CHAPTER TWO

 

“Life keeps tumbling your heart in circles

‘Til you let go.

‘Til you shed your pride, and you climb to heaven

And you throw yourself off.

Now you’re out there spinning

In the deep.” –Bird York

 

 

            I was never the type of girl who attracted much attention from the opposite sex. Sure, there were a few boys who had crushes on me at various times throughout my life (and I even have a Valentine’s card and an original poem from elementary school to prove it), but I was never one of the girls who constantly had a flock of guys just waiting to ask her out. It wasn’t until I moved to Holdrege that I was “asked out” for the first time in 7^th grade.

            “Dating” in middle school meant little more than meeting at the movie theater, sitting next to each other, and holding hands during the film. Those who happened to have boyfriends or girlfriends during one of the school dances clung to each other during every slow song, spinning in slow circles on the dance floor and sneaking the occasional kiss in the dim lights when the chaperones weren’t looking. Middle school relationships lasted anywhere from a few hours to a few months, and the passage of time and anniversaries were marked by fake jewelry and cheap cologne bought at the local Pamida store.

            I had a couple boyfriends during 7^th and 8^th grade, but no one that really stuck. I wasn’t exactly one of the “popular” crowd, and was a bit too much of a tomboy, and too good of a drummer, to really warrant more than a passing interest by my male peers.

High school was always a different story. High school was the time when you were supposed to be in a relationship, and if you weren’t, you were ostracized. It became a competition, to find a partner and see how long you could stay together. In high school, dating took on a whole new significance.

For girls, there was little they could do to expedite the process, other than playing dumb and trying to make themselves as attractive as possible to the opposite sex—two things I had never been particularly good at. I didn’t wear makeup, except the occasional bit of concealer and powder to dull the shine on my face. I dressed to be comfortable, which most days meant a t-shirt and jeans. And playing dumb? The concept didn’t even make sense to me. I was having a hard enough time figuring out who I was, I wasn’t about to confuse myself by trying to act like someone else.

School had only been in session about a month, and I was busy trying to settle into my new life as a high school freshman. Outside of class, my days were consumed with marching band, choir, volleyball and a part-time job at Hinky Dinky, a grocery store on the north side of town, within walking distance from our house. There were several guys in high school whom I thought were cute, but I couldn’t imagine any of them actually asking me out. A few of my friends and teammates began dating boys shortly after the year began, and I couldn’t help but be jealous. Dating seemed far more exciting now that there were older, more mature guys available, and I couldn’t wait for my turn.

I didn’t have to wait very long. On the bus ride home from a volleyball game in Cozad, two teammates, Rachel and Tina, cornered me and fired questions so fast, I was dizzy from the momentum.

“So you know we’ve been dating Ben and Randy, right?” Rachel asked, plopping down in the seat next to me.

“Um, yeah,” I said. “You guys’ve been seeing them for like three weeks now, right?”

Tina hung over the back of the seat in front of me. “Yep,” she said. “They’re really cool. And they’ve got a friend who’s been asking you.”

“You know Chase, right?” Stacy asked. “I know you’ve probably seen him around. He drives that black Mustang.”

I shook my head. “Nah, I don’t think so. Is he a junior?”

Rachel and Tina looked at each other and smiled slyly.

“No, he’s a senior,” Rachel said. “You know who he is. The black Mustang? Remember, he got busted the first day of school for spinning donuts in the student parking lot?”

I shook my head again. “I heard about it, but I don’t think I’d know him if I saw him.”

“Come on, Lori,” Tina said. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve seen him. He’s always with Ben and Randy. He was with them today by our lockers. You didn’t notice the guy staring at you?”

My cheeks flushed hot, and I shook my head again.

“Oh my God!” Tina cried. “The first girl in the whole freshman class to have a senior interested in her, and she doesn’t even notice!”

“Lori, be serious,” Rachel said, lowering her voice now that several of the other girls were looking our way. “You’ve never even noticed Chase? He’s been asking about you for like a week now, and Ben and Randy finally agreed to get us to talk to you. You’re willing to go out with him, right?”

“What? But I don’t even know him,” I protested.

Both Rachel and Tina just stared at me.

“So what’s to know?” Rachel asked, her voice dripping with exasperation. “He’s a senior, and he’s interested. Any other girl on this bus would kill for the chance to go out with a senior!”

I was quiet for a moment, considering the possibility. Here we were, two weeks into the school year, and there was some senior who was actually interested in me. Me! The other freshman girls had been plotting for months how to catch a senior for themselves. It was an unspoken competition, a rite of passage. Only the most popular, the most worthy, had been able to attract the interest of the seniors, by whatever means necessary. Some girls started to party, some slept around, some simply chose the biggest dorks in the senior class and poured out all of their affections until the poor saps caved in and asked them out. I had done none of these things. In fact, I had done nothing, and here I was, the first real candidate in the exclusive Snag a Senior Club. The thought both frightened and thrilled me.

“So are you interested or not?” Tina asked. “We’re supposed to hang out this weekend, and he wants to know if you’re gonna be there.”

“I don’t know. I guess so,” I said.

Rachel and Tina collapsed into nervous giggles.

“Oh this is gonna be so much fun!” Tina said. “Ask your parents if you can spend the night at Rachel’s this weekend. Her parents are gonna be out of town, so we’ll have the boys over and watch movies or somethin’.”

My heart fluttered. “Oh, um, I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea.”

“Oh give me a break, Goody Two-Shoes,” Tina sighed. “There’s nothing going on. We’re just going to watch movies and hang out. It will give you and Chase a chance to get to know each other.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Rachel agreed. “You don’t have to worry.

“All right,” I said.

Tina smiled. “Great! I’ll call Randy when I get home and let him know.” She clapped her hands together. “This is so exciting!”

***

            When the bell for lunch rang on Friday, I hurried to my locker to drop off my books so I could meet my friend, Jenny, to walk to Casey’s and grab a bite to eat. I was so focused, I didn’t even notice Chase standing next to me.

            “Hey,” he said, catching my arm, as I turned to head down the stairs.

            I blushed.

            “Hey, sorry. I didn’t even see you there,” I said.

            He laughed. “That’s okay. What do you say we go grab some lunch?”

            “Oh, uh, I’m supposed to walk to Casey’s with a friend. She’s meeting me out front.”

            Chase shrugged. “So, this friend can come, too. We can fit in my car.”

            “Um, sure, okay, let me ask her,” I stammered, hating myself for sounding so stupid.

            “So, I’m excited to hang out tonight,” Chase said, as we pushed the crowd of students swarming toward the door.

            My fluttering heart began to pick up its pace and thump against my sternum.

            “Yeah, me too,” I said. “I think it will be fun.”

            Jenny was waiting just outside the southwest entrance. Her eyes widened when she saw me walking with Chase.

            “Hey, Jen,” I said. “Chase wanted to know if we wanted to go to lunch with him today.”

            “Yeah, sure,” she said. “Hey, Chase.”

            “Hey,” he replied.

            Chase’s black Mustang was parked in the north student lot, so we had to circle around the building. With just over a half hour for lunch, students who left campus didn’t spend any time dillydallying. By the time we reached Chase’s car and climbed in, the lot was nearly deserted. He turned the key and pushed the pedal to the floor. The engine roared. He dropped the car into gear and the back end fishtailed, spitting clouds of dirt and rocks behind us as we lurched onto the street, tires squealing. I looked back at Jenny. She was laughing.

            With Chase at the wheel, speeding down backstreets, we were able to make it to McDonald’s before most of the other students. We placed our orders and took a seat at a table near the front window. Jenny had always been better at making small talk, and I was a little jealous at how easily she could talk to Chase, while I sat in anxious silence.

He was a decent-looking guy, with short, neatly-cut blonde hair that was gelled and spiked on top. He wore a pair of blue jeans and a blue long-sleeved button-down shirt, tucked neatly in at the waist. He had bright blue eyes, a lopsided smile, and crooked teeth that gave him a slight lisp when he spoke. He was tall and toned without looking overly muscular, someone who worked out to keep in shape, but not necessarily to participate in any high school sports. He smelled of Stetson cologne and menthol cigarettes.

From time to time, Chase would look over at me and smile, and each time he did, a swarm anxious butterflies began to swarm in my stomach. There was something about Chase’s crooked grin that made me nauseous, though I guessed it was just nervousness. Whatever it was, I barely at two bites of my lunch before it was time to head back for afternoon classes. Chase tore back into the parking lot, missing several cars by mere inches. We slid to a stop in a cloud of dust. He walked me into the hallway. I noticed the piercing stares of several of the other freshman girls as Chase paused for a moment by my locker.

“Thanks for taking us to lunch today,” I said.

Chase shrugged. “It was fun. I’ll pick you up again on Monday if you want.”

Well, at least I haven’t done anything to turn him off yet, I thought.

I smiled. “Sure, that sounds great.”

The warning bell rang, and sent students scurrying.

Chase stood for a moment longer, just staring at me and smiling. Then he leaned in close.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he whispered, his lips so close to my ear that I could feel the heat of his breath. Then he turned and walked away, weaving through the crowd of freshman and bounding up the stairs.

My heart was thumping wildly. A crowd of popular freshman girls stood a few lockers down, throwing annoyed glances my direction and whispering. I tried to ignore them, pulling my Spanish book from my locker and slamming the door closed. I breezed through the door and slid into my desk as the tardy bell rang shrilly.

***

I didn’t have any problems getting my parents to agree to let me spend the night at Rachel’s. Mom and Dad never had to call ahead and check out my story. I was the good child. I never snuck out of the house. I never broke curfew. I never drank. I thought smoking was disgusting and constantly harassed Dad to quit. I’d always been told how mature I was for my age, how responsible, and I wore the compliment like a badge of honor. The only way I even made it through asking my parents to spend the night at Rachel’s was the fact that they trusted me enough not to question it. Had they asked me, point blank, if Rachel’s parents were going to be home, I probably would have ended up spilling the truth. But they didn’t. My guilty conscious might have gotten the better of me that evening, had I not been so nervous.

I went home after school to pack my overnight bag. At five, just before my mom was due home from work, Tina arrived to pick me up. She had conned her older brother into taking the three of us to rent movies and then drive us to Rachel’s, if we each agreed to chip in ten dollars to pay for his gas and dinner. I threw my bag in the back and climbed in the truck, handing over my share of the bribe.

We got to the video store early enough that there were actually a few new releases still left on the shelves. We grabbed Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, The Crow, and Hot Shots: Part Deux, then headed to the store to pick up some soda and few bags of chips. The boys were planning to pick up a couple of pizzas and arrive sometime before 7:00.

At Rachel’s, we threw the food in the kitchen and the sodas in the refrigerator. Rachel took Tina’s and my bags and shut them in her room, then we headed down to the living room to watch TV and wait for the boys to arrive. Tina and Rachel were their usually giggly, giddy selves, and didn’t seem at all nervous about being in a house alone with boys that were three and four years older. Was I a goody two-shoes? I’d been called that before several times, but I’d always thought my friends were joking. Sure I hadn’t started drinking or smoking or dating as early as many of them did, but I didn’t think that made me abnormal. Tina and Rachel acted as if hanging out with older boys and deceiving their parents were the most natural things in the world, while my poor stomach was tied in painful knots.

When the doorbell rang, I actually heard my heart ricochet off my breastbone. I took a deep breath and tried to smile naturally as Rachel opened the door. Randy carried two pizzas, and made a beeline for the kitchen to set them down. Behind him, Ben and Chase strolled through the door, nonchalantly carrying two cases of Coors Light. My mouth fell open in surprise, but I snapped it shut again before anyone noticed. I looked at Rachel and Tina, but they didn’t even seem to notice.

“Hey,” Chase said, as he strolled passed me into the kitchen. I watched as he loaded the beer into the refrigerator.

I had tasted alcohol twice in my life. As a child, I sometimes went hunting with Dad and Grandpa Felker. Sitting in the gooseblind on the banks of the frozen Platte River, Grandpa would often make me a cup of hot chocolate to keep me warm. Once, Dad had stirred in a splash of Peppermint Schnapps, and I had barely been able to detect the flavor of mint as I sipped.

The only other time I could remember having alcohol was when I was five years old. Our dog Tu-tu had puppies, and we kept them in our basement in a pen that Dad made from some old boards and chicken wire, until they were old enough to be adopted. There were several bags full of cans in the basement—beer cans, soda cans, old vegetable and fruit cans—that we collected to recycle. I was thirsty and wanted something to drink, but I didn’t want to leave the puppies to go all the way upstairs. Dad had been down to check on the puppies, but had gone back up to watch TV, leaving a beer can on the stairs behind him. Picking up the can and feeling a few swallows still left in the bottom, I tilted my head back and drank. At the first taste of the bitter, lukewarm liquid, I began to cough and gag. I threw the can on the floor and ran upstairs to get a glass of water, hoping it would be enough to wash the nasty taste out of my mouth. I remember thinking that grownups must be crazy to actually want to drink the stuff.

            I knew Lindy drank sometimes, and that it was pretty common among high school students. In the few short weeks since the school year began, I had already heard about several wild parties that sent the gossip gallery hustling to spread the news of who got wasted, who puked, and who hooked up with whom. While I sometimes wondered if I was missing out on the action, the thought of being out of control scared the hell out of me.

            Now, here I was, watching Chase stack beer in the fridge. He left six out on the counter. Six. And that meant one of them was for me.

            “So are you always this quiet, or do I just make you that nervous?”

            It took a moment for me to realize that Chase was talking to me.

            “Huh?” I asked.

            He laughed and closed the fridge.

            “You don’t say much, do you?” Chase asked. He cracked open one of the beers and took several long gulps.

            I shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess not,” I said. My cheeks were hot, and I wondered if he noticed.

            He laughed and picked up another beer from the counter, cracking it open, and handing it to me.

            I didn’t know what to do. I sure as hell didn’t want to drink any of it, but I didn’t want Chase to think I was a total idiot. I held the cold can in my hand for a moment, then put it to my lips and pretended to swallow.

            Can he tell I’m faking? I wondered. I stole a glance at Chase. He was watching me and smiling.

            I tilted the can back down, trying not to wince as I licked the bitterness from my lips.

            “You hungry?” he asked.

            “Yeah.”

            Chase took a paper plate from the stack on the counter.

            “Supreme or plain cheese?” he asked, surveying the options.

            “Cheese,” I answered quickly.

            Jeff took a slice of cheese pizza, put it on the plate, and handed it to me.

            “Thanks,” I said.

            Rachel, Ben, Tina, and Randy burst into the kitchen, breathless and laughing.

            “Yo man! You two startin’ the party without us?” Ben asked, pointing at the beer in my hand.

            Chase laughed. “Hell yeah! That’s what you get for bein’ distracted!”

            The boys laughed loudly. Tina and Rachel looked at each other and giggled. I got the feeling that I was missing something, and stood, waiting for someone to explain the joke. No one did. They grabbed plates of pizza and cans of beer and headed into the living room to start the movies. I followed.

            We watched Ace Ventura while we ate. Randy, Ben, and Chase drank beer after beer without much of a pause in between. I tried a sip of mine, but even the tiny taste made me want to vomit. I continued to pretend to drink, pouring it down the sink when I went to the kitchen to throw away my empty plate. I kept the empty can on the table beside me to keep Chase from offering another. Both Rachel and Tina guzzled several beers each, and it wasn’t long before they began giggling more than usual, and slurring as they talked. When Tina got up to use the bathroom, she stumbled and nearly fell face first into the TV. Randy managed to grab her by the belt and pull her into his lap. She pushed him away playfully.

            “I’m fine!” she giggled. “I just tripped a little. Come on, lemme go. I gotta pee!”

            Randy helped her stand, and turned her so she faced the bathroom.

            “There you go, baby,” he said. “Careful now.”

            They laughed as she staggered to the bathroom, her left hand dragging across the wall for support. I hadn’t even noticed Chase, until I felt him brush against my shoulder. When we started the movie, Ben, Rachel, Tina, and Randy settled in snugly on the couch. Chase took a seat in the green recliner, and I sat a few feet away on the floor. Somehow, during the course of the movie, Chase had migrated onto the floor, sitting close enough to touch me.

            Randy got up to switch the movies, then headed to the kitchen. Rachel giggled as Ben tickled her playfully, and I looked away when he pulled her close and began kissing her. I didn’t know what to say, what to do, so I didn’t do anything. I sat, staring at the TV and pretended to watch the Coming Attractions.

            I felt Chase’s hand on my shoulder. He had moved in behind me, sitting up against the corner of the couch. He pulled me back, until I was leaning into him, my head and shoulders resting against his chest, his left arm circling my shoulders and draped across my body.  I could feel myself tensing at his touch, and he must have felt it too, because he laughed softly.

            “You need to relax,” he whispered. He reached his right hand up and began massaging my neck and shoulders, his fingers kneading my muscles. I closed my eyes. Chase’s touch sent what felt like little electric charges pulsing through my body. I couldn’t decide whether I liked the feeling, as it began to make ne nauseous.

            “Yo! Get a room!” Randy yelled, and my eyes snapped open.

            Rachel giggled.

            “Mind your business,” Ben retorted. “Maybe you should go check on your girlfriend. She hasn’t come back yet.”

            “Aw, shit!” Randy said. He dumped the handful of beers on the couch next to Ben and disappeared into the hallway.

            Ben opened a beer for Rachel and himself, then tossed one to Chase.

            “Lori? You ready for another one?” he asked, holding one out to me.

            “Oh, no thanks, I’m good,” I said.

            Ben laughed and looked at Chase. “Man, this one’s a lightweight,” he said, nodding his head at me.

            “Nah, leave her alone,” Chase said. “She’s okay, just taking it slow.”

            My cheeks were hot, and I was glad that it was dark, so no one could see me blush.

            “Damn! Are we ready to start this movie, or what?” Ben shouted. Randy and Tina spilled out of the hallway, clinging to each other and giggling madly.

            “Yeah, we’re ready,” Randy said. He sat on the couch, and pulled Tina down next to him.

            For the next few hours, I sat in uncomfortable silence, pretending to watch The Crow and after it, Hot Shots: Part Deux. Chase continued to rub my neck as I leaned against him. I shivered, and he must have thought I was cold, because he pulled a quilt from the chair behind him, and draped it over me.

            There was something about his touch that made my skin crawl, like an army of tiny ants marching in tight formation. It was not a light, tingling, exciting feeling like I’d always read about in books. Instead, it made me want to pick and scratch at my skin until I pulled the flesh from my bones to get rid of the feeling. I wondered if this was what it was supposed to be like to be touched by a boy. I wondered if I would eventually start to like the feeling. Rachel and Tina didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Rachel and Tina and every other girl I knew seemed to enjoy it so much that they walked the halls at school with their boyfriends constantly draped all over them.

            I closed my eyes and tried to push the thought away.

            By the time the movies ended, both Tina and Randy were asleep on the couch. Rachel unfolded herself from Ben’s embrace and stood stretching. I followed her lead and stood up to stretch. Chase’s hands slid down my back as I pulled away from him. I didn’t look, but I could feel his stare.

            “Hey, get up Sleepy,” Rachel said, slapping Randy’s foot to wake him. “Don’t even think about getting comfortable here tonight.”

            Randy rolled his head to the side, but didn’t open his eyes.

            “Aw, come on, baby,” Ben said, trying to pull Rachel back down onto the couch. “You mean we’re not spending the night?”

            Rachel laughed. “Yeah right! My parents are coming back tomorrow, who knows what time. I’d love to see what my father would do if he walked in and caught the three of you here.”

            “Nevermind,” Ben said, standing. “I ain’t waitin’ around to find out. Come on, Randy.”

            Ben punched Randy in the leg. Randy moaned and began to stir. “All right, all right. Jesus,” Randy said. He untangled himself from the blankets and stood without waking Tina.

            “Shit, man, she ain’t asleep. She’s passed out!” Chase said, laughing. “How much did she drink?”

            Randy shrugged. “Who knows? She was keeping a pretty good pace with me for awhile.”

            The boys laughed and began to migrate slowly toward the door.

            “Think we can catch the end of the party over at Dougie’s?” Randy asked, fishing in his pocket for the keys to his truck. They had parked a few blocks away in the deserted lot behind the doctor’s office, to avoid the watchful eyes of the neighbors.

            “Hell yeah,” Chase said. “You know Dougie’s parties never end before sunrise. We’ll get there just in time.”

            “Hey, Randy, why don’t you make yourself useful and go get that piece of shit truck of yours and pick us up?” Ben asked, as he pulled Rachel into one of the shadowy corners near the door. Rachel giggled.

            Randy waved his hand in dismissal. “Yeah, whatever man. Get it while you can. You better have your ass on that curb by the time I get back, or I’m leavin’ you.” He cut through the yard and disappeared around the side of the house.

            I stepped out onto the dark porch. The September air was crisp and just cold enough to see light puffs of air emerge from my lips when I exhaled. The streetlights burned brightly, casting the parts of the neighborhood just beyond their reach into deep shadow. The last few crickets that hung on before the winter chirped loudly in the darkness. I breathed in deep, trying to slow the nervous pattering of my heart. The moment I had been both dreaming about and dreading had arrived.

            Chase stepped in close behind me, his hands moving slowly around my hips to my abdomen. He pressed against me, and I could feel the heat of his body through our clothing. When I felt his hands slowly begin to travel up my body, I panicked, and turned suddenly to face him. He accepted my move as an invitation and smiled, leaning in slowly until our lips touched.

            I had been kissed a few times before—in the darkness on the middle school dance floor, at the movies, and once even by a “boyfriend” that I’d invited up to spend the day at the lake with my family over the summer—but we had been children, and the kisses had been brief and childish attempts to feel like adults. Though I wasn’t much older, the act suddenly seemed so much more significant, and I couldn’t help but feel that this was one of the moments from which there was no return.

            Chase kissed me, softly at first, our lips barely brushing. Then he pulled me tightly against him and pressed his lips firmly to mine. I gasped when I felt his tongue slither into my mouth. He buried one of his hands in my hair and pressed my face so firmly against his that his teeth cut into my lips. His other hand, that had been on my lower back, slowly began to slide around my waist and up my side. I clamped my elbow firmly against my body to stop the advance, and breathed a sigh of relief when the headlights of Randy’s truck spilled across the lawn.

            When Chase pulled back, I leaned limply against the porch railing, feigning nonchalance when inside, my stomach was churning. I prayed that I wouldn’t vomit. Chase smiled and stepped down off the porch.

            “I’ll see you later,” he said.

            I didn’t have the strength to speak, so I nodded.

            “Ben, let’s go!” Chase called. Then he turned and sauntered down the sidewalk. Behind me, Ben burst out the front door, stumbling across the porch and laughing. Rachel stood in the doorway and giggled, lifting her hand once to wave as the truck tore away from the curb and disappeared around the corner.

            She threaded her arm through mine, as we retreated inside.

            “So?” she asked, smiling. “What do you think? Did you have a great time?”

            “Yeah,” I said, stretching a smile across my face that mirrored Rachel’s, “a great time.”

            Later, curled up on the floor of Rachel’s room beneath a pile of blankets, I couldn’t stop my mind from replaying the events of the night, over and over. Long after both Rachel and Tina began to breathe slow and deep with sleep’s regularity, I stared at the ceiling in the darkness. I could smell Chase on me, that musky mixture of cologne and cigarettes, and I wondered if I had made a mistake, if I had set in motion something that was already spinning too quickly out of control.

CHAPTER ONE

 

“In all of us there is a hunger, marrow-deep, to know our heritage—to know who we are and where we have come from. Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning.” –Alex Haley

 

 “Maybe I’ve been put on earth to be an ordinary person. Not to do anything great, but to do something small that involves great love.” – Adoptive mother

 

 If people are too close to a situation, they have no perspective. They are simply caught in the chaos, the world whirling around them in a hypnotic haze that prevents them from being able to see things clearly. For me, the whirling began the day Mom sat me and my sister, Lindy, down at the breakfast table to tell us that we were adopted. It was like being on a merry-go-round. I already gave the man my ticket and chose my horse. Sitting tall in the saddle, I waited anxiously for the ride to begin. When the switch flipped, there was always a sudden jolt as the wheels turned, yet I was never startled. I was expecting it, anticipating the momentum.

And so it was with the story of my adoption.

I did not find out that I was adopted until my adolescence. I just turned twelve and started the seventh grade. Lindy was one year older. It was October and my family was preparing to move from Bird City, Kansas to Holdrege, Nebraska. Dad already went ahead to start his new job at Agri Co-op in Holdrege, leaving Mom to finish packing, and Lindy and me to complete the first quarter of the school year to make our transfer easier.

The house seemed so dim and empty with everything packed away. The living room was full of brown boxes that had been filled, labeled, and stacked in precarious piles that leaned slightly to one side or the other and threatened to topple. There was only a thin corridor to maneuver through the living room to the hallway. All that remained unpacked were a few kitchen items, an old green couch, a small black-and-white television perched on a brown TV tray, and a few cabinets and drawers full of odds and ends. We had some clothes and bathroom items to finish the week tossed haphazardly in half-empty suitcases.

Sometimes, it is almost as if I can sense when something big is going to happen, feel it like a pricking on my skin or even smell it in the air. That morning I felt nothing and smelled nothing out of the ordinary. I sat down and poured myself a bowl of Cheerios, waiting for Mom to ask me for the hundredth time how close I was to finishing my packing or if I’d gotten all my transfer forms signed at school. Lindy was already sitting at the table, eating a bowl of Rice Krispies and looking bored.

Mom pulled up a chair next to me and took a deep breath.

“Lori, honey, I’m gonna tell you somethin’ your father and I should’ve told you girls a long time ago,” Mom began. The way my mom’s voice was shaking scared me. I had never seen her so nervous.

“We always meant to tell you,” she continued, “but it never got brought up. Now that we’re movin’ back to Nebraska, it’s important that you know. Honey, you and Lindy are adopted.”

I stopped, mid-bite, spoon still in my mouth, milk dribbling down my chin.

I looked at Lindy. She was absently spooning sugar onto her cereal, not even appearing to pay attention. Was she deaf? Did she just hear what Mom said? Or was I dreaming?

That’s it, I thought. I must be dreaming.

After a moment, when I regained the ability to move my limbs, I wiped my chin, put the spoon in my bowl, and swallowed.

“What?” Perhaps I heard wrong or misunderstood.

Mom continued, “Last night, after you went to bed, Lindy stayed up to help me pack. I didn’t even think. I told her to start packin’ all the stuff in the file cabinet. I didn’t notice she was lookin’ at some of the papers as she was puttin’em in the box. She found some of my old work papers and saw that I left work in ’79 to adopt a baby.”

Mom paused and looked at me for a moment, as if expecting me to say something. I think if I would have tried to speak right then, only choked monosyllables and unintelligible caveman-like grunts would have come out. I stared at her, a million thoughts colliding in my brain.

“It’s not the way I wanted you girls to find out, but it’s out in the open now, and I figure that’s good. You were already sleepin’ so we didn’t wake you up. I figured I could wait ‘til today to tell you.”

Mom took another deep breath.

“Before we got you girls, Daddy and I got pregnant three times, but we lost the babies. Our last baby, Bradley, lived a few days in the hospital, but we lost him, too. The doctor told me that I’d never be able to carry a baby. Daddy and I wanted one so badly, so we started talkin’ about adoption. We signed up with several agencies, but we were put on the bottom of all the waiting lists and told that it could take years.

“There was a friend of the family, a doctor your Uncle Bob and Aunt LaRue knew out in North Platte, Nebraska. He knew we were lookin’ to adopt. One day, we got a phone call from him, and he told us that a young girl just had a baby and was plannin’ to put it up for adoption. He said if we wanted her, we could come get her.

“We were so scared that somethin’ would happen and we wouldn’t be able to get her, so we didn’t tell anybody we were going. We drove to North Platte, and got Lindy. We went to see your grandparents when we got back home. Your grandpa opened the door and saw me standing there with Lindy in my arms…it was one of the only times I ever saw your grandpa cry.

“A year later, we got another call. There was another girl who was going to give her baby up for adoption, and we could come and get her if we wanted. This time we decided to tell everybody ‘cause it had all gone so good gettin’ Lindy that we were sure we’d get you, too. We loaded up in Grandma and Grandpa Luethje’s motor home and made a weekend out of it. When we got you, your Grandma Luethje was so excited ‘cause there was finally a baby in the family with dark hair!

“We love you girls so much, and we always knew we should tell you, but we never knew when was the right time. We don’t want you to think we love you any less ‘cause you’re adopted. We love you even more ‘cause we wanted you so much.”

Mom stopped talking then and hugged me tight. I felt like I should say something, but all I could do was sit there, my twelve-year-old brain struggling to process what I just heard.

I was adopted. Adopted! What did that mean? My mom and dad weren’t really Mom and Dad?

My friend, Tenley, and her brother, Robbie, were adopted, but they had known since they were babies, because they were Korean, and their parents were Caucasian. Lindy and I didn’t stand out so starkly. Sure, the two of us didn’t look anything alike, since Lindy was blonde and fair, and I was brunette and tan, but it never occurred to me that we might not be related.

“Are you okay, honey?” Mom asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m just thinkin’.”

“I know it’s a lot to think about,” Mom said, smiling. “I just want you to remember that Daddy and I love you very much, and if you have any questions, you can ask us. Okay?”

I nodded. Then it was time to grab our books and homework and cram it all into our backpacks, so we could run off to school. Mom hugged Lindy and me tightly and sent us out the door.

We walked the four blocks in silence, the chilly October air biting at our bare cheeks. I was dying to say something, anything, but I had no idea where to begin. On the surface, it was just another day. Inside me, an emotional storm was building. Mom’s words kept repeating in my head, like an audiotape stuck on an unending loop.

We loaded up in the motor home, and we made a weekend out of getting you. Your Grandma Luethje was so excited because there was finally a baby in the family with dark hair!

Lindy didn’t say a word. I wondered what she was thinking. Was she as excited and confused as I was? I snuck a glance at her as we walked, searching her face for a sign of emotion. She just trudged along, as if nothing had even happened. For a moment, I wondered if maybe it was all a dream.

Adopted.

Adopted.

I’m adopted.

My mind began to race again, as I tried to imagine what all my friends would think when I told them. I hurried along, feeling like I was absolutely going to burst if I did not get to tell someone soon.

* * *

Having lived for over six years in the tiny town of Bird City, Kansas (population 482), moving to Holdrege, Nebraska (population 5,671) was intimidating. I had grown comfortable in my small school where I never had more than thirteen students in my entire class. Now, I was going to be in a class of over 115 students. In addition to starting a new school in a new town, we arrived in October, which meant Lindy and I were thrust into an alien environment in the middle of the semester. We would not have the luxury of showing up on the first day of school and blending into the crowd. No, we would materialize one day, and everyone was going to notice.

With the weight of the move on my adolescent shoulders, I did not have much time to think about my adoption. Somewhere, deep down, I must have always known because the news did not come as an incredible shock to me. Like that first jolt when the merry-go-round starts in motion, the revelation of my adoption affected me, but really did not surprise me. It was as if I had been expecting it all along. I did not scream or cry or pout. I did not even ask any questions. I simply accepted the news the same way I would have accepted my mom telling me the sky was going to be blue again that day.

Yet, in spite of the relatively smooth transition from being ordinary to being adopted, the merry-go-round had indeed begun turning, so slowly at first that I hardly noticed it. I believe what saved me from the initial emotional upheaval was being told about the adoption just days before my family moved in the middle of the school year. What 12-year-old has time to philosophize about her origins or suffer a full-blown identity crisis when she is faced with real adolescent issues—moving to a new town, making new friends, and learning the culture and customs of a new middle school? As the new kid, I was able to assimilate my new adopted persona into my already existing identity. My new friends and teachers never knew me differently, so the new Lori Lynn Luethje, adoptee, was born.

It did not take long for the stress and excitement of the move to wear off. I made new friends, joined the seventh grade volleyball team, and was getting used to my new class schedule. Though I missed my friends and all that I left behind in Bird City, my new life in Holdrege began to settle into a comfortable routine.

It was a lesson in my seventh grade science class that cast a harsh and blinding light on the subject of my adoption for the first time. While studying a unit on genetic inheritance, our teacher, Mrs. Palmer, assigned us a weekend project—tracing inherited traits like hair color, eye color, and blood type back through our families as far as we could. I sat, stupefied, suddenly realizing that I had nothing to trace. There was not one person I knew in my life that I was even remotely genetically related to. I could feel a heavy lump beginning to form in the pit of my stomach, as I raised my hand.

“Lori? You have a question about the assignment?” Mrs. Palmer asked.

“Um…yes,” I stammered. “I…I don’t think I can do the assignment, ‘cause I’m adopted.”

Mrs. Palmer stared at me, as if she did not quite know how to answer. I felt my cheeks burning as my classmates stared and whispered. I kept my eyes focused on Mrs. Palmer, hoping no one would see the tears of embarrassment that were beginning to cloud my eyes.

“Well, I guess you can’t do the project then,” Mrs. Palmer said abruptly. “Just follow along with the reading and the chapter questions. Now, let’s get cleaned up, class. The bell is about to ring.”

Until then, it had not even occurred to me that my adoption set me apart from my peers or that I was any different from the other children because of it. Yet, as I sat there in that seventh grade classroom, choking back a sob and waiting for the bell to ring, I felt completely and utterly alone. I was an alien, an outcast, something that might be tolerated by the rest of the world, but not accepted by it.

Hurrying out the door, I heard a sneering whisper from the crowd behind me.

“She just didn’t wanna do the work. I wish I was adopted, so I didn’t hafta do it either.”

It was at that moment that my adoption began to consume me, and the world whirling around me began to blur.

* * *

I don’t remember much of my eighth grade year. What I have I would call more vague impressions than memories. I remember being in band and choir. I remember playing volleyball and basketball, and joining the track team. I remember spending time with my two best friends, Jenny and Howie, but most of the other details are missing.

Every now and then, I will bump into or hear from old classmates, and they will begin reminiscing about past events. Sometimes, the details they share will unleash a memory from whatever dark cavern of my mind it had been hiding in and I will be able the recall that situation. Other times, no matter how detailed the story, no matter how many times the person will chide, “Come on, Lori. Don’t you remember?” I simply cannot dredge the memory from the swampy abyss, where so much of my eighth grade year seems to have been swallowed. Sometimes I play along, nodding and smiling, faking recollection to avoid feeling foolish and frightened by the loss of time. Other times I simply give up, shrugging my shoulders, shaking my head and admitting that, at some point, the memory was lost.

What I remember most clearly that year is my social studies class and my teacher, Mr. Jeffrey. Many of the details about Mr. Jeffrey’s actual class are fuzzy as well, but one day, seemingly out of the blue, Mr. Jeffrey looked me square in the eye and asked, “Lori, why don’t you ever smile?”

The question took me by surprise. I was not aware that I appeared sad and melancholy. I must have looked puzzled by the question because he continued.

“ And why are you always so quiet? You are incredibly smart, and I know that you know the answers to questions and have things to say, but no one ever gets to hear them.”

I looked away and shrugged my shoulders and told him in a quiet voice that I didn’t know.

Mr. Jeffrey made it his goal to see me smile that year, and I will certainly give him credit for trying. He praised me on projects and came in with a new joke to tell every single day, but with my mind so preoccupied about my adoption, as it had been since the day of Mrs. Palmer’s genetic inheritance project, I simply did not have the ambition or the energy for much else.

By then, horrible fears about my birthfamily had begun to cloud my already cluttered mind. What if my birthparents died before I could find them? What if I had been stolen from them and my adopted parents had no idea? What if they were sick or crazy? What if it was a disease I could get, too? What if they were horrible people who would show up one day and try to take me away? What if they were wonderful people, but wanted nothing to do with me? What if I was the product of rape? What if I fell in love with someone and found out I was related? With these questions constantly churning in my brain, I felt anxious and afraid a lot of the time, and with the fear came something else, a constant aching sadness that settled deep in the pit of my stomach—an ache that grew, ever so slightly, with the passing of the days.

I began visiting adoption websites on my computer and reading books on adoption. I even wrote a paper for Mr. Jeffrey’s social studies class on the history of adoption and how it evolved in the United States. It was the first time that I attacked adoption with academic fervor. I scoured the library for books and took home handfuls to read. The more I read, the more I realized that adoption in the United States was something of a shady business. There were too many lies, too many secrets, too many stories of sealed records and dead end searches and young girls sent away to bury the shame of their secrets. I tried to imagine my own biological parents and what their situation might have been, but my visions were murky and clouded.

Mr. Jeffrey asked me to stay after class the day he passed back our graded papers. He waited for the other students to leave the room and then turned his attention to me.

“I didn’t realize you were adopted,” he said.

I was too nervous to do much more than nod.

“My oldest daughter, Kristen, is adopted,” he continued. “I was intrigued by your paper. If you ever want to talk about it, let me know.”

I longed to say, Yes, I would love to talk about it, and then ask the hundred or so questions that burned daily in my brain, but I bit my tongue. My feelings about my adoption were muddled and confused, and I was afraid to say anything about them for fear that someone would think I was crazy.

I thanked Mr. Jeffrey for the offer and hurried out of the room.

Since the day she first told Lindy and me about our adoption, Mom had not revisited the subject. It just never came up in our day-to-day conversations. I had so many questions, but I was too scared to ask. I thought if I started asking, or told Mom and Dad that I wanted to search, they would think that meant I didn’t love them. I kept imagining the silent, agonized expression on my mom’s face. Just the thought of it was enough to bring me to tears. Losing three babies must have hurt badly enough, and I did not want to be the cause of any new pain. I kept my mouth shut and relied on books, articles, and websites to quench my curiosity.

I thought about my birthmother the most. All I really knew about her was that she was very young, only fifteen, when I was born. I did not know anything about my birthfather, so I had no idea what the situation might have been between them. I prayed that I was a child born of a loving relationship. I did not want to imagine any other possibilities.

I began writing letters to my birthmother that year, introducing myself, filling her in on my life. I wrote page after page with all the things I thought she might want to know, everything from my thoughts and dreams to the everyday mundane things like how I had done on my latest exam and what boys I thought were cute. They were therapy, those letters. They were the only thing that kept my beleaguered brain from bursting. All my hopes, all my fears, I poured out on those pages. Yet, I always thought the letters sounded stupid and childish. I was afraid that someone might see them and think I was insane, so I tore each one into a hundred pieces as soon as I had finished and threw them all away.

Still, I imagined her receiving the letters and reading them, and I tried to envision how she would respond. I pictured her sitting at her own desk, pen in her hand and some blank sheets of paper before her. I could see her, tapping the pen cap against her lips and drumming her fingers on the table, while she tried to think of what to say. She would write and tell me that everything was going to be okay, and I would believe her.

I studied my face in the mirror, tracing every contour, every curve. I sat for hours trying to memorize exactly how I looked—the shape of my nose, the curve of my cheekbones, the strange chameleon colors of my eyes. Somehow, I thought that might help me recognize my birthparents, should I pass them on the street one day. I imagined I would know, some sort of electric impulse sparking between us at the moment of contact, and that we would laugh and cry and hug each other and never let go.

In spite of all my dreaming, I knew that I shouldn’t get my hopes up. My birthparents were out there, hopelessly lost in a sea of strangers. They might be dead. They might want nothing to do with me. They might be frightening, horrible people. Still, I could not seem to stop myself from looking, from dreaming, from holding fast to the thin thread of hope that the stars would align and our lives would mingle amidst the chaos.

            Perhaps that is precisely what happened, for I don’t quite know how else to explain it.

PROLOGUE

 “It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.” – Virginia Woolf

 “A dream is an answer to a question we haven’t yet learned how to ask.” – Fox Mulder, X-Files

 

I stood at the back door gazing into the darkness. A million blades of dewy grass sparkled silver, like a blanket made of stars. The full moon had begun its descent in the early morning hour, but still gave off so much light that I could see almost as well as if it had been daytime. Inside, the house was cool and silent.

I stood at the back door, my nightgown (one of my dad’s old t-shirts) hanging down below my ankles. My bare feet sunk into the knotted cotton rug just inside the door. It was soft beneath my toes. Across the yard, our red Chevy Blazer was parked under the carport that stood to the left of the garage. In front of it sat two wooden deck chairs. At one time, the chairs were painted a dark reddish-brown, but the sun and the rain had wore them down and chipped away the varnish to a dull dirt color.

There, in the moonlight, I first saw her.

She was dressed all in white—the fabric loose and flowing, the bottom of it skimming just above the ground. Her blonde hair shone under the bright August moon, falling just below her shoulders. From that distance, in the darkness, I could not clearly see her face.

As she walked, she seemed to be studying the ground around her feet, gliding slowly through the half-light. A restless apparition. When she reached the first chair, she ran her fingers along its arm. Then, I watched as she bent down and looked beneath it, her cheek just inches from the pavement.

What is she doing? I wondered.

I pressed my nose to the cool glass window while she continued on her way, her eyes still roaming over the ground as she walked. Every now and then, she would pause and turn to look behind her, as if expecting someone else to be there. When she reached the second chair and stopped to look beneath it, the thought erupted in my brain. I heard it, as if I had actually spoken it aloud.

My mother is looking for me.

I reached for the lock on the door and turned the deadbolt with a snap.

I tried desperately to call out to her, “Mom! Mom, I’m here!” but my jaws seemed welded shut. No sound could escape.

I was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of urgent desperation. I fumbled with the handle of the screen door, my clumsy four-year-old fingers unable to release the stubborn latch. Clutching it with both hands, I squeezed with all my might, grinding my teeth together in panic. Suddenly, there was a loud click, and the door popped open.

I could see her turn and walk away from me.

My heart thumped wildly in my chest and I struggled to take even the smallest breath. I still could not speak, though in my mind, I was screaming.

I stepped into the still August morning. There was not a sound, not even a whisper as the world slumbered. The pavement was rough and cool beneath my feet.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed me firmly by the shoulder and spun me around.

“Lori, honey, what are you doing?”

I stared at my mom’s face, blinking in confusion. Her old bathrobe was tied hastily over her blue cotton nightgown. Her short brown hair stood crazily on her head where she slept. Behind her round glasses, her eyes looked worried and tired.

“Come on,” she said, ushering me back inside and locking the door behind us. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

I turned and looked out the window, but the woman I saw was gone.

Mom tucked me back into bed and kissed my forehead. On the bunk above me, Lindy rolled over with a sigh.

“Good night, sweetheart,” Mom said. She turned out the light and retreated to her bedroom where Dad snored loudly.

Lying in the darkness, hot tears burned my eyes as the thought played itself over and over in my mind. She’s gone. My mother is gone.

* * *

I thought about that night often over the years, initially fascinated by the fact that I was sleepwalking. The journey from my bedroom to the back door, where I first remember standing, was no small feat. To get there, I had to get out of bed and leave my bedroom without stepping on any of the toys Lindy and I often left lying on the floor. Then, I had to walk through the living room, passing my parents’ open bedroom door. Mom was always a light sleeper and our dog Tu-tu, who slept at the foot of Mom and Dad’s bed, was a virtual motion detector, growling and barking at even the slightest of noises.

Next, I had to weave my way through the kitchen to the back porch. The door itself where I first remember standing was down several stairs on a landing that turned 90 degrees to the left, and led down more stairs into the basement. How I made it to the door without waking myself or anyone else is a miracle. Later Mom told me that the only reason she woke up and found me when she did was that Tu-tu started to bark when I opened the door.

The dream itself would not capture my attention until later. It wasn’t until I finally learned I was adopted that the contents of the dream took on significance. I thought it was strange that I remembered it all so clearly when I had not even celebrated my fifth birthday. Ultimately, I assumed I remembered it because I awoke from it so suddenly, my mind able to recall the details because they were new and fresh. Later, after being told I was adopted, I began to wonder if the dream was my subconscious mind acknowledging a truth my conscious mind was unaware of.

Still, I was puzzled. How could this woman in my dream possibly be my mother? I had never even seen her, at least not that I could remember. And why on earth would I dream that my mother had blonde hair? My dark hair and skin tone were the most striking features that set me apart from my adopted relatives, always making me feel out of place. There was even a point during my childhood that my sister and my cousins, Tonya and Shelly, refused to let me join in any of their secret games because I did not have the same flaxen blonde hair they did.

Chalking it up to a mistake made by my dreaming mind, I did not think much more about it, until November of 2002, when Momma Dawn contacted me for the first time and emailed me some photographs. My stomach churned with nervous anticipation as I opened the email and waited for the photographs to load on my computer screen. My jaw dropped, and my breath caught in my throat when I saw her that first time. I stared at the photographs, mesmerized by the long blonde hair, falling just below her shoulders.