She Ran From You.

I was told she was bright and creative, my mother. Someone you could depend on, someone you could trust. So what happened with keeping me in her life?

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"I believe it is this house," my dad said as he pulled into the driveway of an older built house.

My mom held up her phone and nodded for confirmation. "It says 1-1-0-5 on the front door right there."

Did I really want this? I mean, it's all I've been thinking about for the past month. My parents adopted me when I was a baby. I was "given up" from my biological mother and I never knew why. I'm getting my answers today. All my parents told me is that my mother was 16 years-old when she got pregnant with me. Nothing about my father or why she chose to give me to strangers. Well, these strangers are the best parents I could ask for.

I turn 18 next year and I feel like I need the closure about where I truthfully came from. Luckily, my parents weren't against this as it turns out my adoption case is open. Just sitting there in a file cabinet for years to collect dust.

"Are you ready for this, Bug?" Mom asked as we all exited my dad's truck.

I shrugged, feeling my body becoming jittery. "I'm a little nervous..."

"That's a normal feeling--we're right here though." Dad squeezed my shoulder.

The house is two stories and has white walls made of panel. As old as the house looks, it seems to have been kept in shape. The decorations and furniture surrounding the house gives me the sense of comfort and having open arms...but I began to feel something negative. Maybe I'm not too open to this idea anymore.

As we got closer to the front door, I noticed how the furniture appeared to be from a 1950's catalog. The couch, porch swing, end tables...they're nothing like what Mom has in our living room. Was my mother stuck in this timezone too? Not to mention, there's American flags all over the place. How patriotic can my bloodline be?

Dad knocked on the door twice and we waited for an answer. Within the next minute, a short, older woman answered the door. She had this big smile upon her face--until her eyes met mine. As if I took one of her beloved flags or even a cookie from a jar in her kitchen, she glared at me. My mouth instantly grew dry and I stepped back. My dad noticed the awkwardness and spoke to direct the woman's attention on him. "We finally made it." He stated firmly.

"John--it is finally nice to meet you!" The woman exclaimed, breaking her trance on me.

"This is my wife, Donna and this here is Joshua." Dad introduced us. "This is Beverly, Joshua's biological grandmother."

"Come right on in." Beverly smiled, stepping back.

As we walked in, we were welcomed to the smell of something sweet, like vanilla. Beverly directed us to the left, which was the living room. There's no way I can be related to this woman--her house is stuck in the mid 1900's! From the floor to the ceiling, it screams tradition and I'm becoming quite uncomfortable. I sat right in between my parents as we sat on a couch and Beverly continued standing. She kept grinning at my parents but every time her eyes came across me, her smile was questionable.

I couldn't speak a word as my parents conversed with Beverly. She had made tea for us but only my parents asked for some. She had sat across from us, making me feel as if we were in an interview. I was in and out the conversation as I noticed some alarming belongings within this room. There are pictures of a lot of people who could be family, but none of this people look anything close to me. Large families of White people--my biological father has to be Black. In some of the pictures, I can see the confederate flag present. There's no hint that a Black person has been involved with this family. The way Beverly keeps looking at me confirms they never wanted that to happen.

"Well, Joshua, you seem to be a good boy." Beverly stated.

I stopped looking around and let Beverly see my eyes. I didn't like how she just said that...as if it's surprising I am a honor student who does chess tournaments and plays baseball. "Is that a surprise?" I questioned sternly.

"Excuse me?" Beverly's smile completely faded. "Don't question me."

"I don't think he was questioning you..." Dad responded.

"I am." I declared.

"Well, since you asked--I am surprised. Look at you, your kind isn't the textbook definition for success." Beverly informed.

"Your kind?" My parents said in unison.

"Look at the boy!" The old woman laughed. "It's very obvious my only child decided to continue our rich bloodline with a nigger."

Dad stood up as Mom jumped in her seat. "Okay, Beverly--I didn't think I needed to inform you that your grandson is half Black when we spoke on the phone. We--"

"Will be going as of right now!" Mom interrupted.

My parents stood together in unison as my dad held his arm out to me. I stood up and watched as Beverly ignored the glares from my parents. She had her eyes on me. I had my eyes on her. I never thought I could dislike someone as much as I dislike her. I just met the woman 10 minutes ago.

“We’ll be letting ourselves out,” stated Mom as my dad guided us back to the front door.

Beverly didn’t budge; she just smiled. I turned my back and suddenly I heard shoes scuffle. We all turned as Beverly came toward us. “I almost forgot; you should take something.”

”We don't want anything from you.” Mom said.

”I’m sure Joshua would.” Beverly replied.

In the hallway of the front door, there was a bookshelf near the opposite end. Beverly picked up a wooden box off the bottom shelf and came back to us. She handed the box out to me but I didn’t move to take it.

“Please—I have no use for it. It belonged to your mother.” Beverly insisted.

“You said your daughter passed...” Dad mentioned. ”You don’t have any pictures up of her—and you didn’t bother to talk to about her.“

”What kind of mother hates her own child—one who deserved unconditional love?” Mom questioned.

”Mr. and Mrs. Butler... it’s very obvious we have different views. I gave your child a chance to know where his mother came from. Now you can leave. Please don’t ever come back or call here again.” Beverly said.

My mom stepped forward and rasped, “You rotten, racist bitch. There’s a special place in hell for you.”

Beverly’s smile faded as my dad grabbed the box from Beverly and took my mother’s hand. I walked out with my parents and we never turned our backs. My dad walked behind my mom and me, never letting us fall behind him. We got in his truck and drove off swiftly.

“What in the hell is wrong with that woman?” Mom cried.

“She was bat shit crazy, huh?” Dad agreed.

My parents went into a rant while my eyes were glued to that box. A dark colored, wooden box with the name “Heather” engraved in the right, bottom corner of it. I felt like I needed to open this box so I did. I opened the world of my biological mother.

My mother’s name was Heather White. She was an open, loving person... she loved butterflies and rock music. She had lots of friends and not just White people. The pictures that are in this box include smiles with different kinds of people. I believe I met the eyes of my father. A tall, dark man with a welcoming smile. His hair was long, in the form of an Afro. She had a lot of pictures with him... I believe my parents were in love.

At the very bottom of the box, was a yearbook. I found her picture and it's her junior year. The same year she had to have me...There's pictures of her pregnant belly. She didn't look out of place in any of her pictures. I'm surprised she's even present in these with how strict her mother seemed. Why didn't she ship my mother off to another state to hide her pregnancy?

“Never change, Heather!”

“You’re Amazing!!”

“So hard to believe you came from your parents—see you this fall!”

There were a variety of messages written to my mother... she truly was loved. The sweetest message is from Harry Turner:

“Heather,

Meeting you was the highlight of my year. Thank you for the adventure. I didn’t think I’d have a close friend like you. You’re special to me... no matter what, I’m always going to love you.”

Just to confirm, Harold “Harry” Turner is the same Black man posted with my mother in majority of her photos. There’s heart drawn all around his picture in his alphabetical spot of his class. My mother was in love with my father. I wonder where—

A sealed envelope fell out of the yearbook as I was placing it back into the bottom of the chest. Baby Bug was written on one side of it... Mom started calling me “Bug“ when I was younger. “You always had these two pieces of hair that stood up when you were a baby—like antennas on a bug!” Did Heather know this or was my mom somehow intuitive when she came up with my nickname?

I opened the envelope and found a letter. It was dated January 5th, 2002... Six months before my birthday.

Dear Baby Bug,

This will probably be the first and last letter I ever write to you— but understand one thing. Your father and I love you very much!

To explain things in a short way, you were conceived between two loving kids. You weren’t supposed to happen since I am only 16... but you are also not supposed to born because you are half Black. As much I want to keep you and we just make everything better, the sad reality is that I cannot. Your grandparents, my parents, are heavily racist and will do whatever they can to separate you from me. They don’t know much but they are aware of you. They don’t know much about Daddy either, but they are aware of my “colored” friends. Knowing their true hatred for anything not white—I couldn’t allow them around you.

This is why I am giving you up. I met the couple today. They’re kind people, I can tell by how the woman carries herself. She’ll be a good mother. The dad reminds me a little of Harry, how he likes to crack jokes all the time. Good folks, Bug. You’re supposed to be here in June and once I have you, I plan to run away with Harry. No one knows but you. We saved up about 2 grand and we‘re going out west. We’re gonna make a living out there and maybe one day, our paths will cross each other. I really hope so because Bug, I believe your the best thing that has happened to me, to us...

Then again, I’m not sure if I want you to ever learn about mommy’s upbringing. So dark and undeserving of your acknowledgment. However you find out, just know there was always love here for you from your biological parents.

It’s time for me to go. It’s movie night at Harry’s house and his mom is making her delicious gumbo!

Love,

Mother Earth