Invisìveis

-----------------

My name is Michael Conner, this is my story.

I was born in 1984 on May 1st at 10:43 in a small hospital in Maine; I was 5 pounds 7 ounces. I didn't cry at first, the doctors had to slap me to make sure my lungs were working. My father was there, this was the only time that he ever was involved in my life; he told my mother after he knocked her up that he was a responsible man and that he would stick around, and be a father. He gave her a ring, and she believed him, she thought she was in love; she was just out of high school, with high scores and grades, looking to the future and to a real life, with two kids, a loving husband and house with a white picket fence. Of course all of that changed; she doesn't know where he went, he went out into the hall to sign the birth certificate and that was the last she saw of him. That signature was all that I had of his. I used to lie on my bed on my back with the certificate held up to the light, tracing his signature with my finger, watching it trail off at the end. I imagined so many things about my father. That he was an undercover agent for the government, or a billionaire that I and mom got separated from on accident. My mother encouraged my imagination, afraid to tell me the truth. It wasn't until years later that I found out what he had done to my mother. By then harsh reality had shattered all of my dreams, the only thing I had left to hold onto was my mom. She truly was my life.

After she had recovered from my birth she realized what had happened, and unlike so many other women, she didn't imagine that he would come back to her. She abandoned romance, and within the month started working at a local convenience store. She would have gone back to her family, except she never knew who they were, she was an orphan and the state had put her through high school. She got a room at the YMCA and carried me everywhere she went. During that first two years, I lived in that store during the day. At first people would complain, but after a while they got used to me, even kind of began to like me, I guess I was like the mascot for the convenience store.

Whenever it was slow, my mom would either study or play with me. I didn't realize it until much later, but mom went to night classes at the local college until I was almost five. By that time she had a new job, working in a legal office as a secretary. At an early age I learned how to be quiet and hidden. By the time she graduated, she had an associate's degree and had caught the eye of a big city law firm. Almost all of the cases she had worked on had won. We ended up moving to New York, right when I started kindergarten. In six months time I had learned how to tie my shoes, add, subtract, and read. My mom would read with me when she came home at night. After a while we moved again, further into the city. I finished kindergarten in another school.

By the time I was in second grade I was reading far beyond my level and getting into fights; with the help of my mother I was transferred into an accelerated course and kept out of juvenile detention. By the time I started fifth grade at the local high school, I had several violations, and would have been suspended if my academic record hadn't been so good and if I wasn't in high school, when I should be in elementary school. My mom would tutor me every night, and had me enrolled in boxing, karate, gymnastics, swimming, judo, wrestling, and anywhere else she could sick my pent up anger and energy.

By this time my mother was one of the lawyers on some big time law firm, and with that came money, and with that money came a "solution" to my anger problems. She had decided that we needed to visit a psychologist together. I firmly objected to it, and when I realized that I didn't have a choice, began to plan. Within 6 months, I had read all of the required reading for a graduate degree in psychology at NYU and set to work spinning our "doctor" in circles. When my mother found out, I was grounded for two months; the only good thing that came out of the whole ordeal was something that was suggested surprisingly by the psychologist himself.

"Try including him in your work," he said to my mother, while I listened through the door, ignoring the eyes of his receptionist. "He's smart enough to do the job and he needs to feel like he's contributing."

Within the week I was summarizing cases, collecting information, and proof-reading documents for my mother. I stopped getting into fights, and instead turned my pent up rage towards my martial arts training. It took little enough time to earn my black-belt, and began to move from studio to studio, earning black in each and taking what I felt I needed.

We had our fights, but by the time I was turning sixteen I was working as my mother's secretary. I refused to go to college, and threatened to move out. I got angry enough that I wrote up a document for my emancipation, and left it in a stack of papers for her to sign. I didn't think it'd get past her, in fact, I don't think I really wanted it to. It was to my surprise that while I was checking the mail at the firm, that I found my proclamation with a return to sender stamp on it.

I hid it in my room, and forgot about it.

Two weeks later, I was jogging back from the local studio, to our home, I saw two men ringing the doorbell. I said hello and let them in, asking them who they were coming to talk to.

"Son," said the older of the two, "There has been an accident, your mother…." He looked at me expectantly, watching my face.

With a hint of irritation I replied, "What about my mother?"

The younger of the two stepped forward, "She was in a car accident, she…. didn't survive. We need you to identify the body." His arm stretched forward and rested on my shoulder, it wasn't until then that I realized that the color of his shirt was a dark blue, or that he was wearing a badge and a name tag, briefly, in the back of my mind I realized that I had walked right past their police car on my way to the door.

"No." The word leaving my mouth without my knowledge or permission.

"Yes son, we need you to come with us." He stood waiting.

I honestly don't remember getting into the car, or the ride there, all I remember is the door to the morgue as the officer in-front of me pushed it open; then the words tumbling out, "yes, that's her."

January 7th.

Three months.

Three months since the day…..

My things from work were in my room, what had happened?

I walked out of my room and down the stairs, the kitchen was sparkling clean as was the rest of the house. There wasn't dust anywhere, I searched the entire house. I went up to my mom's room, knocked, no answer… she must be at work. I opened the door, the whole room was covered in dust, almost as if no one had been in the room for weeks. Then it all came flooding back.

I remembered the night, and the next morning of the car crash. I remembered how they came to take me away; I remembered angrily shoving my mothers will in their face, followed by my writ of emancipation with her signature on the bottom. I remembered telling them to leave. I was slightly surprised when they did, realizing that this kid knew more than they thought. I remembered the quiet service, as they laid her body in the ground. I remembered cleaning off her desk and my desk at work, the quiet condolences from my old co-workers. I remember every day after that, every day the same. Wake up, jog ten miles. Come home, eat breakfast, dust, scrub and clean the house and garage, practice karate in the backyard, lunch, more practicing, shower, dinner, sleep.

It wasn't until now that I was aware; now that I really had comprehended and grieved.

I didn't know what to do.

I sat down with my head in my hands on my mom's bed.

I don't know how long I sobbed, but when I was finally done it was nighttime. I decided that now it was time to move on. I didn't know where I was going or what I was going to do. I just didn't know. I ended up giving most of my mother's things to goodwill, her diploma's and other nick-knacks I kept, placing them in my safety deposit box at our bank.

I ended up cleaning out and selling the house, it took a remarkable short amount of time too, but I guess housing in New York is hard to come by. I guess that's why it sold well, not that I cared, the realtor I had hired was overjoyed, it was easy enough to see that she would be making bank on this sale.

I moved into an apartment downtown and spent my time trying to find things to do. I went to college, just like my mother wanted, getting into NYU on scholarship; it was kind of pathetic how badly they wanted me enrolled. I ended up taking classes on anything, Childcare, Computer Forensics, Advanced Biology, Fencing, Engineering, Japanese Literature, Several Language Courses, Dance, and Auto Mechanics. I had already earned my associates degree during high school, unlike my late mother, and really didn't have a reason to be taking classes beyond doing something. Nothing satisfied me, and I ended up testing out of most of my classes within the first month.

I also did everything that I though that I would want to do, Skydiving, Hiking, Camping, Bunge Jumping, Sailing, I even learned how to fly a plane and a helicopter. I still remember the look on the flight instructor's face when I asked to test out. The sad thing about this is that nothing really satiated me. This constant learning, it wasn't getting me anywhere.

I didn't really sleep anymore, and whatever time wasn't spent studying, I spent at the local studio. Trying to balance myself with life around me, because I knew that I didn't fit anywhere. My sensei continually told me that I lacked a purpose, and despite the fact that I was the best student to ever take any of his classes, if I did not find purpose, he would no longer teach me.

I set to work at this, as I looked back, ironically, I had found a purpose, which was finding a purpose. The circular logic on that still confuses me to this day.

Oh, this day…

Yes, you must be wonder exactly what it is that I am doing on "this day".

Well currently, I'm standing on the top of a skyscraper in Russia.

And I'm about to jump off.

-----------------

Reviews welcome:

Please feel free to criticize my work, also any punctuation and grammar corrections submitted will be applied.