The Identity of Love

 

Elinor was at a point in her life where she had met a lot of her goals professionally, and made peace with the loss of her only child over a decade ago.

She finally got to the point where she could live on her own without feeling anything else missing from her life. Her father's birthday was coming up and she wanted to do something really special for him. He was a great dad and would do anything for her. He was approaching eighty years old and she wanted his birthday gift to be really unique to him. Suddenly it dawned on her. Elinor's plan was to give her father his specific story – the story of his people and their history.

Elinor completed a DNA kit using her own DNA and sent it off. This would be especially thrilling for her father, Max that had always been quite braggadocios about his extensive Irish ancestry.

Elinor was eleven when her grandparents took her on a trip to Ireland. They were able to trace the different cottages and churches her family had occupied over a period of two hundred years. In fact, the last memory Elinor last memory of her grandfather was of him standing over his own grandfather's grave with a smile and a tear. He took off his cap, placed it on his heart and said, “I'll be seeing you at the great pub, Grandad.”

Elinor's plan started smoothly as she arrived at her parents house to celebrate her father's big day. She deliberately didn't looked at the DNA results so she could enjoy each morsel of discovery along with her parents.

When Elinor arrived, her father opened the door and greeted her with a big smile under his bushy white mustache.

“Happy birthday, Dad!” cheered Elinor. “I have a birthday present for not only you but will be a gift for all of us!”

After an explanation, her mother cleared off some space on the living room coffee table so Elinor can lay out some paperwork.

“Elinor, I don't know about all this dear.” said her mother Claire nervously. “I mean there are a lot of scams out there, you know.”

“Oh Mother come on.”

Claire's eyes grow wide.

“Mother! Really! It's fine.” Claire stands frozen.

Her father Max sits next to Elinor and puts on his glasses to get a better look at all the documents, graphs, and maps.

“Well Claire, this thing shows all your German ancestry, all right!” said Max.

Claire remained silent and standing.

A few minutes pass. Elinor is a bit disappointed at her mother's lack of interest.

“Okay, that takes care of Mom.” said Elinor. “This section her must be yours Dad...let's see...”

Elinor and her father leaned in closer to the document.

“Well, that can't be right.” protested Max. “I'm Irish through and through!”

“Yeah. I know Dad.” But why is it showing your roots to be from ...let's see...it says Eastern Europe, specifically Poland. What?” Max turned to Elinor. “Little girl, you better get your money back.”

“I'm so sorry Dad.” expressed Elinor extraordinarily dis heartened. “I don't know what happened.”

Max reads on. “ Ethnicity: Anasazi Jew. That's definitely not me!”

“That's right, Max.” said Claire softly. “ That's not you.”


Elinor and Max look up from the paper work at Claire.

Then they look at each other...then back at Claire.

“Mom! What are you saying?

Silence.

“She's saying that I'm not your father Elinor.” roared Max.

“I'm sorry Max. I should have told you. I didn't want to lose you.”

“Mom! What are you talking about?”

Max in one fluid motion clears all the paperwork off the table with his arm, walks over to the coat rack by the front door. As her grabs his jacket, her starts to say something but just shakes his head and walks out the door.

He stands and takes his jacket off the coat rack near the front door.

“Mom! You have to explain all this to me! Dad is heartbroken!”

After a long silence, Claire sat down took a tissue from its box on the side table.

“I met your..... biological father one August night at a cocktail party, when he was singing in a doo-wop group after his senior year in college. I didn’t know how that moonlit night on a blanket would forever change my life. I didn't know that at the same time, Roger's fiancee Debra was flipping through Bride magazine looking for the perfect dress for their March wedding.”

Claire starts to tremble.

“After I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified and didn't know what to do. I packed up a small suitcase and hitchhiked to Chicago where my old dorm mate had an apartment. She let me stay there until I could figure out what to do. My plan was to give you up for adoption. I got a job as a hatcheck girl at a local hotel downtown. It was there where I met your father...uh...Max.” She hangs her head and sobs.

Elinor felt numb. She couldn't bring herself to give comfort to her mother not because she was angry and . It was all so serial. Just a couple of hours ago, her life was totally different.
“Mom, I understand...no actually not all of it. But what I can see clearly is that you did decided to keep me and that it changed your life's path.”

“Yes. I did. I have hated myself because of the lie but I am proud and blessed to be able to keep you. If it wasn't for Max, this would be a totally different conversation. I knew right away that he was an honest, hard working, nurturing Irish man. He took care of me. We fell in love. He told me that when he first laid eyes on me as I check his hat, he knew I was the woman he was going to marry. Two weeks later we were married.”

“Yes Mother, I knew about that part. I always thought it was very romantic. Did you really love him back?'

“Yes Elinor, my love for Max has always been true. I was too scared to tell him. But before our wedding I went back and forth about telling him that I was pregnant.”

It was very still between them. They both could feel the weight of each passing moment. Elinor could feel her very identity burning at the edges.

“I've always known your wedding anniversary was in April and I was born in November. Dad said I was a premature baby. But that is what you led him to believe, is that right?”

Claire nodded.

“Oh Mom, Dad is devastated.”

“Yes.”

Claire sighs and looks off in the distance at a memory.

It was a Monday in November. I was baking biscuits in the kitchen when I went into labor. Your father grabbed the small suitcase from the closet, hurried me into the car and brought me to the hospital. I remember wailing in pain the whole ride there. Max tried to take my mind off the pain. He said we should name you Slade if you were a boy or Elinor after his mother if you were a girl. Six hours later, I was looking into your blue-green eyes.”

Elinor took a deep breath, “Now what can you tell me about my father...my biological father?”

Claire stood up and left the room for a moment and came back a moment later with an old record album.

“Here.”

She handed Elinor the album with a picture of four young men with pompadour hair styles and wearing over sized tweed suits.

“He's the one on the left.”

Elinor looked closer at the cover. Even in the black and white photo, she could see how light his eye were.

“Did he know?”

“No. Not then.”

“Not then? You mean he found out?”

“Yes. Leading up to your high school graduation, I had a strong urge to tell Roger. But it was fear. It took over. Fear of hurting you and your father...Max max. There was also the fear of disrupting Roger's family. But it ate me alive. I selfishly wanted to share the burden. So one day, I just tracked Roger down and told him.”

“What did he say? I mean, how did he take it?”

Claire looked off in the distance and sighed with a slight shutter of sadness.

“He cried. We both cried. For a long time we cried. He didn't know what else to say. He apologized. He felt badly that I had to go through that without him. I told him that you had a wonderful father and that you are growing up happy and healthy.”

“Is he still alive?”

“I think so. The last I heard, he moved back to Indiana after his parents died.”

Claire took a sip of her coffee and then placed the coffee cup down on its saucer. She looked at her daughter and took a deep breath.

“He wanted to meet you but I wouldn't let him.”

“What?”

“Yes. This was selfish on my part. It hurt him. But Max would have been crushed. He is crushed.”

“So you just told him to stay out of my life? Mom! Why didn't you tell me at the time?”

“First of all, I thought you were too young emotionally to handle such a big identity issue but to be honest Elinor, I didn't want you to hate me.”

Claire looked down at he lap.

“Do you hate me Elinor?”

Elinor, annoyed and confused stood up and picked up her purse.

“I have to go find Dad.”

As an afterthought she picked up the record album and headed toward the door.

Claire stood up, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“He came to your graduation. I spotted him way in the back.”

Elinor froze, setting her eyes on her hand on the front door knob. She opened the door and left.

Elinor found her biological father after Googling the name “Roger Blum”, “doo-wop”, and “Indiana”. A name hidden for decades revealed in ten minutes It took only about ten minutes. It seemed like it should have been more difficult somehow. After a few rings, there was disembodied voice that was deep and smooth. If he was surprised he didn't show it; instead, a meeting was arranged.

Elinor agreed to drive down to see him where he lived in Indiana. The drive was just under two hours. South Bend was not only his home town but Claire's as well. She wondered when all of this would sink in.

------------------------------------------

The meeting took place at a deli in downtown South Bend. Elinor walked in and instantly knew the man at the back table was Roger. He looked older than she had imagined. The only image she had of him was on the album cover from his doo-wop days in the late 1950's. He was very tall even without the pompadour. His jacket was very old but well tailored and his shoes were spotless. Under a cloud of white hair Elinor saw her own blue-green eyes. This is my father, she thought.

All the questions Elinor had prepared evaporated. Words failed her. Here was a man, charming and witty- and all too human. They both ordered some soup. For the first few minutes, they talked about mundane things: the weather, the music business, how he was learning to remodel his house - the house he grew up in. My grandparents, Elinor thought.

To anyone observing them, the conversation was relaxed, informal. They might have been a boss and his younger underling at lunch hour. But beneath the surface, Elinor wondered if he had a knot in his stomach, like she had.

After a bit more chit-chat, Roger passed Elinor a sealed envelope. She looked at him to read his face. He looked at her over a spoonful of matzo ball soup.

“Open it.” he said, gesturing his spoon toward the envelope.

Elinor nervously turn it over then open it. Inside, there were about a dozen photos of Elinor at her, of Elinor at her high school graduation, of Elinor holding books and walking with her friends at Chicago State University, of Elinor and then, husband being showered with rice as they leave the church that held her wedding, and alone in a graveyard kneeling at her baby's grave as she softly fingered the name engraved in the stone. All the photos were taken from a great distance. He cared. Elinor thought. Her eyes started to well up.

“I have two more.” Roger pulled an old dog-eared photo out from his shirt pocket and laid it in front of before Elinor on the table.

“Is this you...and my mother?

He smiled.

The pictures depicted the happy couple walking along a street somewhere in Italy and another riding in a gondola in what was obviously Venice. He is holding Claire tenderly on his lap. Time stood still in that photo.

But it led to a life plot twist for everyone...all of it leading to Elinor's existence.

Elinor felt her whole body tingle.

“Can I keep this?” she asked.

“I've kept it for fifty years. I think you can keep it now.”

Roger talked to Elinor about his family line. He had no other children. He married twenty years ago but she had died recently. His parents were both Jewish. His father was born in Poland and had come to America before the atrocities of the holocaust. Roger's mother was not as lucky. Although she, being the youngest, was sent to Indiana to live with a distant cousin but her two siblings didn't make it out and were killed in Auschwitz.

“I'm so sorry, Roger.”

He smiled. “I haven't lost you...have I?”

She took his hand.

“No. But let's take this slowly. All of this has left me shocked, afraid and excited....and angry at my mother.”

“Don't be. She wanted to give you a stable upbringing. I wouldn't been very good at it even if I did know about you. I was on the road with the group and extremely immature.”

A tear fell down Elinor's cheek. “I like you Roger. Let's do this again soon.”

Elinor stood up. And with a struggle, Roger got to his feet. She embraced him and felt him relax in her arms.

“Yes. Let's do that. Shall I walk you to your car?” he asked.

“No...Dad. You finish your soup. I'll call you soon.”

A broad grin lifted his face.

Elinor left the deli with a mild smile. On her way to her car she stopped and went back to the deli window and saw her father hunching over, spooning his soup. Elinor took out her cell phone and took a picture of him through the window, got in her car and drove home.

-------------------

The sun was sinking below the horizon as Max sat staring at the fire making little leaps within the stone fireplace. From the open cabin door, a cool spring breeze ruffled his already-disheveled white hair. His cheeks were slightly flushed. It had been a long day. Max didn’t want to see anyone. He didn’t want to talk. He couldn’t talk. All he could do was sit. Sit and think about it all. But the more he thought, the more he felt the tears well up in his eyes. And he could do nothing to stop them.

“I thought I'd find you here.” Elinor whispered as her eyes welled up. Grimacing slightly, Max pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. A permanent line is etched between his eyes, another testament to his character. Elinor remembered her fathers laugh. He would laugh with all he has in him. Max is not laughing now. The deep lines on his face testify to how hard he worked for his family, to the nights waiting up for Elinor out too late home late with friends, to joy the he had at all the little things.

Then Max turned his head up to her.

“Who are we to each other now?”

Elinor sat down next to him. She took a sip of his flat Sprite.

“Who are we to each other? Well...let's look at the facts. Each day you would walk the six blocks to my school and sit under the school flagpole just in case I forgot anything. You, never wanted me to take anything to be taken for granted. You made sure that I'd take the time to notice the changing of the seasons.”

Elinor laid her hand on her father's.

“Don't you understand, Dad? It was you that would let me stomp in the puddles on rainy days. You were soaking wet, standing there with the rain pouring down off your head. It was your arms that I would jump into filled with excitement. It was you that on car rides would turn on the radio and belt out songs with me. It was you that came with me as I went off to college only to then take the very lonely train ride home. It was you, Dad, that talked me about the wonderful adventures I will have in my life and that I could do or be anything I wanted.

That was us Dad. That's who we are to each other.”

---------------------------

Elinor enjoyed a friendship with Roger until he died about a year later. Eventually, Elinor forgave her mother. But for Max it was harder. He still lives in the cabin but is very happy when Elinor comes for her weekly visit. After all, she was Daddy's little girl.

Fade To Black

 

I used to be Marilyn Monroe. 

I’m sitting in a bedroom with white curtains and pale walls that remind me of coffee with heavy cream. Not quite brown but not quite beige either. I’ve been sitting in this room for twenty years, staring at the same rotten, dried landscape all day, every day. It gets quite boring, but it passes the time. The time always passes, no matter what I do.

On Wednesdays, I get to go for a ride to the park. The big gray bus that picks us up smells like rotten potatoes, and the driver sometimes forgets that we’re old. The way he flies over those bumps and potholes is enough to make anyone dizzy. Sometimes we get to feed the birds. We watch the waves rise and fall, and they look so beautiful. The waves can swallow you whole and drag you to the depths, if you’re not careful. Yet the deep blue of the water calms me.

One day at the park, a group of school children were visiting, and we crossed paths. There was a little boy in the group with mousy brown hair and big blue eyes. He smiled at me as he walked by, and I smiled back. The smile that I saw suddenly became familiar. It was not so familiar that I knew who he was exactly, but I had seen his features in another form. Perhaps in my younger days I may have known his family.

Making eye contact with the boy, I smiled again and motioned for him to come to me. Unsure of me, he glanced back over his shoulder to see if anyone was behind him to tell him if he should come to me or not. When he saw that no one was watching out for him, he paused briefly, I assume he was thinking about what he should do, as he started toward me. The determined look on the boy’s face as he approached me spoke to the pride he had in his decision. His grin alone was enough to make me chuckle out loud, which was enough to cause one of the groups’ caretakers to call out, “Daniel! Time to go.” Daniel turned toward the voice and then looked at me. Frowning, he shrugged his shoulders, ran back to the group, and headed out of the park. I was sad, but I understood that he needed to go.

Once the boy left, I began to think…I was trying hard to remember how I used to be. Lights and music were a large part of the memories I had, but beyond that, nothing is clear. I remember a man, a tall man, with serious eyes and a warm smile. The first time I saw him, I was so nervous. I knew he was smarter than me, and more sophisticated than I could ever be. I’m not sure if I love him or not but I know that he protected me and cared for me.

******************************************************
Now I’m standing in front of a crowd, and my heart is racing. Taking a deep breath, I’m thinking about why I let him talk me into this. All these people staring at me like I’m a freak, or worse, almost reduces me to tears. I turn to walk off the stage, and I see him in the audience smiling at me, but with piercing blue eyes. I know what will happen if I leave right now, so I walk up to the microphone and speak. I hear the words, but my shame stays buried within me.

I close my eyes and try to remember. Images of my childhood come very easily and stay with me, but new experiences seem to be fleeting. Where am I, and who keeps looking at me? The only thing that stays emblazoned in my mind is coming from the tall man. It makes me uncomfortable. I’m sure it’s been years since he last looked at me. That makes me feel like a misbehaving child.

But I’m not a child. I’m a crippled old lady with a brain like a scarecrow.
I called for the attendant because I was feeling uneasy. Of course, he’s talking to some young girl with brown eyes and a tight skirt. Young ladies don’t have any class these days. I don’t want to yell too loudly. I really don’t want to cause a scene.

Now I see the man who was staring at me stand up. He’s walking toward me. I may be old, but I can reach for the wheels on my chair and push myself in the opposite direction. Oh no…I must’ve hit something. My chair is starting to tip over.

Now I’m lying on the ground, unable to move. I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m afraid that if I open them, I know that he would be staring back at me. So I’ll just lie here and try not to cry, even though I’m in pain.

I feel someone touching my arm. Please don’t let it be him! I open my eyes, and I see a much younger man. That’s a relief! But I’m still scared. I don’t know this person. I hate being touched by people I don’t know. It makes me feel dirty. But he’s trying to help me get up. That’s nice.

As I get to my feet, someone brings me my chair and sits me down gently. People are asking if I’m all right. The young man says that I’m fine, and that I just need to rest. I expect that someone from the home will push me to the van. That isn’t happening though. The young man takes my chair as the staff walks away toward the other residents. I’m starting to panic.

A van pulls up and the side door opens. I’m being pushed up a ramp quickly, and the door closes behind me. Someone swings my chair around, locking it into place in the van. Now I’m crying. The driver is staring back at me. I’m terrified. I see a familiar face smiling at me. This man, who I can’t quite remember, is driving too fast. My head feels heavy, and my mind is scrambled. I feel a pain and then I see nothing but darkness.

I swallow and take a deep breath. I look out into the crowd, and I see him sitting there. No one else matters but him. I smile and start to sing, “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, Mr. President…”

Fade to black.