Who am I?

Chapter 2.

I had never been a big fan of the doctors, probably because the entire time my parents would just sit there staring at their phones, not really listening to anything that my doctor would tell them, and if they did happen to listen, they would blame everything that was wrong on me and what I didn't do.

This time was no different, it was just me and father, who was sitting next to me on the squeaky plastic chair, reading emails about the case that he was currently working on. When my doctor brought up the fact that they will need to draw my blood to keep on file all he did was sigh at the fact that it would take longer than he wanted. It was around then that I told him that he could wait out in the waiting room and I would be out when I was done. He agreed and I watched as the doctor got ready to draw my blood.

"You'll just feel a little pinch and if you start to feel at all light headed, dizzy, or nausea let me know." She had a nice smile, one that seemed to reassure you that everything would be okay, and that you didn't have to act here. It made me smile back at her, even though she was shoving a giant needle into my arm.

"There," She said as she pulled out the needle and gave me a Band-Aid to stop the bleeding. "Now if you'll wait for another a couple minuets I can tell you what your blood type is." I knew that this would make my father upset, but it intrigued me, I wanted to know, so I nodded and waited.

It took about ten minutes for the test to complete and the entire time I was waiting, I was think about the Burr vs. Hamilton duel. How did they feel? Did Hamilton's life flash before his eyes like everyone says, did Burr feel any guilt for killing his friend? These thoughts kept circling my brain until the doctor walked back in holding a white piece of printer paper.

"Well lucky lady, your blood type is a solid A." This shocked me. Both my parents are O negative, so how can I have A? In order for that to be possible at least one parent would have to have A, but neither did. I distractedly got up, thanking her as I walked out to meet my father.

"Good we can leave now." He said as he walked me to the car. It was a silent drive to school where my 'friends greeted me. They weren't really my friends, they were my parent's friend's kids, so they were just as uptight and fake as my parents. All they ever wanted to talk about were the other girl's outfits and attitudes and how unholy they were. Throw in a little gossip on the football players, and you have their entire conversation. Of course they would never admit that they found the football team hot, as their biggest focus was on their school work and God himself.

Instead of joining in on their interesting talk, I was still stuck on the whole blood type issue. This made me question everything that my parents had ever told me about being their child, and I knew that I would have to investigate when I arrived home tonight.

The bus dropped me off near my house at 3:30, giving me at least an hour before my father returned home from the office. With that time period in mind I dropped my things off in my room and delicately entered my parent's room. I had never really been in here, even when I was younger as they thought that childhood fears of the dark and storms were silly and unpractical, so they left me to deal with them myself.

Their room was just as conservative as them, a simple king bed in the center with off white sheets to match the curtains, and wooden bedside tables on each side. To the left on the bed there was a walk in closet that belonged to my mother, and I knew that if there was anything about my birth, including my birth certificate, then it would be in there. Her closet was overrun with clothes and shoes, but to the right of the door was a bookshelf that held old baby pictures that they showed friends to prove that they were included in my life. I knew to look in their first because they rarely ever look in there for their own enjoyment.

I opened the cardboard box and started sorting through the photo albums and school report cards until I got to the very bottom of the box where there was a blank vanilla envelope that looked promising. Upon opening it I realized that it was very promising and exactly what I was looking for. The first thing in my hand was a picture of my mom with around four other people, two males and one female. They all looked to be friends, laughing and hugging on the beach. The thing that shocked me most about this picture was that one of the guys seemed to be Hispanic, something my mom looks down her nose at now. I looked at the next picture, and found it to be one of her and the man, this time outside what seemed to be the local community college that my mom first went to. The last picture in my hand was a close up on his face. The more I looked at him, the more I realized that we shared the same features, the beak like nose, almond eyes and black hair. Flipping the photo over, I realized that my mom had written down his name in pen along with the date. I kept that in mind as I looked behind the picture to see the one thing that I had been looking for the entire time. My birth certificate. Everything was filled out to perfection, my weight, eye color, race, and to finish everything out it was signed by bother parents.

I sighed, still not feeling satisfied as I looked back at the picture of the man. I looked up at the clock and realized that it was almost five, which was when my father would get home, so I hurried to put everything back the way it was. I out the box back and was about to shut the closet door when, as a spur of the moment grab, I took the picture of the man out and stuck it in my pocket before running out of the room, and into mine to open up my textbook and start reading. As I tried to retain the information the only thing on my mind was what the very back of the picture said,

Lin Manuel-Miranda, June 2000.

Tonight's dinner went a lot better than last nights as I was quiet the entire time except when I was spoken to. I was back up in my room, supposed to be finishing my work as my father was greatly disappointed in the fact that it was not complete for diner discussion, but instead I decided to google this Lin guy. The results that I got were endless. I clicked on the first result and was taken to a page all about a new Broadway show called Hamilton. Wondering why this came up when I searched for a man I scrolled down the page until a came to the name of the writer and lead, and there was the name again, Lin Manuel- Miranda. Clicking the link on the name, it took me to a short biography of the picture man, telling me that he was 36 years old, happily married with a two year old son. I started to look deeper into his history and found out that he went to the same collage my mom first went to.

I sat back in my chair, putting my hands behind my head as I thought about this information. I decided to bring this up with my mother and father the next day during breakfast, in hopes of getting better answers.