On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Twenty - "Side Effects"

It had plain lilac walls, with each alternating one covered with raised intricately detailed wallpaper. With black carpeting and a large floor-to-ceiling window on one side of the wall, covered with a layer of voile and silver drapes hanging to the side. There was a large four-poster bed in the middle, covered in grey silk sheets and a series of pink throw pillows in different shades. The entertainment system was just as elaborate as the one in the living room, and there was a side of the room dedicated to relaxation – I assumed – with beanbags and a La-Z-Boy. The dresser was elaborate and intricate, and it’s top was filled with a series of items that seemed far more than what anyone could possibly need.

Then, there was the closet! It was bigger than my room at the apartment in Brooklyn, and was filled with clothes, shoes and so many things that couldn’t possibly be mine. Just before that, on one wall was a built-in bookshelf – a mini version of the living room library, filled with all the classics I’d ever dreamed of reading, but couldn’t afford.

The worktable was adorned with a large iMac and a boxed laptop.

There was no way it could all be mine.

But what really got me was the wall over the relaxation center. It was a collage of pictures – many, many pictures. They looked like all the ones Trey had taken, but I was in all of them. There were no less than a hundred. And then, on the side, there was one framed picture – a large blown up picture of Annie and Harold, with me in between. I think I was about six or seven, and we were all grinning as if there wasn’t a care in the world.

I stood there, my eyes widening.

“This is . . . for me?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. Call it disbelief.

She smiled, “I thought it was about time. And I wanted you to know you’d always have a room here, no matter what you decide to do.”

I couldn’t speak.

“Do you like it?”

I gasped, “I love it. Sarah, this is way too much,” I breathed.

She smiled, “I have a lot of years to make up for, and I know I can’t completely, but I want to try.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I do. I . . . I gave you up, and I know you haven’t had the best life, and that’s what I really wanted for you, so I need to find a way to fix it.”

I shrugged, “It’s okay.”

She stared at me for a second, “No. Not really.”

“Sarah, you gave me to the best possible people that I could ever have imagined as parents. Fate happened, and everything changed. That wasn’t your fault,” I replied, staring at the photo. Again, I realized I hadn’t thought of them in a little while; it made me feel self-absorbed.

She narrowed her eyes, looking confused, “You have to be at least a little resentful of me.”

If I admitted it to myself, deep down I liked knowing where I’d come from. I liked looking out for the things that I might have gotten from her, and to see what I might turn out like in the future. But, I certainly didn’t feel resentful. I know it was probably the more natural reaction to abandonment, but in this case, it didn’t feel very much like abandonment because I got Annie and Harold – how could I be mad about that?

I shook my head, “No. Without you, I’d never have had them,” I said, gesturing at the black and white photo hanging on the wall, “I know you were young, and you’ve already done so much for me, especially when you didn’t have to. How could I resent you?”

“That’s very logical,” she murmured, looking dubious.

I smiled, and gave her a small shrug. I looked around the room again, in wonder, “I really love this, Sarah.”

“Promise me you won’t just hole up in here?” she said, walking towards the bed.

I grinned, “That’ll be so hard,” I replied, walking towards the closet, and turning on the light. I gasped. There was so much stuff; I didn’t even want to imagine how much it all cost.

Sarah joined me in the doorway, and as if she could read my mind, she said, “I know it’s much, but I’m just . . . I’m trying. Maybe a little too hard. But this is all so new to me; I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing exactly.”

I walked in, and pulled out a grey ruche, hanging blouse with a pair of black jeans, and a black thin-strapped dress and a denim jacket, eyeing a pair of black flats sitting on the shoe racks. “Which one?”

I winced as I saw the number of zeros on the clothes, but she was trying, and I needed to as well. That was the only way any of this could work; and if I admitted it to myself, I kind of wanted it to. If I could just have something that had always technically been mine from the get-go, then maybe I could find a way to hold on to it long enough that it actually became something.

“You and Sarah, you could have something great. Hold on to that.” Fitch said.

Hope springs eternal.