bits of onion peel
and an empty Styrofoam wrapper from the ground beef. The bottom of the Styrofoam container was coated with cow blood. I thought I might throw up.
“Would you cut up tomatoes already,” Peggy said. “Come on now, chop, chop. ”
Like a robot, I cut through the tomato, making the round fruit into a pulp of small red squares and finally found my voice.
“What about Bryan? Are you adopting him too?”
Peggy shook the pan of meat on the burner.
“Well, no, of course not. You know very well he’s with Uncle Larry in Oklahoma now. He has his own family.”
“But he is my family. He’s my brother.”
“Honestly, Jenny,” Peggy said. “You know you two don’t get along. Why are you talking about Bryan now?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Can I be adopted when I have a brother out there?”
“Well, of course you can,” she said, laughing as if what I said was lunacy.
I wanted to ask if Uncle Larry was adopting Bryan but I didn’t. I backed my own mind up, like an old truck grinding through rusted gears. I searched through what she had said. They were both adopting me. Richard too.
“Uncle Richard wants to adopt me?”
“Well, of course he does. Richard loves you. We all do.”
Now I was certain I was going to be sick. I looked hard at Peggy—almost angry.
“ You love me?” I asked.
Peggy turned from the stove and looked at me with her mouth open.
“Well, of course we do,” she said, indignant. Color lifted on her cheeks. “My goodness, you’ve been here for more than a year now. We’ve opened our home to you and have shared our lives. If that is not love, I don’t know what is.”
Peggy stood there with her fists on her hips and her spatula dripped grease on the floor. She believed what she was saying. She was utterly convinced that her decision to adopt was the right one for the family and for me. I could not speak. There wasn’t room for my voice in her version of reality. I did not exist.
A FEW MONTHS later, the adoption plan ripened to fullness.
Richard and Peggy took me to a courthouse in Reno. I stood before a judge and they stood on either side of me.
The judge asked if I agreed to this adoption of my own free will. He had to ask it again because I didn’t hear him the first time.
Everyone in court looked at me. The judge, a lady who sat over at a little type machine, Richard, Peggy, and a bunch of other people. Strangers.
In my head was a voice that wanted to ask the judge if he could define “free will.” I wanted to see if his definition would line up with what I knew the words to mean.
Richard pushed his arm against my shoulder and looked at me
like I better answer the man or I was going to get smacked up the back of my head.
I blurted out, “I do.”
Laughter erupted in the courtroom. Richard snickered. And the judge hit his gavel with a crack—like rock hitting rock.
In that sound, Jennifer Caste Lauck became Jenny Duemore. I had been erased.
THIRTEEN
THREE THINGS SHE DOESN’T KNOW
SHE IS WICKEDLY SMART.
She is hysterically funny.
She is fantastically gorgeous.
Not necessarily in that order.
And yes, there is even more—good things, every single one—but she won’t allow herself to consider herself in such grand terms. If she thinks of herself with any kind of praise, a feeling of itching anxiety sends her running to organize a drawer, fold laundry, wash the floor on her hands and knees, or clean out the refrigerator. As she fritters over these meaningless tasks of order, she fills her head—like a countermeasure—with all that’s flawed. You talk too loud, your rear end is too big, your nose—what a honker on your face, and you’re not really that smart, no, you’re just street smart. You’re scrappy.
The voice in her head is a combination of the voices she’s heard throughout her life: Richard, Peggy, Deb, Auntie Carol. And the voice is also unique. It is her own.
The voice is like a form of protection—a firm
and an empty Styrofoam wrapper from the ground beef. The bottom of the Styrofoam container was coated with cow blood. I thought I might throw up.
“Would you cut up tomatoes already,” Peggy said. “Come on now, chop, chop. ”
Like a robot, I cut through the tomato, making the round fruit into a pulp of small red squares and finally found my voice.
“What about Bryan? Are you adopting him too?”
Peggy shook the pan of meat on the burner.
“Well, no, of course not. You know very well he’s with Uncle Larry in Oklahoma now. He has his own family.”
“But he is my family. He’s my brother.”
“Honestly, Jenny,” Peggy said. “You know you two don’t get along. Why are you talking about Bryan now?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Can I be adopted when I have a brother out there?”
“Well, of course you can,” she said, laughing as if what I said was lunacy.
I wanted to ask if Uncle Larry was adopting Bryan but I didn’t. I backed my own mind up, like an old truck grinding through rusted gears. I searched through what she had said. They were both adopting me. Richard too.
“Uncle Richard wants to adopt me?”
“Well, of course he does. Richard loves you. We all do.”
Now I was certain I was going to be sick. I looked hard at Peggy—almost angry.
“ You love me?” I asked.
Peggy turned from the stove and looked at me with her mouth open.
“Well, of course we do,” she said, indignant. Color lifted on her cheeks. “My goodness, you’ve been here for more than a year now. We’ve opened our home to you and have shared our lives. If that is not love, I don’t know what is.”
Peggy stood there with her fists on her hips and her spatula dripped grease on the floor. She believed what she was saying. She was utterly convinced that her decision to adopt was the right one for the family and for me. I could not speak. There wasn’t room for my voice in her version of reality. I did not exist.
A FEW MONTHS later, the adoption plan ripened to fullness.
Richard and Peggy took me to a courthouse in Reno. I stood before a judge and they stood on either side of me.
The judge asked if I agreed to this adoption of my own free will. He had to ask it again because I didn’t hear him the first time.
Everyone in court looked at me. The judge, a lady who sat over at a little type machine, Richard, Peggy, and a bunch of other people. Strangers.
In my head was a voice that wanted to ask the judge if he could define “free will.” I wanted to see if his definition would line up with what I knew the words to mean.
Richard pushed his arm against my shoulder and looked at me
like I better answer the man or I was going to get smacked up the back of my head.
I blurted out, “I do.”
Laughter erupted in the courtroom. Richard snickered. And the judge hit his gavel with a crack—like rock hitting rock.
In that sound, Jennifer Caste Lauck became Jenny Duemore. I had been erased.
THIRTEEN
THREE THINGS SHE DOESN’T KNOW
SHE IS WICKEDLY SMART.
She is hysterically funny.
She is fantastically gorgeous.
Not necessarily in that order.
And yes, there is even more—good things, every single one—but she won’t allow herself to consider herself in such grand terms. If she thinks of herself with any kind of praise, a feeling of itching anxiety sends her running to organize a drawer, fold laundry, wash the floor on her hands and knees, or clean out the refrigerator. As she fritters over these meaningless tasks of order, she fills her head—like a countermeasure—with all that’s flawed. You talk too loud, your rear end is too big, your nose—what a honker on your face, and you’re not really that smart, no, you’re just street smart. You’re scrappy.
The voice in her head is a combination of the voices she’s heard throughout her life: Richard, Peggy, Deb, Auntie Carol. And the voice is also unique. It is her own.
The voice is like a form of protection—a firm
Similar Books
