes to properly picture that face. Round and freckled. Full lips and to big teeth that hid behind them. Sparkling blue eyes surrounded by dark, long eyelashes.

  I missed her. It had been months since Prom Night, months since w
e had spoken. I thought about her often, I missed being around her, but something kept me from calling her. Maybe my pride but I didn’t know. I didn’t have any great desire to talk with her. It was almost like I just wanted the memory that I had created in my mind, not the real one. Every time I thought of calling her, I remembered the intense desire to put a fist on her face, and I knew without a doubt she was better off without me.

  I sighed and rubbed at my eyes, trying to erase the image of Lucy falling. It didn’t work. The only comfort I found lately was that she was free to find a person who was better for her: a Christian guy with the same morals and beliefs. Someone who understood the whole God thing. Although, I wasn’t sure if that would do a whole lot of good, since I wasn’t sure she really understood it herself. But what did I know? I was out of that loop.

  I looked over at the clock on my side table and jumped with excitement. It was 5:30 on a Saturday morning. Today was the day I was going to meet my birth father. I had thought of nothing but him in the many weeks since I’d found his name on my bank statement.

  I’d gone over and over in my mind the pros and cons of trying to contact him. No matter which way I thought, he had been making an effort to be a part of my life. I bombarded my adopted father, asking him how I could get a hold of Anthony Pfalmer. I knew that he had to have gotten my bank information from somewhere. Dad gave me a “last known” phone number with no hesitation.

  I agonized for three months on whether I should call or not. It was a hundred million times worse than wanting to call Lucy. I almost drove Grandma crazy by voicing every uncertainty that my brain could hold. She about called him for me to end her suffering, and that’s when I finally decided I had to just get it done.

  That phone call was the greatest I ever had in my life. When I heard the clear “hello” on the other end I couldn’t help but smile. He sounded just like me. It sounded like my own voice was talking back to me. Once I told him who I was he begged me to come and see him and meet his family. He had a son who was three years old and a wife named Marty. I was sad for a moment, remembering Lindsey Hurst’s name on my birth certificate, thinking that him and my mom might have stayed together if they’d kept me. But then I figured that was a long shot. Couples who had been through way less broke up every day. Lucy and I were an example of that. Besides, I was trying to avoid spending time and mental energy on “what ifs” these days. It is what it is, and that was more than enough.

  Anthony Pfalmer wanted me to come and visit them in Washington state that weekend, and I instantly agreed. I could not wait. As soon as I got off the phone with him, I got on my computer to look at plane tickets. I purchased my round trip ticket within a few minutes and started packing. When I went back to my computer a few hours later to check my bank account, I saw that, along with the ticket debit, a credit of a few hundred dollars had appeared, making my balance even higher than it had been before my first major purchase with the big account. That evening I got a text from my birth father telling me the money was for the ticket, and whatever was left over was for travel expenses. It was kind of weird to have him explaining deposits, after just having wrapped my mind around the idea of years of anonymous donations.

  I was excited, then nervous, but never uncertain or regretful that I had decided to go see him. I wondered what we would talk about, what he would look like, how I would feel seeing him with another son. A son that he’d kept. And I wondered about my mother.

  It was the slowest week of my life. The days dragged on and my clock moved slower than usual, but Saturday morning had finally arrived. On the heels of a terrible dream.

  My plane was leaving in a few hours, so I just decided to get up. I wasn’t falling back asleep. I spent some time getting my appearance as first-meeting-awesome as it could get. The white short-sleeved shirt that Lucy loved highlighted brightly colored tattoos. Some “normal” jeans that had been sitting in the back of my closet for a while still fit, and actually looked really good. For some reason, my snake-bite lip rings had never made in back into my face, although the eyebrow ring still sat boldly above my eyes. And I was silently thanking myself that I had finally gotten a haircut that made me look (just barely) like a normal person. It was still long, just past my ears on the sides, and down to the middle of my neck in the back. It was layered and fell neatly just enough in front of my eye to make me comfortable but it didn’t block the right side of my face completely like it had before. I found that my scar didn’t bother me as much as it used to. To my surprise, I didn’t get as many questioning looks as I’d always feared I would. I guess I made it out to be worse than it was. Finally, I put on some eyeliner, only a little. Giving up all makeup would probably never happen. Plus, the black eyeliner made my green eyes pop.

  I went out into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee for my grandma before I left. She was so tired lately. She kept getting smaller and weaker. I had a lot more time to help her, lately, and I tried to make the most of it. The woman hardly had to do anything around the house, anymore. I either took care of it or paid to have someone do it.

  The financial freedom to help Grandma do things she needed help with was one of the greatest gifts my two dads could have given me.

  * * *

  I sat next to a beautiful blond girl with deep brown eyes on the plane. She was short and her personality was like a million firecrackers going off at once. She wanted to sit next to the window, even though I had paid for a window seat. She was not shy in asking me to switch with her.

  “I’m pretty sure the window seat is more expensive,” I teased her.

  “But I bet you’re probably the nicest guy around and don’t even think about stuff like that. Plus, I get sick if I’m not next to the window seat. That would be terrible for you!” She stood in the aisle with her arms crossed, smiling.

  “You make a valid argument, ma’m. You may sit here.” I got up and let her practically walk over my long legs to get to her new seat.

  “Thank you--” She held out her hand and waited for my name.

  “David.”

  “Thank you, David. I’m Brandy.” She smiled again and revealed a mouth with too many teeth. She probably had to smile all the time just to make those teeth worth it, although I’m sure the rest of her beautiful face helped a lot. I felt shy talking with her, but she made it easy. She jabbered away, barely even noticing the scenery in the window she’d needed so badly. It was nice to talk to someone my own age, though. I’d spent most of the last few months talking with Grandma or just in silence.

  I had things to contribute to Brandy’s conversation but flushed furiously whenever she touched me, which happened quite a bit. She was one of those girls who uses her hands to tells stories and loved to grab a shoulder to emphasize a point. I couldn’t help the blushing; I was a nerd at heart. That was never going to change.

  “So, do you live in Washington?” Brandy asked me.

  “No, my father does, I’m visiting.”

  “Oh, do you go to college?”

  “No, I’m a… I go to high school.” I smirked. Brandy’s mouth dropped open and she grabbed onto my forearm. Which made me blush.

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Oh my gosh, I thought I was about to go to jail!” She fanned herself with her magazine in mock relief. I started laughing, even though I was mortified. In a good way. I put my hands at my temples and pulled the hair back, and let it hang in front of my face as it fell back. This was my new hair pat. The new haircut hadn’t really cured me.

  “You’re cute.” She laughed and elbowed me.

  “Thanks.” I shook my head and chuckled.

  “So, do you have a girlfriend?” She was trying to keep a conversation going, even after my awkward reaction to her obvious flattery.

  “Um…. I used to.” I wasn’t sure how to talk about this.

  “Did you recently break up?” I could tell she was trying to not look too pleased. Which was kind of funny, actually. As if Brandy a
nd I were about to start a beautiful life together and the only thing keeping us apart was my potential girlfriend. Not the hundreds or thousands of miles that probably separated us.

  “About six months ago.” I felt sadness spread across my face. Brandy looked understandingly at me and smiled. She didn’t bring that up anymore and stopped teasing me about how old I was. I could see that she was making a conscious effort not to act as flirtatious. I had a glimmer of hope that maybe girls learned to control their charms as they got older. It was an encouraging thought.

  We started to head through the cloud cover back toward the ground. The speaker crackled on and my heart leaped into my throat.

  “Ladies and gentlemen we’ve begun our final descent. Flight attendants will be around for one final check. Please stow away all loose items, turn off all electronic devices, place your tray tables are in their upright and locked positions, and ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened. We’ll be on the ground in Arlington in twenty minutes.”

  He would be there, at the airport, waiting for me. I couldn’t believe I was going to meet my birthfather in twenty minutes. My mind was racing. My feet couldn’t stop bouncing up and down. The college kid look was out the window. I was acting like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. I had a fleeting thought that Anthony was going to be disappointed when he saw me, but I shook it off as I remembered how much he had done for me already, when he never had to. After we landed Brandy reached over and hugged me.