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| A bitter chill lingered in the air.
Small mounds of snow loitered beneath the larger trees and in the dark corners, defying the midday sun - even in the heart of April. Odd weather this year, I thought vaguely, pulling in my worn trench coat and folding my arms. Not that it was much use; the frosty air seemed to seep through even the heaviest insulation.
I began to shuffle my feet, ready to leave. After having spent almost a decade searching for this single address, I could barely remember what had made me try to realize this fairy-tale in the first place. Even from the beginning, I had always assumed that the search would lead to nothing more than some forlorn gravestone long forgotten, with a pair of barely legible names. And now that I was standing in front of their house facing an endless array of possible scenarios, half of me wanted nothing more than to get back into my dingy sky-blue Toyota Corrolla and drive away. What if they were cruel and heinous people? What if they didn't remember what they did so many years ago - and worse, even if they did, did I really want to know why? My childhood dream of being received by the most courteous, tender, loving people imaginable now seemed unreal and impossible. But as much as I yearned to return to the my comfortable, albeit mundane, life and forget about this entire undertaking, each step away from the front door brought another thousand reasons to stay and finish what was started. The neighbors must think I'm a lunatic, pacing back and forth on this front porch. However, there was no way for me to level the mountain of ambivalent and tangled emotions, so all I could do was remain there standing stubbornly on the creaky white floorboards, watching my breath turn to frost in front of my eyes. My fingers began to turn stiff.
Actually, I shouldn't have complained; I had been through much tougher winters than this. In fact, I could remember one in particular when I was barely six years old. The orphanage had lost a good deal of its funding that year, and most of the my older "brothers" who protected me were sent away. Along with them went many of the kinder "aunts" and "uncles" who needed to look after their own families, leaving the institution in the hands of a small group of older ladies who could barely look after themselves let alone a horde of needy young children. Food was scarce during mealtimes and became nearly nonexistent otherwise, and heating was only afforded when the temperature was below freezing. Each one of the extra blankets and pillows seemed to suddenly obtain spots of blood on it from the kids constantly fighting over them. The bullies always won.
It was times like those that I pulled out the only photograph I had of my parents. It was creased and ripped and discolored, and even though I wanted to hate them for putting me in such a place, I still dreamed that somewhere, thousands of miles away, they were asking, looking, searching desperately for me, their long-lost son.
So it was now that I pulled the old photograph out of my coat pocket. There was barely any color on it anymore, far beyond recognition, but I had their faces memorized so well, I was sure I could spot them on the other side of a football stadium.
Well, I didn't come here for nothing. And in spite of all the warnings running through my head about each possible catastrophic outcome, I slowly raised a shaky hand and rung the doorbell.
"Honey, will you get that please?" The woman's voice was muffled by the walls. Footsteps approached the door. The handle turned. With a small creak, the door opened, and an aging man replaced what was just my barrier between the known and the unknown. But his face was familiar. There were more wrinkles than I expected, but that kind complexion was unmistakable.
"Can I help you?" His voice was a bit different from what I imagined - a bit deeper.
Before I could reply, another familiar face approached. "Who is this young man, dear?"
I looked from one set of eyes to the other, still with one hand at the doorbell and the other clutching the photograph.
"Dad? Mom?" It was less than a whisper. Their eyes widened.
A warm breeze swept by.
<Well, it appears that the first story was preferrable. I can sort of see why myself. Oh, and yes I do want criticism - hit me with your worst.>
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| The door opened.
A pair of soft black shoes stepped through the doorway. I glanced idly over, searching the girl's profile in case I recognized her. But after a split second, I paused in shock. It was her. I had only seen her a few times before and didn't even know her name, but she had this aura that made the atmosphere of the room suddenly soften, as if an angel had entered. From one look at her, I could tell that she was obviously exhausted and a bit damp from the drizzling rain outside, but this could not detract one bit from her comforting presence. She had an indescribable and ineffable beauty which effused from her very being, like a halo of benevolence. Her soft hazel eyes spoke volumes about trust and wisdom. In fact, her entire figure seemed to emanate a sort of warmth and light.
Nervously, I looked around myeslf. Scanning through the small crowd, I tried to reassure myself that I alone would gain her attention. After all, I had as much to offer as any other! It was too much to hope for, though, and I couldn't even fool myself. Sitting all around me were much better choices; they were more ideal and pristine, better-dressed and more urbane. In comparison, I was scruffy - even, some might say, a bit worn. But when I looked back at her, those worries of inferiority melted as quickly as they had come; I could not see an ounce of judgment in her.
Time was short, though, as she made her way along the aisles. I knew this was my best, and perhaps only, chance, so I quickly raised my eyes to try to catch her attention. Stunningly, she glanced over and caught my eye. For a moment, time stopped. This was the deciding moment where she could choose to either look away and keep walking or hold the short glance just long enough for it be an indication of acknowledgment and acceptance. And to my utter amazement, she paused in stride for a split second - a halt imperceivable except to the truly vigilant - and turned to walk down the aisle where I sat.
Hurrah! My insides leaped for joy, and for perhaps the first moment of my entire existence I felt what so many others have felt and what all want: the assurance that they too are wanted.
But then she looked past me. All my thoughts suddenly froze as once again time slowed. I watched my own doom as, inch by inch, she walked past where I was sitting. In what could only described as a combination of panic and disbelief, I looked where her eyes were now directed.
NO, you're making the wrong choice! I wanted to scream, to shake her to her senses, to somehow, somehow return back to that split second when the world seemed right. But I couldn't find the energy to make even the slightest sound. It was already too late anyhow; I was no match.
And just like that, she took him off the shelf and strode away, leaving me stranded there just as I've been all this time. A lonely old teddy bear with no one to hold.
<Criticism please, constructive or otherwise.>
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