Young Writers Society

Sorry I've been gone so long :P new name and a lot of editting. Also, sorry if somelines are indented and some aren't, I have to fix that later :P

I had seen this symbol before, but I couldn’t remember what it meant. I remembered it was Greek and I had learned about it in school, but I didn’t know anything else. It was so small it was hard to study it closely, so I held the necklace to the light once more, examining it carefully. Both the nickname and the symbol had vanished.

“What are you doing?”

Startled, I looked around and realized that we were already home and Mira had my chair ready for me.

“Just admiring it,” I said quickly.

She nodded and helped me back in my chair. “It’s beautiful.”

“Do you know who gave it to her?”

“No. She was very secretive about it. I always just assumed that she got it from...” she paused for a second. “...a friend of hers.”

“My father.” I knew almost nothing about him, but maybe he bought her the necklace.

She shook her head. “No. She didn’t actually know him personally.”

“Wait a minute, she didn’t know him? Was he some kind of one night stand?” Nobody had told me his name, let alone this.

“No, of course not. What I meant is that he was a donor,” she explained. She pushed me into my bedroom. “I have a lot of stuff to explain to you.”

Shutting the door gently, she sat on the bed, twiddling her thumbs for a second before I stopped her.

“Please. Just tell me.”

“You’re right. You deserve to know the truth,” she said, her hands folding in her lap. “The truth is, your mother only met your dad once. It was an introductory meeting between them before the insemination.”

“Insemination?” My dad was still out there somewhere and I hadn’t met him yet? Why did they keep it from me?

She nodded, not making eye contact. “She wanted a child desperately.”

“She wanted to raise a child alone? Why?”

“She wasn’t alone. She had had a life partner for three years.”

“A life wh-what?” My body felt numb at the new information.

“A life partner. Her live in girlfriend,” she said, her words coming rushing out and her tone getting angrier. “Your grandparents made me promise not to tell you about her, saying that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but dammit! Your mother had a beautiful girlfriend, and she was happy!”

She was fuming now, her hands balled into hard little fists.

“Why didn’t they want me to know she was a lesbian?” I felt myself getting angry as well.

“They’re afraid you’d be one too if you knew,” she looked up and her eyes flashed with fury. “I love your grandparents, but they make me sick with their talk about how much they hate gays. They kicked her out at eighteen when she finally had the guts to tell them she was a lesbian.”

“That’s... cruel,” I said, for lack of a better word.

She shook her head angrily. “You should have seen the looks on their faces when they finally met Lucy. Your mom and Lucy were together for two years before they got married in Canada. Your grandparents didn’t talk to her for over two weeks.”

“Wow.” I had no idea how to respond. It was all surreal, nothing was sinking in. “Wait, if my mom had a life partner, why didn’t I live with Lucy?”

The expressions on her face slowly softened. “Your grandparents fought long and hard for custody of you. Lucy was heartbroken after your mom died, and it made her too depressed to care for a baby. After a while, she gave you up to your grandparents on her own. I think that’s the only time I saw them actually hug her and accept her for who she was to your mom."

“I’ve never even heard of her or anything though,” I said, my head reeling a bit with the new information.

“Of course not. They couldn’t stand her, simply because of what she was.”

She leaned over towards me, pulling out a picture from her wallet. A young blonde woman had her arms wrapped around my mom’s waist and they were smiling widely.

“That’s Lucy,” she said solemnly.

I studied her for a moment, taking in her thin frame, pretty smile, and dark brown eyes. “Wait a minute, if my mom had an insemination, then you must know the name of my dad,” I realized.

She shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry sweetie. She never told me his name. I don’t think she even had contact with him after the first meeting.”

I sighed. “Well, what happened to Lucy?”

“After your mother died, she moved back to Seattle to be closer to her parents. I heard she still writes and that she’s been pretty successful, but I haven’t talked to her in about five years.”

“Oh.”

She put a finger under my chin so I looked her in the eye. “I’m sorry that this is a lot to take in. I just wanted you to know the truth about your parents. Don’t hate your grandparents for what happened. They may have been wrong, but they were trying to do what they thought was best. Now come on, I think Memaw needs our help,” she smiled softly.

Sure enough, I could hear Memaw calling us from the other room. I nodded reaching out and squeezing Mira’s hand. “Thank you. At least I know something now.”

“C’mon,” she said, holding the door open for me. “I think she needs our help making your birthday cake.”

* * *

Seven hours later, I lay in bed, happy with a very full stomach, waiting for the clock to strike nine, when I could finally say that I was eighteen. The little gold bracelet Mira bought me glittered softly as I focused on using my new pastels (part of the art supplies Gramps and Memaw gave me) on a drawing. It was an old self-portrait I did last year that had decided to add some color to.

Okay, top lip, top lip, bottom lip, bottom lip, I coached myself as I carefully shaded them in. Shading on the cheekbones, right one, left one…

At first, I didn’t want to be around my grandparents after the lies they told me and the secrets they kept, but as we all got to talking and celebrating, my anger slowly dissipated. I didn’t forgive them, but I decided to forget about it for now. Focusing on the drawing was making me feel better anyways.

Light brown for the eyes. Now add in the green…

I glanced at the clock again, feeling anxious. 8:56. Four minutes left. I turned off the lamp next to my bed and pulled out a small reading light, pausing to study the picture. A great birthday. Well, almost. The morning wasn’t so great, but the evening was better. At least no one brought up my mom in the middle of dinner like last year.

Eyes are too dark, I shook my head. Erase, erase, erase. Shade with a lighter green.

Another quick glance at the clock told me it was 8:57. I was already feeling tired, but I didn’t want to miss the clock turn and make me officially eighteen. It’s almost time... a small voice in my head murmured. It startled me but I shrugged, assuming it was just my imagination.

Dark brown, black, grey, and blue for hair. That’s it; very soft strokes. Brown, brown, now black, now highlight with the grey…

I yawned softly, stretching a bit before tucking myself in better. I held my hand out in front of me in the darkness. I could just faintly see the little white burns on the palm, where it had yet to heal. I traced them with my finger, noticing that they were still sensitive. I studied them in the moonlight, trying to make sense of the little Greek symbol smack in the middle of my hand.

Long stroke, long stroke. Highlight there and there. Long stroke, long stroke, short stroke…

I kept finding myself staring at the symbol, getting distracted by it as I worked.

“It’s got to mean something,” I muttered, setting down my easel and pastels carefully. I grabbed the laptop on top of my dresser to search for it. I glanced at the clock again. 8:59. Almost eighteen.

I typed in “Greek symbols” and feverishly searched the first page that popped up, my fingers still tracing the symbol. It felt warm, growing hotter and hotter at my touch. It was beginning to burn as I realized the feeling was spreading from my palm through the rest of my hand. Tears began to roll down my cheeks, blurring my vision as the fire began to quickly spread up the rest of my arm.

In the light of the laptop, I could see my skin was bright red, almost glowing as it blistered and burned, as if from the inside out. I let my laptop fall to the ground with a loud clatter as I opened my mouth to scream but found I had no voice. The fire was spreading to my chest and stomach now, rapidly making its way to my other arm.

Don’t struggle, a voice in my head warned. I continued to silently scream, tears still pouring down my face as I felt the fire make its way down to my legs. I could actually feel them burning along with the rest of my body, the first sensation I had ever had in my legs. Please, I prayed silently. Make it stop!