by C. D'Angelo
I blink in succession to come back to the present.
“I can’t seem to get anywhere. I’ve been trying to research my family for months now and can’t find any new information.” Speaking the words feels like a thousand daggers in my heart. Do not cry, Rachel.
“Oh, yes. This is so common you wouldn’t believe it.” She flashes a reassuring smile.
I let out a deep breath as that glimpse of hope sneaks into my body again.
“Let me see what I can do.” She grabs the mouse and asks, “What is your family’s surname?”
“Granza. Given names of Gino, Vincent, and Salvatore. They came over from Italy in 1916.”
We search together in the same ways I had been searching when alone. The fact that she isn’t getting anywhere either makes me feel a strange reprieve, if only for not being a total stunad. Her sighs and other sounds of surprise contribute to my comfort as well. The loud and obnoxious ticking of the clock on the wall, however, does not. I feel like we are racing against that clock. I kind of wish this whole thing were a time limited test. Then I could have closure at a known time.
“Are you positive that your family came through Ellis Island?”
The question drives fear so deep I feel tingles in my limbs. “Yes, in 1916. Didn’t everyone’s family come through here?”
“There were many ports at that time. They could have come through Boston or Washington, DC—”
“They definitely came through New York. I know it.” I don’t mean to cut her off, but this has to be the port of entry for my family. Right? My grandpa always said, “When I arrived in New York, blah, blah, blah.” Tears well up in my eyes and I wring my hands together as I wait for her response.
“Okay, dear. Let me see.” She walks over to her desk and flips through a binder. Not glancing up as she comes back and just missing walking into a table, she squints and says, “You’ll have to excuse me. I just started here a month ago.” She fumbles through the pages in the binder for another few seconds. “They give us this guide to help people in your situation.” Turning to another probable unhelpful page, she continues, “It says to try different spellings of your name. Have you done that?”
Oh, wait. “What do you mean?”
“Well, in historical records, you always have to try different spellings for names because sometimes travelers were not understood by the people recording their names in the log books, or maybe they purposely shortened their name in order to have a fresh start in America. Think about how the people documenting names were trying to communicate with people from all over the world. All of those accents they must have heard. Never mind those who didn’t speak any English at all. Sometimes those writing in the logs made mistakes. And those mistakes last forever in the books and now in the databases.”
My jaw drops. Why didn’t I think of that? What does it mean for me? Is our family name even correct? My throat feels like it’s closing. Does this mean I have to start my research over? Months of work for nothing? Again?
“Uh-oh.” Brian walks over to give me a hug as soon as I enter our apartment and he sees my face. “What happened at Ellis?”
Tears stream down my cheeks. “I found nothing. Nothing! I even got help from the person who worked in the research room. She said to try alternate ways to spell my family name. I thought that must have been the problem, but that didn’t even help. I don’t want to give up, but I don’t know what to do now.”
“I know this was a huge disappointment for you, but we’ll figure it out. Just try to relax tonight.” He hugs me tighter and rubs my back. “Maybe you could talk to Annabelle tomorrow when we go out to dinner with her and Peter. She may have more ideas. She’s a smart woman.”
“Noooo! I totally forgot about that dinner. I don’t want to go out tomorrow at all.”
“Let’s just go. I bet you will feel better tomorrow.”
“Have you just met me? I don’t think I will be magically okay by tomorrow night. But whatever. I shouldn’t agree to do anything social these days.”
He gives a sympathetic look and walks into the other room. Brian knows now to let me be alone to gather myself.
“Sorry, Brian,” I say as he gives me space.
All I can do is wash my face, put on pjs, and curl up on the couch. This day must end. What started with such promise is ending in complete disaster.
Chapter 21
We meet Annabelle and Peter at a restaurant of their choice, as planned. I like being with Annabelle, but not on a night near of one of my year’s lowest points. At least she knows what I am going through and the burgers are supposed to be excellent here. Food always helps the old mood.
When we walk into the restaurant, I spot them, side by side like they are on a first date. They are the married ones yet look like new lovers. They ooze happiness. And is that an actual holding of hands? Oh gosh, I can’t take it right now. The more I struggle emotionally, the more I withdraw from others, especially Brian, and the more guilt I feel. I grab his hand in protest of my usual reaction and continue to walk toward the lovebirds.
“Hey guys,” Peter says getting up to hug us hello. Annabelle follows and I turn on my all too familiar fake persona right away. The ‘everything is great Rachel mask’ is a common occurrence in the last few years. I think I even have Brian fooled sometimes. Maybe.
“I’m ready to eat. How about you?” Annabelle taps the menus at our seats so we could order and get the night started, I assume.
“Oh yes, you know me.” I smile, let go of Brian’s hand, and slide in my chair.
“I already ordered a bottle of Cabernet, if that’s okay with you two,” Peter says.
“Sounds good to us, right Rach?” Brian’s baby blues sparkle in the restaurant lighting.
“I love it.”
After choosing appetizers and meals, Annabelle whispers to me “Are you okay?”
Damn. Maybe I am not a great actress after all. Keep my day job, I guess. I answer semi-truthfully. “Yeah, I just have a little headache.” Okay, not truthful at all. You got me.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Want some medicine? I have some in here somewhere,” she asks as she frantically looks in her huge red zebra patterned purse. She has to match her red sequined cocktail dress and black patent leather four-inch heels, I’m sure. That makes me chuckle at least. I have to love her.
Still giggling, I say, “No, don’t worry. I’ll be okay. But thank you.” I refuse to let my moodiness ruin the evening and I sure as heck won’t dump my issues on her at a couples’ dinner.
The guys carry on in conversation throughout dinner, always able to hit it off with no issue. They have a lot to talk about, both being in similar career fields. That’s a relief for me at least. Sometimes partners of friends are such duds that Brian doesn’t want to meet up with them. Peter is pleasant and dare I say, normal. Ah, there’s my favorite word again.
At the end of the meal Annabelle and I indulge in a shared slice of black forest cake. I think how it’s not that awful to be here with them tonight. Is it the chocolate speaking? Nah, it’s because I enjoy being with Annabelle.
But her and Peter look so meant to be. Their behavior is a reminder about my questions for my own relationship. I am happy for them of course, but also always think why can’t that be me right now? Unless it is how Brian and I feel about each other, and I just don’t realize it. Why do I confuse myself so much?!
“Rachel, are you good? Want any more to drink or can we close out?” Brian asks.
“I’m fine.” I grab his hand again and squeeze it. He squeezes it back. I listen to the voice within that tells me it feels right. We feel right, so what makes me constantly question our relationship?
Back at home I hug Harrison for a solid minute. He must be in a good mood. Maybe he finally caught his tail in play tonight.
As he jumps out of my arms, I go to the bathroom and get ready f
or bed. No matter how much I try to hold on to the reassuring feeling at the end of dinner, I struggle to push past the spiral of doubt and guilt.
Brian touches my shoulder while I brush my teeth, giving it a little love squeeze. I don’t even notice right away. Images of Annabelle and Peter touching each other lovingly or looking into each other’s eyes run through my head on repeat. They are so connected.
“Brian,” I say as I crawl under the covers in our bed. “I just want to say I’m sorry I’m not like Annabelle.”
“What? I need more words, Rachel.” He turns to face me and slides across the sheets to be next to me.
“I just feel bad that I can’t be my old self all the time. Looking at how Annabelle and Peter are always in sync, I feel awful that I am not like that with you right now. Consistently. But you know it’s all me and nothing you have done, right? I know I’m tough to be around with my raging emotions or lack thereof sometimes. I don’t know why you stay with me. I don’t know, I just want to say I’m sorry.”
He squints his eyes and tilts his head. Maybe he has lost hope in us or gotten used to the lull by now. Maybe he is planning his quick exit tonight and a bag is packed and ready in the closet. I’ll wake up to a Dear John note on the counter with a mug set out for my coffee, because he is that sweet of a guy. He wouldn’t leave me without taking care of me, even if only for one last sip of his love touched coffee. Maybe—
He cuts off my thoughts, thankfully. “Rachel, I don’t want anyone but you. I’ll even take you with your moodiness, though it makes me want to scream sometimes. I want us to work. I thought we talked about this already.”
“We did, but I just want you to know I’m trying to change. I’m trying to fill that hole in me. I’m in progress. So please know that. I want things to be how they were when I wasn’t on the verge of depression or…in actual depression.”
I hate admitting this. I hate that I have let myself fall in this hole so far. I see how easily it happens now for clients. This whole experience is horrible for me, but constructive for them because now I can truly understand their situation even better. I would never want this, of course, but I’m still trying to see the positive in all of this mess. I’m going to be an even better therapist.
“I think you are adding more stress to yourself than you need. We will get through this. Let’s just go to sleep for now.” He kisses my lips then slips back to his side of the bed.
He isn’t shocked by my use of the “D” word. He knows me better than I think. That’s what happens after a long time together, so I shouldn’t be surprised by his lack of surprise at my words.
Strangely enough, his ending of the conversation feels needed. There’s nothing else to say at this time. There’s only action to take. I hope to be me again someday and I’m going to keep trying to get there.
Brian and I can make it through this phase. I know it in my heart we are strong and we are a good pair, so I have to stop fighting with myself. I’m hereby declaring to myself that I will try to stop this back and forth worry about us. I don’t have the energy for fighting the truth. And that’s just dumb. I’m choosing a different choice, just like I would tell my clients.
Putting aside all of my flooding thoughts, I follow Brian’s wishes and simply say, “Love you, Brian.” I grab his hand once again tonight. He grips it in return.
Chapter 22
Annabelle calls out to me from her office as soon as my client exits the waiting room door at our lunch hour. “Hey. You free?”
I walk over and sit down on her couch. “Yup. What’s up?”
“I want to check in because I felt like the mood was off last night.”
Oh. I wasn’t expecting this. And saying the mood, not my mood. Hmm. She chose her words carefully. She’s good.
“I’ve just been a little discouraged about my family research.” I still can’t bring myself to tell her the part about my friendly envy of her soulmate and her. Plus, I’m making a different choice now so there’s no need. Brian knowing is enough. Yes.
“What’s happened?”
“You know how the last thing I told you about was that I was going to go to Ellis Island? I was sure that my family’s information would be in their database. Every family from back in that day came through there I thought. Well, not mine apparently. I always have to be the different one.” As I say that last line, my eyes fill with tears. Good thing I never wear mascara.
Getting up to grab a tissue for me, she replies, “Oh sweetheart, that is awful news. I would be so upset too.”
“I just have to brainstorm what to do next. It’s like every angle I turn there is another roadblock.”
“That is how that kind of thing is, I’ve heard. I haven’t spoken to anyone doing it, but you know, it just seems like it would be that way, frustrating and all. I mean, why would companies advertise hiring their genealogists if it was easy work?”
That fact hits me again, giving me slight relief. “That’s what I’ve thought. Thanks for reinforcing it, Ann.” Still crying, but less so now, I get up for my own tissue this time. “I’m supposed to help other people crying at work, not be the one crying.”
“You are human. It’s okay. Now, let me know if I can help at all. I don’t know a thing about that whole process, but I’m here for you. Wait, let me see if I could find something here.” She shuffles the pile of items on her desk around, then looks in a drawer of her file cabinet. Lord only knows what she is searching for, let alone if she will ever find it in that tornado of an office.
After a minute of tsking and sighing, she gives up. Her attention span won’t last much longer, despite her kind heart and intention. “Oh, phooey. I can’t find it. I wanted to give you that friendship magnet you gave me last year. It said something about always being there through thick and thin. That applies from me to you as well and you could use it now. It’s just right for this particular dilemma.”
I can’t help but smile. “You are a thoughtful soul and the greatest co-worker. Thanks, but don’t worry. I know you are here for me. It is just that nobody can do this for me. Well, except if I hire someone, that is.”
“You’ll get through this.”
“Thanks. Okay, I need to make sure I leave enough time to eat my lunch and be put back together before my first afternoon client arrives for their session.”
“Yes, me too. Later.”
I go back to my desk and turn on some R&B music to enjoy while I eat the sandwich Brian made for me this morning. He always makes our lunches fresh in the morning, so we don’t have soggy bread. Today’s turkey and cheese on wheat has a special mayonnaise with dill herbs. It’s so tasty I forget about my issues for a second. Just a second.
I need to remember the points that bring me relief, like that one about how I’m tackling this adventure on my own as a non-professional genealogist. Go me. Maybe I should make a list later. Yeah, a list of feel-good thoughts so when I feel sucked into the abyss, I can pull myself out. Like I need another list. I’ll remember this stuff. And I must pull up my appointment calendar now anyway.
“All right, who’s coming in next?”
It will be eleven-year-old Cole, a sixth grader whose parents are newly separated. He isn’t acting out or anything, but his parents want to make sure he is doing well, not just putting on a front for them. I can see through an emotional disguise with these kids as easy as seeing my reflection in the mirror, and he isn’t acting.
This is only the second time I am working with him, so we’re still building a rapport in order for him to trust me. I plan to try to color with him while we speak because he loves art. It’ll get him talking more and I can get information from what he draws. Setting out some coloring pages and blank paper, I reach for my bucket of crayons and colored pencils and place it on the center of the table.
After this preparation and glancing at last session’s note, I feel a sense of calmness. At
least now I can concentrate on my work. Maybe I needed a tiny cry at work. Or Annabelle’s words. She is a therapist after all.
Chapter 23
The changing season is yet again upon New York City, which is taunting me with a reminder of the last few months’ research being all for nothing. The last time the trees showed their evolution, it was spring. I had no idea what the following months would include, but as time progressed my mood followed suit with the flourishing trees and flowers. From the normal Rachel doldrums, the crescendo to excitement, hope, and most of all, some deeper meaning, to the present free fall. Now, the trees are going dormant in the nearing winter, matching my history search. I feel a pain in my heart for the lack of progress. With each leaf falling to the cold, hard ground, more of my expectations also plummet. Once again.
This weekend, however, I try my fortune at what may be a last possibility for answers. I read about the National Archives near Battery Park being another option for a database of ancestry records. Brian offers to go with me but could only supply a few hours at an inconvenient time with my schedule, due to his work schedule. It is better I go alone anyway. I don’t want him to experience the probable failure that meets me there and my mood not being able to survive it in a socially appropriate manner. Crying and cursing under my breath wouldn’t help our relationship status.
Walking to the Archives from the subway stop nearby, I get a chill that is like no other I’ve had in my entire life. It shakes me to the bone and wakes up all of my senses. My nerves are at full alert, shooting unknown signals to my toes. I look around, as if I’ll find a reason.
Having been a New Yorker now for years, without the luxury of suburbia’s car transportation door to door, I am not that affected by its cold weather, and especially not fall temperatures, so what’s happening? I walk faster to the building. Get me to the warmth.
The chill lingers a few more minutes, despite my speed walking. When I finally reach the door of the Archives building, the heat from inside washes over my entire body. The drastic change makes me shiver again, right in this spectacular foyer. I hope I am not getting sick. I probably am, with my luck.