I spent so many years wondering where I came from. I spent years looking in the mirror examining my features trying to piece together what my parents might have looked like. I was always acutely aware that I was adopted. My brown hair and brown eyes are starkly different from the blonde hair and blue eyes of my parents and my sisters. When I was sixteen, my parents sat me down to tell me that I was adopted. I think I shocked them by saying that I already knew. I asked them if they knew who my biological parents are; my adoptive parents just shook their heads. They told me in two years I can open my adoption file to find the answers that I'd secretly been searching for. They reminded me that the answers might not be the comfort that I was imagining that they would be. I just wanted to know why I was being raised by someone else. That's the only question I really had.
I grew up in a good home. I took ballet and played soccer. I played in piano recitals, and I was always in the school plays. I had three older sisters to teach me about boys, makeup, and fashion. I grew up a very happy girl. I hid my desire to find the people that created me. My parents and my sisters didn't have any idea that there was a part of me that needed to know the people that created me.
Before I even turned eighteen, I would type my name into the internet to see if someone was looking for me. I had good intentions, but I didn't even have a last name to work with. I had no idea what the name on my birth certificate was. My adoptive parents had kept all that information hidden from me. As far as they were concerned, I was always going to be Nadine Keating.
On my eighteenth birthday, I went to the courthouse. I asked the lady behind the desk for a copy of my adoption certificate. My understanding of government red tape was rudimentary because I didn't realize it would take ten to fifteen days for me to receive a simple document.
My adoptive parents commented that I had become sullen. I never told them about my trip to the courthouse. They had always tried to protect me. I knew that I was lucky that I had someone to protect me. My demeanor had been edgy during my thirteen day wait.
The name on the adoption certificate didn't mean much to me without a face to put them to. I was the daughter of Sara Sidle and blank. I didn't know what the hell blank meant. The adoption record said that Sara was sixteen years old. I was born in Boston general hospital. She was a student. The documents said that Sara Sidle was not financially capable of taking care of me. I wished that the court documents said if she cried when she gave me away.
My internet searches lead me to Las Vegas. I snuck away in the night leaving a cryptic note for my adoptive parents. I boarded a plane from Hartford, Connecticut to Las Vegas, Nevada. I was fascinated by the lights. The lights seemed to illuminate the barren desert around the oasis. I had never seen something so gaudy, but beautiful all at the same time.
I had only her place of employment. I carried with me a small bag of clothes and toiletries and three hundred dollars. I came searching for answers. I came to find out who 'blank' was.
The receptionist smiled at me when I asked if Sara Sidle is working. She said that Sara was working in the lab. The receptionist asked who I was. I told her that I'm family. The receptionist smiled and told me that she didn't realize Sara had any family.
The woman that approached me didn't look like she was ever a sixteen year old that gave up a child. The woman that approached looked so much like me that it's scary. I have her nose, her complexion, and her height.
"Can I help you?" she asked as she stood in front of me. She wore a lab coat over dress slacks and a casual shirt. She looked so much younger than her thirty-four years.
"I'm Nadine. I'm your daughter," I said. My voice shook. It was the first time that I realized that I really was in Las Vegas, and I really was standing in front of the woman that gave birth to me.
She took a step back and examined me. Sara looked terrified of me. The terror seemed to fade to surprise and shock. She looked like she might be trying to decide whether to embrace me or run away.
"Wow. I never thought that . . . wow. Come with me. Let's go somewhere a little more private," Sara said as she ushered me into the core of the building. We walked past rooms full of machines. I looked around curiously.
"How did you get here?" Sara asked as she ushered me into a conference room.
"The red eye out of Hartford," I replied. That wasn't the first question that I expected her to ask.
"Do your parents know where you are?" Sara asked. I wanted to tell her that she knew where I was . . . that was good enough.
"I left them a note. They would kill me if they knew I was here," I replied with a laugh, "I just need to know why. I need to know who my father is."
"I didn't think that I would ever see you again. I was young and scared. Your father date raped me. You don't want to know him. I know you think it might answer your questions, but you don't want to know him. You are better by not knowing him," she rambled nervously.
"He raped you?" I asked shocked. I was under the assumption that she was probably a young, careless kid when I was conceived. I never imagined that I was born out of a crime.
"Nadine . . . he was a bad man," Sara said with downcast eyes, "You should call your parents to let them know that you are okay."
"I'm sorry, Sara," I replied. I was tempted to call her mom, but I knew that was inappropriate. I really, really wanted to call her mom. I wanted to be of some comfort to her. I wanted to be like the mothers and daughters on the sitcoms. If the mother cried, the daughter was there to tell her mother that all they really needed was each other. I couldn't do that because I didn't have her and she didn't have me.
"That was years ago. It's almost like ancient history," Sara replied with an unconvincing smile, "You're a pretty girl."
"I look a lot like you," I commented. She nodded her head.
"Do you need a place to stay until you catch your flight home?" Sara asked. I nodded. She gently smiled at me despite the fact she examined me like I was a ticking time bomb. I felt guilty for coming back into her life. My mom always told me to call before stopping over at a friend's house. It was good etiquette. I probably should have called before hopping a plane to my biological mother's home.
"When do you fly home?" Sara asked. She was wringing her hands. It was something that I did when I was nervous.
"The day after tomorrow. My parents will probably be on the next flight out here," I replied.
"Your eighteenth birthday wasn't too long along. Thank God you didn't do this when you were underage," Sara said with a sigh of relief. I secretly was overjoyed that she remembered my birthday.
"Three weeks ago," I clarified.
"You graduated from high school not too long ago," Sara stated. I was surprised that she was so in tune with what was going on in my life.
"Valedictorian," I replied. She smiled. It wasn't the fearful smile that was plastered on her face just moments ago. Sara might have even looked like she was proud of my achievements.
"Let me go see if I can get the rest of tonight off," Sara said as she abruptly stood up and left the room.
I sat in the small room looking at through the glass walls. It was so sterile. It was reminiscent of a hospital. It felt cold and impersonal. People walked by the rooms and stared in, but they didn't seem affected by the contents of the rooms. I didn't like this place. I wondered how Sara possibly could.