Mountain River Girl

Chapter 5: Pictures Of The Past

“You’re awake,” Mom smiled when she entered the living room and saw me. “How’s your ankle?”

I tried to be inconspicuous about being out of breath and hoped that my mom wouldn’t pick up on it. “Fine. Well, it still hurts of course but it’s not as bad as yesterday.” Big fat lie. My ankle throbbed in pain because when rushing my way over to the couch, I had nearly toppled over and accidentally, I used my bad ankle to keep myself from falling. However, I couldn’t tell my mom that because then I’d have to explain why I was in a hurry to get to the couch.

“That’s good,” Mom smiled again, but this time I noticed how her smile didn’t reach her eyes. For some reason, she tried to hide something. Was she worried about my ankle? Or, did she suspect I was spying around the house?

“Mom,” I tried to keep her from having time to ask me about what I had been up to while they were gone. “How am I going to get to and from school tomorrow?”

For a few seconds, she disappeared into the hallway to hang her coat away. “We’ll wait and see how your ankle is. I don’t think you should burden your ankle too much. Maybe you could just have a day at home.”

I agreed with Mom and then she went into the kitchen. Dad still didn’t seem to be in a very talkative mood so I gave him a wry smile when he plopped down on the other couch. Without asking if I minded, he reached for the remote and put the tv on the sports channel. The sight of men running after a ball wasn’t exactly appealing so I stood up and hobbled to the kitchen entrance. I saw part of Mom’s back sticking out from behind an open cabinet door.

“When will dinner be ready?”

The sound of cooking pots clinking against each other paused and Mom looked up at me over her shoulder. “Not for another hour at the minimum. Why?”

“Is it okay if I head upstairs for a bit? Dad’s watching football.”

Mom smiled in understanding. She wasn’t too much of a sports fan either and would rather iron shirts all evening than sit next to Dad having to watch a game with him, and she really disliked ironing.

“Just make sure to take it easy on that ankle.”

“I will,” I promised and turned around. By the time I fell down on my bed, I found myself gasping for breath once again. Maybe jumping all the way upstairs hadn’t been too bright of an idea. Staring up at the ceiling, I let my mind wander off on its own. I tried to think of everything my parents had told me about my adoption. It became abundantly clear that over the years, they really hadn’t shared much information regarding where I came from. To make sure I had everything straight, I decided to make a list of the things I remembered concerning myself. I reached for the small notepad in the drawer of my bedside table and sat upright against the headboard. It took me a few tries to get comfortable but then I got started.

A: I had been with my parents for seventeen years.

B: I had Jackson’s last name, but had no idea whether my parents knew my real name. A few years ago, they had sworn that Seda was my real name when a kid at school had made a snarky remark about it and I had come home, crying. I remembered the stuck-up guy who had pestered me throughout my entire free period in my first year at Mountain River High and then right before the bell sounded, he bluntly asked me if Seda was even my real name.

C: My parents hadn’t lied to me about being adopted. Well, they hadn’t exactly mentioned it until a girl from kindergarten had been dropped off late by her very pregnant mom.The teacher had picked up on it and asked us to bring photographs to school the next day of when we were in our mommy’s belly. When later that day, I asked for such a photograph at home, Mom had told that I was adopted at a very young age.