Astronauts

Astronauts

The day I got the call that my mother had passed wasn’t how one might typically imagine. There were no tears. No sadness. It’s hard to feel anything when there’s no emotional attachment to the person.

I never knew this woman. Never got the chance nor really cared for one.

She had left me with her mother, Sarah, when I was only days old. I guess she had tried to do the right thing but the reality of raising a child solo is too much for some people.

I don’t know. Never will.

Sarah was a strict woman who ran a traditionally Christian household whose own daughter had been nothing but a pain in the ass in life. A disappointment. One that left another disappointment on her doorstep. But Sarah didn’t hold that against me. Well, at least not until she got older and started drinking and forgetting things but I had moved out for college by then.

She did her best while I was growing up. I think she looked at it as a do-over. A chance to raise a daughter that wouldn’t be anything like her own child.

And that was it. I never saw or heard from my mother again. Sarah barely talked about her. At first, she told me that she was my mother but eventually I think she just got tired of lying. She told me my mother’s name was Elizabeth, which was my name. Beth. That’s what everyone calls me. I couldn’t believe she named me after her. I don’t understand why.

Never will.

Sarah liked to tell me the bad things more than the good. Or maybe there just wasn’t much good about my mother.

Elizabeth was “different”, according to Sarah. She had bipolar disorder and an uncontrollable temper. Not to mention the urge to always be on the run. She had been the most difficult child, so said Sarah.

Sarah was scared that I might be the same. To be frank, I was too. I still am. I spent the rest of my life in fear of turning into the monster that was my mother.

Sarah had given me a locket with a picture of Elizabeth in it when I turned 9. Elizabeth must’ve been 16 or so in the picture. She was smiling at a fair. There was a Ferris wheel behind her. She looked happy and young and full of life.

I never wore the locket.

As I got older, I would realize that we looked exactly the same. At least that’s what I was told. I always hated that. I kept the locket in a box in my closet. When I moved away it remained in that same box just in a new closet.

When Sarah passed away two years ago, I didn’t know of any other family, minus a few cousins who weren’t close to me. I still didn’t even who my father was. So, I guess my mother decided to list me as her next of kin in case anything was to happen to her. Really didn’t expect a woman like her to have any sense of responsibility so I can say honestly that I was surprised to get the call in the first place.

Elizabeth’s lawyer, a man named Dickens, had made the call. He told me that she had passed away from cancer. Of course, I didn’t know she even had cancer. He explained I was needed in person to go over her will and sign paperwork.

At first, I wanted to tell him to fuck off. I didn’t know this woman. She never cared to get to know me. I didn’t want anything from her. But as I sat in my apartment that night, drinking a glass of Chardonnay and listening to Billy Holiday, I realized that maybe this was Elizabeth’s way of making amends.

A pretty morbid and fucked up way of doing so but I guess that was just her style.

Two days later I was on a plane to Jersey. Never thought I’d be back here. Never thought my mother would wind up back here either. I wondered if she ever thought she’d die here.

Guess I’ll never know.

Dickens’ office reminded me of a tomb. There was no life in that place. The eerie quiet looming about. I could literally hear sweat running down my face. It was too hot. I thought I might die there as I sat in the waiting room. And finally, Dickens called me back.

He told me how much I look like Elizabeth. I ignored him and asked where to sit. He motioned for me to sit at a round table where there was a security box or something sitting on top. Dickens began to tell me what a wonderful person my mother was.

“You should be proud,” he said. “Your mother worked very hard to give you this.” He pointed to the box.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I replied. I didn’t care what this man's opinion of my mother was. I already had enough of my own.

“Ok, Ms. Terington, just sign this document and the box is all yours,” Dickens said as he slid the paperwork closer to me.

I read through the paperwork and signed. He said he would leave me alone and come to check in on me soon. I almost wanted to tell him not to bother. I really didn’t want to be there anymore.

I sat at the table, staring at the stupid metal box like it was going to come to life. It didn’t. I picked up the key, snatched the box and left the office.

“Ms. Terington! Is everything alright, miss?” Dickens shouted as I ran out the building, box tucked under my arm. I kept running all the way to the car.

When I got inside my car, I threw the box on the back seat. For the first time since I was a child I cried.

“You bitch!” I shouted as I slammed my hands against the steering wheel.

“Never wanted to be in my life and now here you are. Invading it. After you’re already dead.” I sat in silence then looked at myself in the mirror. I did fucking look like her and I hated it.

“How could you just leave me like that?” I thought in despair. I looked over at the box from my rear-view mirror. It was almost like it was staring back.

I wanted to scream. Wanted to punch someone for no reason. Yell at passersby. Wanted to tell her how much I hated her. How I could never do what she did, leaving me like that. And then suddenly I just stopped feeling so angry. I stopped feeling anything.

The box seemed to answer back. It was telling me that everything was how it was supposed to be.

I thought that this was it. I had finally lost my mind. Crazy like my mother. Another lovely pass down from the good old family tree.

I drove back to my hotel and brought the box upstairs, key in hand. Not sure if I was ever going to open it but the thought of never knowing what was in there was keeping my mind racing.

There I was, having a showdown in my hotel room with a metal box like it was a worthy adversary.

“Ah, what the fuck am I doing,” I said to myself as I grabbed the key and unlocked the box.

It took an hour to organize everything in there but after I had finished, I stepped back, surprised by what I was looking at.

Handfuls of pictures, a beautifully old set of rings, a little black book, a burgundy cashmere scarf and other foreign antiques. Underneath all that was $20,000 cash.

“Wow, Elizabeth. What were you up to?” I said in disbelief as I skimmed through everything. The pictures seemed to be different times of Elizabeth’s life. Skydiving. Visiting Paris. Meeting celebrities.

She lived some sort of dream life. It was only making me hate her more until the black book.

I opened it to the first page. This was a diary for lack of a better word. And it started with a note addressed to me.

“My sweet Elizabeth. Nothing hurts more than knowing you think that I’ve let you down. That I didn’t love you. That I was never there. Please know that is the exact opposite.

Maybe you never will forgive me but I hope that through this journal, and other things that I have collected for you along the way, that you and I finally get to know each other.

There’s no simple way to put it but after I had you, I was told that I had cancer. Something that had spread so badly that it didn’t look like I had much time. I wanted you to be taken care of. Sarah’s one condition of keeping you was that I could never see you again. I couldn’t though, as you’ll soon find out if you feel inclined to read this book.

I know I messed up, Lizzie girl. But just know all I ever wanted was more time. I hope this money helps in whatever way possible but I hope even more that this book shows you who I am.

I love you. To the moon and never back because that’s just who we are, baby. Astronauts. I’ll see you in the stars, Elizabeth.”

In the back of the book were more pictures but these pictures I recognized. The summer camps and dance recital photos. Pictures of my birthday parties. The first dog I ever got.

She kept every picture Sarah would send her. Pictures she may have even taken herself.

As I looked through the book, in between entries about her wild adventures, I noticed dates and times from my life: sports games, recitals, graduations, you name it. She had detailed every moment she could, hiding among the sea of a crowd.

She had been there the entire time. My whole life.

I never knew this woman. And I never would. But suddenly I felt more connected to her than I ever possibly could. As I sat there something Sarah used to say kept running through my mind.

Regrets are the scars we carry to the dirt that we eventually call home. But they also make us who we are. They make us see ourselves for what we were, are, and can be.

Maybe I never knew my mother in life. I used to say never will, either.

But today I think I’ll start learning how to jump to the moon. And never come back. After all, I am an astronaut, baby.