College graduation is supposed to be a joyous occasion, right? You've worked four or more years, studying day and night, to make your way out to the world and make a life. You've probably found someone you love and want to marry in future, and he's with your large family, cheering and yelling and being just a little embarrassing as you cross the stage to get that diploma. If you have four brothers, they will be doing their best to out whistle and cheer everyone else with your dad. If you have two sisters, they're crying with your proud mother. And from the crowd of graduates, there is your beloved, waving his cap and grinning widely. At least one person has a camera and is taking far too many pictures.
All you need is the family dog barking to complete the chaos.
I crossed that stage, grinning and waving to my loved ones, not knowing that in three days, my whole life would change. And it will only take one, small, letter to do it.
My family has gone through a lot over the years. Dad says it's because we have a lot of growing to do. He was a minister once, and still has a deep relationship with Jesus that makes me marvel. We've gone through death, drugs, identity crises, failed relationships, crime, changes in career, you name it. We've had foster siblings come and go as my parents realized their true calling was in taking in unwanted children and giving them the foundation of a loving home. As we older children grew up, we moved to close by houses and apartments, not wanting to lose the family ties as we've seen other families go through. Only I was the adventurous one, going to California for my degrees in journalism and literature.
And now I was packing to go home, to see the family house, to see what foster siblings I had now, to see how the new puppies were growing, to see my family.
"Ruth! Mail!" cried out one of my dorm mates.
"Once and for all, I don't believe I will win the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes!" I joked, even as I popped out of my nearly empty dorm room.
Spiky-pink-haired Ivy laughed, handing over three envelopes. "Sorry, but I'm the contender now. And, no, I won't spend any on you. You're leaving."
"Of course I am! I'm done here. Go spend it on Cindy."
"Look how radical she's become. I still remember when you waved a Bible at the mere mention of Cindy, and now…" She came forth, and we hugged tightly. "I will miss you, Ruth. Now don't forget to write me, or I will have to invade Happy Appleville or wherever it is your folks live, and bring the Dykes on Bikes with me."
The mere idea had me giggling. "The town would never be the same. I promise to write, Ivy. Life will be too boring without you." I made a swoon, playing Rebecca at her hammish actress best, then swept into my room with my mail.
Two of them were credit card offers; those I ripped up and chucked in the trash can.
The third, however, was a pink envelope with unusual handwriting. Feminine, with curls at the end of each word. The stamp was a rainbow-filled heart.
Curious, I opened the letter, and read it.
I found myself sitting on my unmade bed, letter clenched in my hands. No. No, it couldn't be. But…the facts… I found myself looking in the mirror, with no memory of having stood, or walking to the lavatory. There I was. Small, with dark curly hair and dark brown eyes. Proof positive, considering my genetics class last semester. It was the only answer.
I found myself storming back to my room, where I fetched out the phone and dialed a familiar number.
Mother, Annie, answered, breathless and sounding amused. "Camden residence! Annie talking. How can I help you?"
I could just see my moth- Annie's fragile smile, her spun blonde curls I thought were a light version of my hair. "Is it true?" I asked.
"Ruth! Who told? I told Lucy not to tell, but she did, didn't she?"
"What?" I asked, startled. "Lucy knows!"
Annie laughed. "Of course! She's helping make the cake."
Cake. Right. Last of my worries. "I don't mean that, mother," I said, making the last word pointed. "I mean something more important that happened 21 years ago, give or take."
Silence. A scraping noise, as if she pulled over a chair. "I can explain," she began.
"Why?" I asked.
"Why are you asking now?" she returned, trying to sound fierce and failing.
"Someone wrote to me," I said.
The fierce voice faded back to weakness. "Oh." Then, "Are you still coming home?"
"You better believe I am, mother. And I expect you and father to have a good explanation to why my whole life has been a lie."
"It hasn't," she began, but I hung up on her. Turning off the phone, I jammed it back in my purse and got back to packing. Best to not think now. Best to just work. Best to keep it at bay, or the whole world would fall apart on me like a mirror shattering into a million shards.