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So I went home last night and dug around in my files until I found the stuff from my creative writing class at UMass Boston. I�ve already written this part of the story once�easier to just retype it than to try and recreate it�
My final project from Eng C210:
I was quietly seething by the time we returned to the apartment. Dinner had been a joke; he, Ginny, her two kids Billy and Jake, and me, sitting there like one big happy instant family, never mind that I�d known them for all of four hours. Then there was that stupid oath he�d made me take in front of all of them and our waiter, who was trying not to laugh at me through the rest of the meal--�I, Jennifer Wiseman, promise to always practice safe sex and not break my father�s heart.� He thought he was so funny, making me repeat after him, pausing for dramatic effect. Really, I might as well have ordered a bowl of stones for all I tasted my food.
In the ride to Ginny�s house, I sat in the back of the car with Bill and Jake, listening to them talk about the stranger in the front seat who used to be my father. He�d changed so much since he moved out here, everything, including his name. The man who left Massachusetts as Roy Lowell Wiseman landed in LA complete with a fake tan and a hair weave as Travis Patrick Wright. All these people kept calling him Travis. I had no idea who Travis was. Bill was filling me in, though, on what a good guy he was. At 11 years old, Bill had a relationship with Travis that bordered on hero worship. �He gave me the Aerosmith T-shirt that he got from Steven Tyler backstage at the opening show of the Pump tour!� Although Roy had never met anyone from Aerosmith, apparently Travis and Steven were very close. I asked Bill to describe the shirt to me, and wasn�t at all surprised to hear it looked just like the one I had purchased for Roy and sent out to him several weeks before, a piece of Boston for the transplanted-to-Californian. I didn�t mention that to Bill, though. He was so excited about the shirt he practically glowed as he talked about it.
We dropped Ginny and the boys off, then Travis and I headed back to his apartment, a scarily modern, chrome and black and glass monstrosity that had none of the warmth or welcome of our Massachusetts home. In the car, he told me how really happy he was out there, how much he loved Ginny, how he wanted to marry her, adopt the boys, maybe have another baby. �Just think, Jennifer, you finally wouldn�t be an only child.� I didn�t want to hear any of this. It was all too weird, too surreal, too much. I felt far too old to suddenly be a big sister, far too disconnected to think of any of these people as my family. All I wanted was to go home�HOME home. Not to bed in some cold and sterile apartment 3000 miles away from my pillow.
He let me in, checked his messages, said goodnight and left again, out to rejoin Ginny for an evening of dancing. They had invited me along, but I managed to decline politely. Inside, I waited to hear him drive back down the avenue, past all the other condo buildings that looked just like this one. Only then did I let go of my smiley fa�ade and storm up and down the stairs, yelling all the angry things I�d wanted to say all night but had kept stored bitterly inside.
Upstairs, I no longer felt sleepy, despite the 12:30 LA time making it 3:30 a.m. to my east coast body. I wanted to call home, to hear the voice of someone I knew and trusted and loved, but didn�t dare. Not at 3:30 in the morning. Instead, I headed for the room Travis had set me up in, a combination guest room/office space. I needed to write. I flicked on the harshly bright light, hit the power switch on the extremely expensive stereo and put my Red Hot Chili Peppers disc into the CD player, pressing �play� and �repeat.� Somehow, the sound of Anthony Kiedas singing made the room feel a little more like my space as I sat down at the desk. The old Macintosh computer, now hopelessly outdated, sat on top, one of the few pieces of our old life in evidence anywhere. I sat in the chair and started opening drawers, half looking for paper, half just looking.
Nothing in the narrow top drawer except pens and paper clips. I opened the file drawer next, still not admitting to myself that I was more snooping than anything else. I needed to make some sort of connection to this man�this life�that was part of me, even if only remotely. The drawer was full of hanging file folders, all neatly organized and labeled. Flipping through, I found one that said �personal letters.� Holding my breath, I pulled it out and opened it.
Dad had told me during all of our infrequent conversations since he�d moved out here that he felt abandoned by everyone back East, including his many good, close friends who cared a lot about him and continually asked me how he was. �I haven�t heard a word from any of them since I moved,� he�d sigh, a claim I was positive wasn�t true but I couldn�t argue with him once he got on his �poor me� crusade.
Now, in front of me, I had concrete evidence of that lie. I browsed through the file�s contents. Let�s see, three letters from the Mitchells, seven from the Pratts, seven from the Drakes, eleven from the Messengers. Gee, Dad, it would appear you�re full of shit!
There were too many envelopes to count at a glance, most from people whose names I recognized, a few from names I didn�t, including a couple with Wiseman in the return address. I didn�t know any of my dad�s relatives, so the names were not surprisingly unfamiliar. He�d left home at fifteen and never looked back. At least, that�s how the story went.
I turned to a couple of loose typed pages in the familiar font of the Mac. Something on one of the pages caught my eye, and, although I hadn�t planned to read anything in the file. I couldn�t help myself.
The letter was to one of the random Wisemans, someone named Ron, in Littleton, Colorado. The words swam in front of me as I tried to grasp their meaning. �Dear Ron, so, yes, you really did find me, though I never expected to hear from you�blah blah blah�Yes, I am your father�blah blah blah�But I�ve gotten along this far without you and you seem to have done fairly well without me so why don�t we just leave it that way�blah blah blah.
I couldn�t see straight. If my father was this guy Ron�s father, that meant I had a BROTHER? This didn�t make sense. I was an only child. I�d always BEEN and only child. Hadn�t I? As I absorbed the shock, I felt fury bubble dangerously close to the surface.
I turned back to the envelope with Ron�s return address in the corner and pulled out its contents�a couple pictures of Ron, pictures from his wedding where he looked like a young Roy, pictures of his daughter�I was an AUNT?! There was a letter from Ron�s mother, too, telling Roy he now had a chance to right the wrong he had created so many years ago when he left her and baby Ron alone. Dumbfounded, I sat and stared for a long time, unable to even move. He looked like me. I�d never had a relative who looked like me. He was my brother. He was a Wiseman. And I was 21 years old and had never even heard his name.
Finally, I packed all the evidence up, minus one of the wedding photos, which I stuck into my journal along with Ron�s address and phone number. By the time Travis got back from dancing, everything was put away and I was in bed with the lights out, though I was far from asleep.
The next morning, I stayed behind closed doors until I heard him leave again. He was coaching Billy�s little league team and had a practice that morning. He promised he�d be back by lunch and we all�he, Ginny, Bill, Jake and myself�would go out together. I hadn�t slept at all. My head had been racing for hours. I couldn�t understand how someone I loved and looked up to could lie to me about something as important as who I was. This was a fundamental basic. He�d said to me on many occasions, in his more morbid moments, �You�re it, baby, the last Wiseman. The name dies with you.� The pressure that created was huge. If I was the last one, I�d better make it worthwhile. For years, I�d felt like a disappointment to him, like I�d never amounted to what he wanted from his namesake. Now, I didn�t care how he felt. He was a liar, a cheat, and a horrible person. And he was my father. How could I live with that? How could he? How could I stay? How could I look him in the eye? What was I supposed to say? �Gee, Dad, sorry I went through your stuff, but how come you never mentioned that brother I have?� I wanted to change my plane reservations and fly home that day. I wanted to never have to look at him again. I wanted to call Ron, to see if he knew any more about me than I knew about him.
In reality, though, I had about four hours before little league was over and Travis was home again. I�d never felt so alone. I hated California. I wished I�d never come. Finally, wired and crazed, I called Brian. He answered on the second ring.
�Hello?�
I breathed in deeply before I spoke, savoring the sudden sound of his voice. �Hi, it�s me.�
�Hi�� He paused and I could practically hear him calculating California time. �What�s up, sweet thang? Why are you calling me so early? What�s wrong?�
I smiled. �Nothing. I just wanted to say hi.�
�Jennifer, that�s bullshit. You aren�t calling me at 8:00 on a Saturday morning two days after you went to the other side of the country just to say hello. What�s the matter?�
�I�� I didn�t know what to say. Calling him was selfish. There was no way I could spill the whole story to him then. I�d fall apart, and I couldn�t afford to do that yet. Besides, I�d just scare him, and there was nothing he could do from Massachusetts. I took another deep breath. �This has been the worst night of my life, but I can�t really talk about it yet. I really just needed to hear your voice.�
He chuckled, and I could picture him sprawled across the comfy brown couch in his living room, drink and remote on the floor beside him, hair in a tangle in his face. �You know, Dorothy, if I had a pair of ruby slippers, I�d FedEx them out right now. But it�s only six more days. Or should I expect you early?�
This was the big question. Could I possibly stay in this house with that man for almost another week? I wasn�t sure. �I don�t know yet, but if I�m coming home, I�ll call you again. Otherwise, I�ll see you Thursday.�
Somehow I managed to say goodbye and hang up the phone. His words held me up. I didn�t call my mom, change my flight or run away. Instead, I pulled out the smiley fa�ade again and took a shower. By the time Travis got back from practice with the new family, I was the perfect image of the doting daughter.
The week passed at a crawl, but without confrontation. I was very quiet, not saying much directly to Travis at all. I was too busy hearing his voice in my head, �then you wouldn�t be an only child�You�re it�the last Wiseman�a new family�� and seeing that awful, hateful letter whenever I closed my eyes.
Finally, Travis took me back to the airport to send me home. �I�m so glad you came out here, Jennifer. It�s been so good to see you. I miss you so much, J, and I want you to always remember how much I love you. No matter what else happens in my life, you�ll always be my first kid, and no one will ever take that away from you.� I wanted to spit in his face.
The movie on the flight was Father of the Bride. I closed my eyes and prayed for sleep.
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