Stairway to Heaven Chapter Two: First Meeting, a dollanganger saga fanfic

"STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN" by Alessandra Azzaroni

STORY LAST UPDATED ON 06/12/2002

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Written in Australia. This story has been adapted from an original novel of mine, under the same title. Please send me an email if you would like to know when this story is updated.

CHAPTER TWO: FIRST MEETING

Awhile later, Leanne knocked on my door and asked to come in. I mumbled an almost unconscious "yeah", barely moving my lips; my eyes and mind still fixed on the framed note across from me.
She pushed open the door and stuck her grey-haired head through the doorway, checking on me. Seeing my state, she muttered an "oh dear", and came over to move my legs aside a bit so that she could sit down on the bed, which I was lying on. "So," she began, almost seeming uncertain, "do you want to talk about it?"
I lifted an eyebrow, my gaze still fixed. "And what about if I said 'no'?"
"Then I'd announce that I want to talk, and just talk, regardless of whether you'd want me to or not."
I lowered the eyebrow, and sighed. "So this is one of those talking matters, then."
"That's right. You can't always get your own way."
"Yeah, 'cause I'm not an only child." I almost said it with a sneer. A bit bratty, I know. But I'd spent my entire life being the only child in the family I lived with, so that was what I was used to. I'd been conditioned to the thought that I was alone, in that respect, and so I'd expected no different. And then out of the blue I was told that my parents wanted to see me and that I had a sibling?
"She wrote that?" Leanne asked.
"She wrote something about a meeting with 'all of us'," I replied. "You, me, Greg, her, my father and someone else. I'm guessing that's a sibling. Am I right?"
She didn't answer at first. She picked up the letter off the floor, and read it. Once she was done with that, she nodded. It was as though she was checking her story with her daughter's before confirming or denying. "Yes, you have a sibling," she answered.
I could tell by the way she pursed her lips that there was more to the story than just that, but I felt far too self-absorbed to care.
"I talked to your mother this afternoon. She wants to hear from you. What are you going to do?"
I didn't want to make any decisions. And I hated being put on the spot like that. "I don't know," I said blankly, closing my eyes to block everything out.
"Well, I need a decision, Gab. I need you to tell me if you're going to communicate with her or not."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Gab, stop being impossible," she said firmly. She gripped one of my wrists. "You have a problem, Gab, and that problem is that you're too non-confrontational. Stop doing this. Blocking things out won't make them go away-"
"Just stop giving me my marching orders!" I exclaimed, sitting upright and climbing off my bed, as if trying to rid myself of Leanne.
" 'Marching orders'? Don't be ridiculous-"
"I just need time, alright?" I cried, throwing up my hands. "Just give me some thinking time-"
"No, Gab, you'll just put it off."
"No, I just want some time!" I sank to the carpet, curled up and began to cry. I'd never been able to cope well with pressure. I needed my crying time, I needed my running-around-like-a-headless-chicken time and then I needed my thinking time. Sometimes the first two stages were swapped around, but I always needed both of them before I got to the thinking time. Then would come the decision time.
Leanne finally got my point, and left the room silently, closing my door behind her. She'd never been good with my tears when I was a child. It was understandable. I became more independent this way.
It wasn't as though she didn't care and didn't love me, because she did care and love me. Deep down, I knew that she was right, that I would have to learn to think on my feet. But I still felt like a child, that I wasn't old enough to make such an important decision, and an important decision I had to make.
But first, I needed my crying time, so I let the tears flow freely. I thought I was entitled to a good old cry. Maybe I wasn't, but I was selfish, wrapped up in my own world, thinking of me first and foremost. In fact, I didn't just think of me first and foremost, but I only thought of myself. Call me self-absorbed and petty, but I was used to putdowns. And I expected I'd get a lot more of them before I'd die.

I didn't come out of my room that evening. I napped and slept, and at one stage there was a tray of cheese and biscuits and a salad sandwich brought with a note from my grandfather.

Try to eat something, dear.
-Greg

Greg was a natural-born kind-hearted person. I knew that I could always talk to him about anything - he was good with people as well as animals. He was probably the closest thing I had to a "confidant", if I even had one. I usually liked to keep things to myself.
The decision regarding communicating with my mother and her family was one I deliberated making. Leanne knew better that to hassle me about it. But I could tell by the way she was saying just about nothing to me that she badly wanted an answer. And I truly, seriously did want to give her one. But I needed help. And help came to me in the form of Greg Fairway.
It was Melbourne Cup Day in November. Carltrain was holding a special television-viewing gathering in the local park, and Leanne went along to sell her goods.
I didn't want to go. Ever since that Friday, I had been in some kind of depression. It was sad, really, but sad I was. What I was sad about, I wasn't sure, but I felt laden with a heavy anvil, blocking me from going anywhere, from turning in any direction that would lead to the separate paths of my choice. If I chose not to contact my mother, would I finish up at a dead-end? If I chose to contact my mother, would I end up in a threatening, frightening forest? And if I took too long to make a decision, would I just continue in circles for the rest of my life?
While the Irish trainers and owners of the winning horse from the big race made their speeches, I turned to Greg on the couch, and said, "I need help."
He leaned over to pick up the remote control, and clicked the "off" button. He settled back down on the couch beside me, and put an arm around me. I leaned my head on my shoulder. "Talk away," he invited.
And so I went on. I talked of what my options were. He asked me, "But how would you feel if you chose one way and regretted it later?"
I barely needed to think to answer that one. "I'd feel terrible. I'd be depressed, and I'd be kicking myself the whole time for doing the wrong thing."
He paused for a moment. "Gabrielle, when you write your pieces and talk to people, do you worry about doing the wrong thing?"
His question surprised me, but I think I knew what this was leading to. "No," I replied. "But that's because I feel detached from everything. Like the things I write about relate to everyone in the public."
"And what about now?" I couldn't find the words to say, so Greg summed things for me. "It's because this is more of a personal matter. And because it's personal, it feels that bit more real, doesn't it? And because it's real and happening to you, you're just not handling it very well."
It was like he could see into my mind, sorting through to get to the nitty-gritty of things. "I can't make this decision on my own. You understand that, don't you?" I asked.
"I do."
"Then I need your opinion." I looked up at him. "Tell me what you think about my mother, and relate it to me."
He thought for a while. "Well, now that she's back in the country, I'll want to spend time with her. After all, she is still my daughter, and I love her, although I only hear from her once a year."
"That's more than I hear from her," I grumbled.
"Now, now. She's just frightened of you; that's all. She's been worrying for years what it could be like if you found out that she's still alive. She's been worrying if you hate her for leaving you like that. She's risked a lot with the mere thought of contacting you, and now that she has…"
He trailed off there, but I needed to know more. "So what would you like to see happen?"
He shrugged. "I think I'd like for you to meet. But that could be dangerous. After all, I'd hate it - honestly speaking - if you were to meet with her, and after the meeting decide that you want no further contact with her. So I wouldn't want you two to meet if you're just going to play with her like that. If you're going to meet, you should have more than one meeting."
I picked up on something. "You said that you'd like for us to meet," I remembered. "So it seems to me like you want us to have a proper mother-daughter relationship. That's right, isn't it?"
Greg smiled. "Guilty as charged. But that's just my opinion. I want you to be able to make your own. And I'm sorry, but I'd like to know your answer before Thursday, whether you tell me tonight or tomorrow. Your grandmother's desperate for an answer-"
"I figured that," I mumbled.
"Well, you've heard my part. But now you need to think about you. Can I have your word that you will give me an answer before Thursday?"
I sighed. "Yes," I mumbled.
"What's that?"
"Yes, you have my word that I will give you an answer before Thursday," I said louder.
"Good girl."
We stayed like that for a long time on the couch, with his arm around me, my head on his shoulder and my frazzled thoughts as I tried to decide my future. I hated the future, or at least the idea of it.
But decision-making was the thing I hated the most.

At dinner on Wednesday night, I made my announcement. "I've decided that I will meet my mother," I told my grandparents.
"Oh, are you going to write her a letter?" Leanne asked.
"No," I replied. "And I'm not going to call her, either. I will meet her and… whoever else she has with her, but I'd like for you to organise everything for the six of us to meet." I was still curious about the mystery sixth person, but I wasn't motivated enough to ask. That was how I lived my life - if I wasn't motivated, I just didn't put in much of an effort, if any at all.
"That's fine, we'll get things sorted out," Greg told me with a smile. I could tell he was pleased with my decision. After all, he'd said to me that he wanted my mother and I to meet. But I won't deny that my decision was influenced by what he'd said. I would've still been in a nutshell without his opinion. However, I still had to convince myself that I was doing the right thing; that I wouldn't run away from the perspective meeting and to the red light district in St Kilda, anything to get away.
"I'll call her and organise a dinner," Leanne spoke up. "Do you want to eat here or out?"
"Here," I answered immediately. After all, if it all got too much, I could just go to my room, or I could sneak off away from the house, but I'd still be in familiar territory.
And so it was settled. I'd made my decision… now I just had to live with it.

I quivered two Saturday nights later. Here it was - the evening of our meeting. My stomach was trampolining inside my body, and my heart was doing sprints in my chest. I had a massive lump in my throat - a sure sign that crying couldn't be too far away - that I just couldn't get rid of. And I couldn't breathe properly. No matter how many, or how large, breaths I took, there was never enough oxygen to keep me stable. I feared I was on the verge of hyperventilation.
It was getting close to seven-thirty, the time that my mother and her entourage were due. I had to calm down. So I went into the bathroom a few doors down from my bedroom. I splashed my face with cold water from the tap, and my hands were like jumping beans as I tried to dry my face with a towel. I buried my face in the towel, willing myself to get a grip.
I forced myself to straighten up, and fix myself up. And to take a good hard look in the mirror and face reality that for the first time in my life, I was scared of rejection. I'd never been rejected before. I was nearly sixteen and a half years old, had no - and had never had one - boyfriend, but I was fine. Independence was what kept me going in life. Relying on Greg to make the decision for me hadn't exactly been independent. In fact, it was just about completely dependent. But I told myself that from now on, no longer would I need dependence. I'd handle everything myself. If I could. But I made no promises. I wouldn't bring myself down, if I could help it.
I put the handtowel back on the rack, and stood up straight in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Despite my nerves, I actually looked quite adult. I had decided to be dressy, to make a good impression. In her letter, my mother had mentioned that my father was the son of a media honcho, and because they were in Belden, I figured they'd be the rich, society types.
My dress was a spaghetti-strapped, black satin, knee-length creation, with a black lace layer over the top that had full-length, tight sleeves that ended at my knuckles. My shoes were black, heeled and open-toed. I'd brushed my thick, black, slightly layered hair, where it lay softly on top of my shoulders. I didn't wear make-up, not that I ever did. I didn't wear nail polish, either, never did. I had a small, thin, gold necklace with a gold cross on it, and a gold watch. I had gold cross earrings, too. Not that I was particularly religious, but I'd gone to a Catholic primary school, and I figured I'd need the luck of the gods with me. To try to calm down just that bit more, I opened my drawer in the bathroom and removed a thin, long frosted-glass tube of Moonflower fragrance I'd got from The Body Shop. I sprayed some on choice areas, and inhaled deeply.
Even with the bathroom door closed, I could hear our doorbell playing 'Für Elise', a favourite song of mine, sounding ever so much like a real piano. I meditated with the scent of Moonflower, and I put my worries on my mental "worry tree". On that note, I almost felt as though I was floating as I left the bathroom.
Leanne and Greg had both gone to answer the door, so I sat in the lounge room, the proper one - not the one sharing an open space with the kitchen. I sat on a black leather sofa, crossed my ankles and waited for everyone to come in. As I heard them come into the room, I stood up to my full height, and hoped that I had proper posture as I turned for the introductions. I looked only at Leanne and Greg, who were also dressed formally.
I saw Leanne's head turn to face the people, but I kept my eyes on her face. Everyone, this is Gabrielle," she introduced me. "Gab, this is your family."
Slowly, slightly trembling, I turned my head cautiously.
Leanne introduced my mother first. "This is your mother, Melinda Metzelder."
I forced myself to look at her. She was a strikingly tall woman, who was clutching Greg's hand just that bit too tightly. She had my hair colour, but Greg's twinkling blue eyes, though hers were wide with… fear, perhaps? She'd taken off her coat and was wearing a sleeveless, midnight blue silk dress that fell to her ankles, and fancy sandals that laced up the lower part of her legs. She managed a shaky smile, and held out a trembling hand - the one that she wasn't gripping Greg's with - for me to shake. "Hello, Gabrielle," she said almost breathlessly.
"Hello… Melinda," I said uncertainly as I shook her hand.
"That's a good idea," she said, slightly louder this time. "Using first names, I mean."
"It's what I'm used to," I said with a tight smile, and I knew my eyes were stone cold.
Leanne interrupted the awkward silence that followed. "And this is Dieter Metzelder, your father."
I turned to face him next. He was as tall as my mother was in her heeled sandals. His hair was onyx-black, and gelled neatly. His face seemed strong, but had smooth edges. He was clean-shaven, and I knew I'd got my dark brown eye colour from him. His onyx eyelashes were naturally long, and gave him a warm texture. He wore a black vest and waistcoat over a white shirt and black linen trousers, with shiny black shoes that I swore were Italian leather. His hand was confident as he held it out for me to shake, and his small smile seemed genuine. "It is nice to meet you, Gabrielle," he said in a deep voice with a thick German accent.
I tried to smile as best as I could, because my nerves hadn't quite all gone away yet. "It's nice to meet you, too, Dieter."
Leanne spoke again. "Finally, Gab, your identical twin sister, Silke."
What? Identical twin? Could she have been joking? This must've been the surprise I'd heard about.
I turned to look at my sister, and was surprised - though I shouldn't have been - to see that she really was identical to me. The same bronzed skin tone - which we'd got from our father - and even the same haircut. The only difference between us was that her hair was dyed burgundy. And it suited her. I thought to myself that I might try the colour myself sometime. I'd never coloured my hair before, though.
What the most surprising thing was, though, that she was wearing the same dress and shoes that I wore, only her colour theme was white. And to my utter amazement, she had the exact same watch, necklace and earrings that I wore; only hers were silver. It must have been some crazy coincidence, not some silly twin intuition. I didn't believe that twin intuition existed, anyway. After all, I'd been fine in my life, except for the ever-present bitterness. I'd thought that that was just because of my abandonment, but the curious part of me wondered if I'd also felt bitter because maybe something was wrong in Silke's life. Leanne had pronounced her name "Sill-ker", but the 'r' was barely noticeable, it just helped with the pronunciation.
Silke didn't move to hold out a hand to me. She just seemed shocked to see me. Maybe she didn't know what I'd be like, either. "Mein Gott," I heard her whisper.
I tried to smile. "Didn't you know about me?" I asked, confused.
She turned from her shocked state to mildly aloof. "I was told I had a sister," she started, her German accent matching her - and my - father's, "but I knew not a twin, or one who looks like me."
I timidly held out my hand. "Here I am then, Silke, your identical twin sister."
She shook my hand, and her mind seemed to be on overload. "Gabrielle, right."
"Well," Leanne spoke up; breaking the silence again, "let's eat now, shall we?" She led the way into the dining room, where dinner had already been served. Leanne had covered the plates with silver domes, which she and Greg had received as wedding presents.
Leanne and Greg sat opposite each other, on the short sides of the rectangular table. Melinda and Silke sat either side of Greg, and Dieter and I sat either side of Leanne, and I also sat next to Silke.
We all ate quietly. There would be more time for talking later. I was self-conscious, and fully aware of my twin the entire time throughout the courses of soup; lamb, potatoes and vegetables; and white chocolate mousse. We held our cutlery the same way, both cutting and eating impossibly tiny pieces of lamb, when normally we'd cut our pieces a bit bigger than that. Well, maybe I could only speak for myself in that respect!
I was anxious to hear the story of how Silke, our parents and I had ended up separated. I excused myself after dessert, and I went to the bathroom to calm myself down again. It was so bizarre. I wasn't normally so agitated like this, rarely ever was I like this.
I'd worked myself into such a tizzy that I was overcome with dizziness, and almost unconsciously felt myself slump against the wall to the floor. It was so bad that on my way down, my head smacked against the tiles that went along the lower half of the bathroom walls.
I vaguely heard the door being opened. I heard a gasp, and then heels across the wooden floor of the hallway as the person left and then came back. They knelt beside my fallen figure - which was on my side - and cradled my head. I felt an ice pack wrapped in a dishtowel held to a growing lump I could feel at the back of my head.
I opened my eyes to see my sister holding the ice pack in place. "Thank you," I said brokenly, croaking slightly.
"It is fine," she answered. "Can you sit up?"
I brought myself up slowly, and suddenly felt embarrassed. On the evening of our first meeting, something like this just had to happen to me, didn't it? "Sorry about this," I apologised.
"It is fine," she repeated, lifting a hand of mine to take her place holding the ice pack. "It is because you are afraid of what you might hear, nein?"
I nodded. "It's true."
"I probably know more about us than you do," she said. "After all, I have lived with them all my life. You have not."
I mumbled an "mm".
She took the ice pack away. "I think it has faded. Are you ready to join us now?" she asked.
I stood up slowly, and adjusted my dress and hair. Once I was ready, I said, "Lead the way."
I hoped that I really was ready. After all, I was just about to find out about my family, why I was abandoned and Silke wasn't. And I was afraid of what I might hear… and I feared getting hurt.