My Favorite

Yes it goes against my own rules but I thought I'd post it anyway.
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I was sixteen when my mom kicked me out of the house.  Actually, she threw me out of the house and kicked dirt in my face, calling me a sinner and an abomination.  I thought that being pregnant would be something we could overcome after the baby was born and adopted out.  I thought because I did the right thing, giving the baby up to a couple who would better care for her, she would forgive me of my wrong-doing and things would get back to normal. 

                It was only in a matter of days before she made arrangements for me to go live with my grandfather.  

                “I don’t want to hear of her getting pregnant again or else I’m shipping her off to an all-girls school and getting her legs sewn shut,” my mom says to my grandfather.

                He’s from my dad’s side.  I had never met him before.  I only heard about how strict he was from my mom and that I should be very afraid.  My mom gets a thrill out of sensationalizing everything.  I didn’t know how much of it was true, but just by looking at my grandfather, I was a bit intimidated.

                He sat there at my mom’s grubby kitchen table in his thousand dollar, tailored suit, expensive watch, and standing near him was a middle aged woman with red hair in a suit who looked like she might be his assistant.  He didn’t fit into the family at all.  He was way out of our league.  It made me wonder what my dad did for a living and about his family since I never met any of my aunts, uncles or grand mother.

                “I can assure you,” he says in his very stern and sharp voice. “there will be no monkey business allowed so long as she’s living under my roof.  She will earn her keep and she will keep up her grades.  Any slip of either one and she will suffer the consequences.”

                “Oh goody,” my mom claps gleefully to herself.  “It’s about time I did something right by that child.”

                “With all due respect, madam, but if you had done right by her a long time ago, maybe she wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

                My mom looks at him appalled.  I can just see those dagger eyes glaring at him.  I almost felt a sense of enjoyment watching him criticize her.

                A jingle of a cell phone comes from his assistant.  She’s on the phone for a moment, nodding and saying yes and no, then all of a sudden she whispers in my grandfather’s ear about something.

                “We’re done here,” he suddenly says.

                He stands up and looks at me with a very intense glare.

                “Well young lady, unless you want me to miss the most important meeting of my career, I suggest you get your things and we get going.”

                The way he spoke to me made my heart drop to my stomach.  Although I was used to the coldness of my mother’s tone, yelling and screaming at me, calling me horrid names and even slapping me a few times, I never felt more terrified than I did when my grandfather demanded that I get my stuff.  I nearly felt he hated me already.

                I push back a strand of my chocolate colored hair behind my ear and pick up my suitcase.  All I was bringing with me was my clothes and a few books.  My mom threw away all my music, all my posters, and any photo I had of my boyfriend.  She said anything influencing me to have sex again is nothing but sin trying to call me to hell. 

                I was having mixed feelings about going with my grandfather.  I felt liberated from my mother at last, but at the same time I felt scared because I wasn’t sure if living with my grandfather would be any better.

               

                Grandfather had a nice, fancy car waiting for us in the drive way, and a chauffeur opening the door and waiting for us to get in.  He offers to take my bags and puts them in the trunk.  I look around my old neighborhood to see neighbors coming out to see what all the excitement is about.  There haven’t been very many limos driving around in Milton Freewater, Missouri. 

                The car pulls away and in my yard I see all my little brother and little sister standing and waving good bye to me.  My mom didn’t even come out with me to hug me, she just stood behind the screen door, arms crossed and smiled as I pulled away.  I nearly felt hurt by her callousness.  

                “Where are we going?” I say once the car is on its way to the airport.

                “I would have hoped that your mother filled you in on the details of where you’ll be living,” my grandfather says almost irritably as he looks over some paperwork his assistant pulls out of her briefcase for him.

                “She didn’t tell me anything,” I say at once. “She just told me to get out.”

                I didn’t mean to add that, but I was feeling bitter and betrayed at that moment.  I wanted to scream and cry.  I wanted to break something.  I wanted to pull my mom’s hair out.  I was overwhelmed with all kinds of emotions, but all I could do was push them deep down into the pit of my stomach.. 

                “Have you ever heard of New York City,” he says calmly. 

                I had never been to New York City, but it was as glamorous as everyone says it is.  I was in awe of the tall buildings, the bright neon lights of Time Square, the magnificent size of the Statue of Liberty, and the energy was higher than anything I’ve ever been around before.  This was like coming into civilization to me.  There isn’t anything in Milton Firewater but a Wal-Mart, McDonalds and a small pizza joint where my friends and I used to hang out.  Just seeing all the people and all the places to go, I finally realize how boring my life has been.  Aside from getting knocked up.

                “This will be your room,” my grandfather’s assistant says as she opens the door.

                My grandfather had to go to his important meeting the minute we got to the city.  He was dropped off at this glossy and shiny building with a replica of the Earth made out of what looked like metal but was probably platinum and gold.  The street was set up in around a circle that had a tower-like beacon.  My grandfather called it Columbus Circle.

                The room had more accessories in it than I deserved.  It had a queen size bed in the center, covered in plush pillows and a fancy bed spread.  The windows stretched from floor to ceiling and had a fantastic view of downtown.  Not to mention I have my own bathroom and a walk-in closet.  My bedroom at home wasn’t even big enough to have a closet, let alone a bathroom.

                “Is all this for me?” I say.

                “Of course,” she says. “I think it’s about time he put this room to good use.  It just sits here in this big penthouse, looking pretty and getting cleaned for no reason at all.  He’s wasting money having maids come and clean this room.  Atleast now he has a reason.”

                “Is it wrong that I like it here?” I finally hear myself saying.

                She just stands silently, not really responding to me. 

                “My name is Bridget,” she finally says. “I usually tend to your grandfather’s personal matters and sometimes business matters as well.  Just page or call me if you need anything at all.”

                She hands me her card with her phone number on it.  I look at the print all over it and it says in bold lettering:

                                                Berkley and Associates

          “Now do you have any questions?”

                “How long am I going to stay here?”

                “I do not know,” she says, annoyed. “You’ll have to ask him that question.  Anything else?”

                I just shake my head, feeling my heart fall to the pit of my stomach again. 

                “I must get back to work.  If you need anything just ring for service or Geoffrey, the chauffer, can take you anywhere you’d like to go.”

                Before I could even answer she was already gone and heading out of the penthouse.  I took a deep breath and threw myself onto the nice Queen-sized bed.  Immediately I buried myself under the covers and fall asleep.

                Things haven’t been going so well with my grandfather.  In fact, I don’t know how they are going.  He doesn’t say a word to me when we sit to dinner.  He just focuses on his steak and is most of the time on the phone with a partner or a client.  (I still have no idea what he does for a living.) 

                I try talking to him when I get the chance.  I try asking him questions about the city, about him, about my dad, anything.  He isn’t very responsive.  He only gives me a one word answer.  And since school doesn’t start for another month, I’m left here in this huge penthouse by myself to do nothing but think about all the things I had done.  At least that’s how it’s been for the last week.

                “I don’t know how I’m going to keep up with this account and manage the company, and take care of her at the same time,” he gestures a hand at me as he talks to Bridget.  He mentions me as if I can’t hear him or if I’m not even there.

                “You need to hire more help,” she suggests.  “You’re taking on far too much.”

                “I know.”

                “Besides I thought you were going to have her earn her keep while she was here.”

                “That was your job to come up with something,” he gripes.

                “Make her work at the office for you.”

                “Doesn’t anyone care about what I have to say?” I finally say.

                It was the first time I’ve been outspoken with my grandfather.  They both just look at me as if I had snot running down my nose.

                “Young lady, you’re forgetting your place here.  You’re here under strict pretenses on the hopes that I shape you into a better adult.  Your mother clearly thinks you need the discipline.”

                “Whatever you say,” I reply.

                At that moment it was settled that I would go to work for my grandfather. 

                It’s been three weeks since I started working for my grandfather.  It has been a while since I’ve even had the time to think about the baby girl I had given away, but today something triggered those thoughts.  Today, one of Bridget’s daughters brought in her brand new baby girl.  She had to have been as old as my daughter would have been.  She was nearly a month old. 

                I just watched them coo over the baby with a stack of papers on my desk.  A sharp pain shot through my heart the minute the daughter pulls her baby out of the car seat so Bridget can hold her.  Her tiny eyes instantly remind me of my daughter.  I only got to see my daughter for a moment before they wheeled her away and a couple I didn’t even meet took her away. 

                I found myself sitting there, studying this baby, almost crazy enough to wonder if she might be mine. 

                “She has her daddy’s eyes,” Bridget goes on.

                It was confirmation that she wasn’t mine.  Still, everytime I see a couple with a baby I wonder if she could be mine. 

                I couldn’t take it much longer, so I exit the building and hail a taxi ride back to the penthouse.  I try to breath.  No matter how much I try to cover up the fact, the feelings always remind me of what I gave up.  This feeling I have is worse than being dumped.  I feel like I lost everything.

               

                I’m staring out into the city in my suite when my grand father comes barging in, asking me what the hell is wrong with me and why would I leave in the middle of a shift the way I did.

                “I can’t talk about it,” I say.

                “You can’t talk about it?  Listen, young lady, I brought you into my home to make a better woman out of you, not so you can keep secrets from me.  If you can’t tell me what’s going on than I think you’re better off going back to your mother’s.”

                IT was at that moment I start breaking down and begging him not to send me back to my mother’s.  I can feel the tears streaming down my face and my knees and hands shaking, shielding my teary eyes from him.  My voice is nearly mottled as I go on like a little girl.

                After a few minutes, my grand father finally tries to calm me down in the most un-nurturing way.

                “Alright, Sara, just calm down.  Go to the bathroom and wipe your tears, and join me in my study when you’re ready.”

                Still huffing from the break down, I go to the bathroom to wash my face and join my grandfather in his study.  He’s sitting at his desk with a glass of scotch in his hand, twittling with it as he waits for me. 

                “You look like you could use a drink,” he says to me.

                “I’m only sixteen,” I say.

                He brushes his hand at me and walks over to his bar and reaches for a bottle of wine.

                “I was drinking beer when I was your age.  Have some wine atleast.”

                It baffled me to see my grandfather this way.  He actually seems nice right now.  I take the glass of wine from him and sip it.

                “I always find that a bottle of red calms my nerves.”  He says.  “So you wanna tell me why you left the office in such a hurry today?”

                I take another sip of my wine before going on.

                “Because of Bridget’s grand daughter.”

                He leans back in his chair, tossing the ice cubes in his glass around.

                “Let me ask you something,” he says. “Was it your idea to give up the baby for adoption or your mother’s?”

                “It was mine,” I say eagerly. “I didn’t want to raise that baby in a home like that.”

                “Like what?”

                I take a bigger sip of my wine.

                “Brain washed into feeling bad about herself.”

                “I see.  Well, I must say you did the right thing.  I know it’s not the easiest thing in the world for a mother to give up her child, especially at young age like yourself, but it’s admirable.”

                Chills go down my spine.  I can’t believe my grandfather is saying such nice things to me. 

                “DO you know why I agreed to take you in, Sarah?”

                “My mom and dad made you.”

                “I never do damn thing that I don’t want to do.” He retorts. “ That’s why I’m running my own company.  I took you in because I didn’t want you to spend the rest of your adolescents in a home like that.”

                “Why do you care now?  I had never met you before in my entire life and suddenly you show up out of the blue and agree to take me in?”

                “I know what it is like to grow up in a home like that, Sarah, and I know what it’s like to feel ashamed for the mistakes I’ve made.”

                I wanted to ask more.  I wanted to know what mistakes did he make, but I didn’t want to push it.  I didn’t want to be invasive. 

                “It’s getting late,” he says. “You’d best get to sleep.  The next time you want to leave early, tell someone.”