Royals

It was a bit fuzzy, to be honest. I wanted to take in every aspect from saying good bye to stepping onto British soil. But now I’m here with less of a plan than I’d hoped and puzzled at how I allowed myself to do this. To be fair, I’m a bit more shocked my parents allowed me to make this move. From a small town in Michigan to big town London, I had exceeded even my wildest dreams. It was now, sitting in this little hotel room after hours of navigating the streets of London that I realized I was in over my head. What was I thinking?

I had always been a ‘get good grades-go to college’ kind of girl. My first two years at University were less than cliché yet exactly how I needed it to be. Partying wasn’t my scene and I hadn’t made any friends who were into it either. Girls who party like to be friends with other girls who party; that assumption made it easier for me to seek out the book worms and over achievers much like myself. I four-pointed my first year with the stress lines to show for it.

Spontaneity was always out of the question so the first twenty four hours being alone with an empty agenda pushed me way past my comfort zone. When I pinpointed England as my destination, I hadn’t realized how massive the country really is. Fifty three million faces and two were maybe my parents whom I knew nothing of. Quite a tragic tale, but I’m working on making it better…more of an adventure rather than a sob story.

Let me back track a bit. I was adopted soon after my birth by two wonderful human beings. My adoptive parents were everything I could have asked for. They told me I was adopted at the age of thirteen. It was a strange concept to grasp at first but I managed to pull through. I always felt at home with my parents as they were all I ever knew. I was three months old when the adoption went through so I hadn’t a speck of memory of my birth parents. However, curiosity got the best of me. I asked a lot of questions and received only one answer: closed adoption. My questions were never intended to seek out their whereabouts. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I would have the courage to meet them even if I had an address. At the wholesome age of thirteen, I was merely curious on why I was given up for adoption and who my parents were.

The move to London was a shot in the dark. The idea stemmed from a curious gift signed by a mysterious donor. This particular gift wasn’t meant for my eyes to see yet somehow ended up in my snoopy hands. A week or two before my eighteenth birthday, I found myself in my parents’ room going through each and every drawer and cabinet in search of my present. Ever since I can remember, I would snoop around a few weeks before my birthday in hopes to get a glimpse of what my parents had planned. I was really bad with surprises. Finding a royal purple envelope stashed amongst piles of photo albums was quite the standout. As I gripped the edges of the fine paper, I saw that it was addressed to me. Without hesitation, I ripped open the envelope which, to my amazement, housed a check for $20,000.

My recent discovery presumably led to an awkward family dinner. My adoptive parents were reluctant to give in; for weeks, they made excuses after excuses. But to hell if they thought I would let this one go. One too many guilt trips finally broke my mother, bless her. Turns out, there were many more ‘gifts’ just like it; 18 to be exact. Each year for my birthday, an anonymous donor sent me a royal purple envelope with my name engraved in crème calligraphy. Each envelope held a check for twenty grand; not your average birthday present.  Year after year, my parents deposited the money in my name in hopes to save it until after I finished my undergraduate. The money would serve as a cushion for when I entered the real world. While I felt betrayed at the time, it truly was a solid plan.

Despite all that, I was not able to let it go. I could have easily accepted that I was essentially set for life as soon as I walked the stage at graduation in four years. But what kind of snoop would I be if I didn’t have the slightest interest in finding out where this money came from? I knew it had to do with my birth parents, yet I didn’t have the heart to bring this up with my adoptive parents. And so, I began the search to trace where this money had come from, in between classes, during coffee breaks…anytime that I could. It became my obsession; I had no motivation, I had not a clue what I would do with the information. I can imagine sending a thank you card to my donor wouldn’t exactly suffice. But I needed to know if my birthday money had any connection to my birth parents or my adoption.