DISCLAIMER: I own ER! Yup. All of the people, they are mine. Carter gives some wicked good backrubs. Luka has to sleep in my closet, 'cause he snores. Abby braids my hair every day before I go to school. And I slap Mark around with a piece of moldy cheese.
Okay, I lied.
I own nothing.
Please don't sue me.
To begin with, my mother never wanted children.
I know she didn't want me to know this, but it wasn't that difficult to figure it out, especially when I "accidentally" discovered all of her old diaries and read it for myself. I understand. I'm offended that I was unwanted. My mother loves me, even if she doesn't always show it.
I live in South Africa with my father. My mother lived here, too, once upon a time. She moved when I was still so young that I have no memories of her living with us.
She lives now in Chicago, a strange and metallic land. I visit her yearly, sleeping in the guest bedroom of her townhouse. When I was little, she would make me turkey sandwiches, writing my name in mustard on the white bread and then cutting the sandwich into stars or hearts. She would take me on her lap, and read to me fairy tales. I used to play games with my South African friends. I'd tell them the stories my mother had told me, and then we'd act them out together. I'd always be the princess, while my friends were destined to be the ogre or wicked witch.
South Africa isn't the Africa that people imagine it is. My father is involved in politics there, and my mother has revealed to me that these politics are often dangerous. South Africa isn't lions and tigers and bears, oh my, not at all. Bears don't even live in Africa, except maybe in the occasional zoo in a big city. No, South Africa is, as my mother tells me, just like England. To me, though, it is the most beautiful place in the world.
I live with my father in a two story house, facing the Atlantic Ocean. I swim in the water, swimming like a fish. I used to believe that if I swam far enough, I'd get to my mother and I could bring her back and we would be a whole family. We speak English and Afrikaans at home.
We have phones, a computer, and even a Ford truck. I made an internet friend in a chat room once, and when I told her I live in South Africa, she asked me if I ate humans. No, I don't. Nor do I know anyone that does. Is it so hard to believe that people in Africa are just as civilized as those of in Europe or the United States?
I go to school, where I learn math and geography and even play the clarinet in the school band.
We're very similar to any other place in the world.
I'm leaving today for Chicago, to stay with my mother.
My father was arrested. I'm not sure exactly what for, but I know it has something to do with his politics.
In that sense, I feel that we are more like New York City; we have mobsters and politics are always played fairly.
Our maid helps me pack. She keeps calling me welgestelde weesmeisie, which means "well-to-do orphan girl". This makes me scared, does she think that already I am an orphan? My mother is healthy and well, in Chicago. My father-can he be dead?-is just in jail. My Uncle Voog will take care of Father, and then I'll be allowed to come back and everything will be okay.
I'm not an orphan!
How can Jibi, the maid, say that I am an orphan? My mother is still alive, even if she's never really been there for me. She's still alive.
And now, I'm going to her.
Jibi won't even allow me to call.
I don't understand, but Jibi hushes me and tells me it's not safe to call.
So I leave, tears streaming down my face as I look at the house that I'm not sure I'll ever see again. Jibi hugs me, whispering to me klein kind, small child, we'll take care of things, don't worry, your father loves you.
And I'm into a long car, speeding along the thin black strip of road, off to the country that I barely know, off to a mother that I also barely know.
I look over my shoulder, to where Jibi stands, growing smaller and smaller against the blue of the ocean and the white of our house.
It seems like I'm the one who's dying. All I've ever known is being destroyed.
* * * * * * *
The plane has landed, and I am left standing in the midst of the gigantic airport. The air-conditioning ruffles my hair, and I look in my purse. There are the directions to my mother's house and to her work, and a stash of money.
I bravely grasp the handle of my suitcase and begin walking through the airport. All around me, there are people chattering, their voices a mix of different languages.
The sunny outdoors welcome me, almost reminding me of home. I raise my hand, and magically, a taxi arrives. I open the door and climb timidly in. I hand him the directions to my mother's house. Before I even have the door closed, we're off, onto another road, zipping along.
I stare out the window, looking at the sites. Every year, I see these same things, but still, they seems strange to me.
Few trees dot the landscape. It's mostly large buildings, rising grey from the ground. The tops of some are so high above that I have to twist my neck to be able to see the roof.
"...from?" I realize the driver is talking to me.
"Excuse me?" I ask him.
He grins in the rearview mirror, and repeats. "I asked if you lived here, or where are you from?"
Flustered, I answered him. "South Africa. I'm from South Africa. Twussen Twee, a town on the coast."
He nodded. "I knew you had to be from somewhere exotic. You just look like it."
I pondered this. Do I look exotic? I didn't think so. My skin was paler than most African's, a result of the brief marriage between my black as night father and white like ivory mother. My eyes were blue, a color not often seen in people with dark skin. My eyes the same color as my mother.
Beautiful mother. She never wanted me.
Here I am! Will she want me now?
Always before, I'd stay for a week, and at the end, we'd both cry as I boarded the airplane, but I could tell that she was relieved that I was leaving. Now, though, I'll be staying for an undetermined time.
Gradually, the scenery became familiar. I recognized the organic grocery my mother frequents, and then the street she lived on, the houses crammed together like teeth in a mouth that badly needs braces.
My mother's house. I suppose, my house now. The lights were off, and looked quite as if no one were home. Still, I marched up to the door, and knocked timidly. After waiting for an eternity, I knew no one was home. I jogged back down the steps to the yellow taxi and climbed back in.
"Take me here." I handed him the address to the hospital.
I had never been to the place where my mother works. I'd never even seen it. Whenever I visited, she'd take the week off work. Suddenly, in front of me, there was a huge building. Cook County General Hospital.
I shakily handed the driver $50, and told him to keep the change. He grinned. "Have a nice day, Miss." He told me, and peeled out of the parking lot.
I felt completely alone. Even just having a taxi driver with me helped me to feel safer.
Now, I was alone, abandoned in a strange city. What if my mother wasn't at work? What would I do? Become a hobo? A street walker? My mother always warned me about those people, but if my mother wasn't here, what could I do?
Panic threatened to take me over. I pushed through a revolving door. A sign directed me to Emergency, where I knew my mother worked. If she was indeed at work.
A hefty man stood behind the counter. I paused, mentally urging myself to go forward. Finally, I mustered enough courage and walked up to him. "I'm looking for Doctor-"
He cut me off. "Wait in chairs."
"Wait-My mother. I need to talk to my mother," I informed him.
"Chairs." He pointed behind me.
I sulkily sat down, pulling my knees under my chin. I looped my black hair around my pinky, twisting it into ringlets. Suddenly, I heard her voice. A silly grin broke across my face, and tears welled in my eyes.
"Mummy." I whispered. I ran past the desk.
"Hey!" The desk clerk yelled at me. I sprinted by him, and there was my mother, her back towards me, speaking to another doctor, this one a balding man.
I didn't pause, I raced up to her and threw my arms around her neck.
"Mummy!" The only word I could get out past my tears.
Slowly, she turned around, embracing me in her own arms.
"Tyd!" She breathed my name. We hugged in silence.
Instantly, she seemed to remember where she was. She broke away from me and turned back to the doctor.
"This is my daughter, Tyd." She seemed almost...ashamed.
"Nice to meet you," The other doctor held out his hand. "I'm Doctor Greene." I shook his hand. "I never knew you had a kid, Kerry." He said to my mother.
So that was it. My mother didn't want a child so bad that she pretended she didn't have one. That was why she always took a week off work whenever I came to visit. It all made perfect sense to me now. My tears of happiness stopped abruptly, and I stood there, stiffly. What other choice did I have but to stay with her? She's all I have left now.
My mother was still talking to Doctor Greene. Making arrangements to leave early, take the week off work.
"Mummy, don't worry about me. You don't have to leave early," I told her.
She didn't reply. Her silence made me furious. She was pretending I wasn't there. I embarrassed her so much that she would rather I were invisible.
My eyes narrowed in anger. "I'll be here longer than a week, Mother." She became Mother when I was mad.
She looked startled. "Longer than a week? Why? What happened?"
"Daddy is in jail." I told her matter-of-factly. She looked amazed, dismayed, startled, scared, and last, enraged.
"How did you get here?"
"Plane."
Still holding my hand, she lead me through the hospital. Doctors and nurses all stared at her. That made me grin. If she was going to pretend to not have a daughter, then she would have to deal with the looks she got when her coworkers saw her with a kid. Serves her right.
We went into a room with a table, refrigerator, couch, and lockers. She pulled her things out of a locker marked "Weaver" and we left the hospital together.
"I'm sorry, Mummy." I startled myself as much as her when I said this.
"Nothing is your fault, Tyd." Maybe I wasn't as mad with her as I thought I was. I smiled cautiously at her, and she smiled back at me. We both climbed into her car, and we were off, back to her house.
