Finding Myself
The heat of the sweltering August day made the sweat gather at the nape of my neck, running down my back like a trickling spring. Unfortunately there was no breeze to assist me on this unforgiving day. The roof of my childhood treehouse offered little relief. In all honesty, I probably shouldn’t have been up here as a full grown adult. Any moment the floorboards could give way. It groaned and creaked as I gingerly tiptoed across the small room. With the familiarity and comfort of my childhood sanctuary, I settled myself onto the worn bean bag chair. I reached into my bag and pulled out the folder, thick with secrets. It’d been only twenty-four hours since I’d come across the unfamiliar folder in the attic of my childhood home. I had recognized the handwriting on the front of the folder as my mother’s, and a wave of sorrow washed over me. In the midst of my grief I decided to look at the folder later, somewhere where I felt safe. Which is how I found myself in my childhood treehouse sitting criss-cross with a folder as thick as a high school history book on my lap. My mother’s handwriting stared at me on the cover of the folder. Articles of Jane’s 1988.
I was intrigued by this for two reasons, number one being that in all my twenty-seven years of living I had never been called Jane by my mother or anyone. Janie? Yes. Janie Marie? Only when I was in trouble. But never Jane. The second reason being that I was born in 1999. So if this folder contained clippings from my childhood or drawings I had made, why did it say 1988 on it? I took a deep breath and gingerly opened the folder. A newspaper article made up the front page: LOCAL COUPLE WINS LOTTERY FORTUNE. It seemed like a random article until I looked closer at the couple pictured on the page. The woman–young, slender, and brunette–bore a striking resemblance to my mother, her smile and the sparkle in her eyes. The article said her name was Jane D.Wilson. She and her husband won over $750,000 in the lottery jackpot. I was more confused than ever.
I gingerly turned the page when a photograph fluttered to the ground. When I bent down to pick it up, I recognized it as a family photo of my grandparents and my mother, except in this picture my grandparents had two young girls in their arms. Instantly I recognized my mother, with her brown ringlets of hair framing her round, toddler cheeks as she was perched in my grandfather’s arms. My grandmother–a woman I only faintly remembered as a stern, quiet memory or two–was beaming brightly holding onto a young girl who looked to be two or three years older than my mother. They wore matching purple dresses and pigtails. I set the photo aside, my mind racing with possibilities. Could I have an aunt out there that my mother never mentioned? I refocused my attention to the folder on my lap and turned the page, finding a letter to my mother.
October 2nd, 1980
Dear Mary Beth,
My first month here has been overwhelming. I miss you all so much that it hurts sometimes. My classes are hard but not impossible. I have one professor here that reminds me of our English teacher from high school. Remember Mrs. Jackson? She used to have us act out our readings in class and only a few of us would take it seriously. My English professor here is the same way, very eccentric but makes things fun. How are classes going for you there? Junior year is such an important year. Don’t get discouraged, baby sister, but know that it’s only temporary. Before long you’ll be leaving for college (hopefully with me here at UC Davis). Don’t tell Mom and Dad but I went to my very first party last weekend. It was fun but I was nervous. Everyone there was super nice though so I wasn’t nervous for long. I even met a few cute guys. I ran into one of the guys in my biology lab class and he let me hang out with him during the party. It made it more fun to have someone vaguely familiar to talk to. He even walked me home at the end of the night.
Well, I’d better get back to doing my homework. It can only be put off for so long. Give Muffin a cuddle from me. I’ll see you in a few weeks for Thanksgiving. Love you so much!
Love,
Jane
P.S. Stay out of my closet!!
After I finished reading the letter, I had to take a break because my head was spinning with a whirlwind of emotions. On the one hand, I was missing my mother more than ever and wishing she was here to answer my questions. It has only been three months without her, but they felt like the three longest months of my life. She had been diagnosed with advanced breast cancer last year and deteriorated faster than anyone expected. The ache in my chest was almost more than I could bear at times. How could she keep a secret like this from me?
On the other hand, I was hurt and almost angry at this whole other side of my family that no one had told me about. It was starting to get dark out, so I packed up all of the papers back into the folder and climbed down from the treehouse.
When I entered the back door of my childhood house, I was greeted by my best friend, my Australian shepherd, Luey. He excitedly jumped around and playfully nipped at my heels, trying to steer me towards his empty food dish in the kitchen. I gave him a few scratches behind his ears as I set down the folder on the kitchen counter. I picked up his empty dish and filled it up with some kibble. When I turned to set it down, my elbow knocked over a glass of lemonade that had been on the counter since lunch. I practically threw down the bowl as I raced to save my mother’s folder from the sticky mess.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I muttered as I wiped off the papers.Tears of frustration filled my eyes as I struggled with feeling so overwhelmed. I did the best I could to dry everything off. Luckily I had reacted quickly enough to keep the damage to a minimum. I flipped the pages in the folder through my fingers to make sure that none of them had gotten completely soaked when a newspaper article in the middle of the pile of papers jumped out at me: LOCAL WOMAN MURDERED AT HOME. This time there were no pictures, but the article began, “An arrest was finally made in the murder of Jane Wilson. Six months ago,Jane and her husband Kevin Jameson won $750,000 in a random stroke of luck when they purchased a lottery ticket. Three weeks later, Kevin Wilson came home from work to find his wife murdered in their home. Yesterday, police arrested a San Marcos resident, Greg Pollock for the murder of Jane Wilson. Pollock and Wilson had been college sweethearts, who married shortly for a year before getting divorced–”
My eyes slid shut as I took what I had just read. Tears flowed freely as I grieved not only for the aunt I had never known, but for the hurt my mother must have gone through. It felt doubly sad because my heart hurt for my mom who must have felt like she had to grieve in silence. When my tears had dried, I climbed into bed, my head feeling so heavy. Luey climbed up next to me, resting his cold, wet nose on my forehead.
I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, which after the amount of crying that happened yesterday was not surprising. I gulped down some water and aspirin before getting dressed for the day. Pulling my hair tight into a ponytail, I fumbled through the sheets on my bed for my phone. When I found it, I dialed my great-aunt’s number, hoping she’d be up for answering my questions. The phone rang and rang, until finally my aunt’s gruff, raspy voice answered, “Hello? I’m not buying nothing today.”
“Aunt Laura? It’s Janie. Mary Beth’s daughter.”
“Oh Janie! How nice to hear from you. How are you doing? Is everything okay?”
“I’m okay. I was wondering if I could come by and see you today? I’ve been going through some of Mom’s things and I have some questions.”
“Of course. I hardly get any visitors these days. Come by any time. I’ll be here.”
“Thanks, Aunt Laura. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.”
I packed up the folder into my bag and gathered my jacket and things to begin the short road trip up to Aunt Laura’s house. The last time I had been to Aunt Laura’s house was when I was five-years-old, Grandma Ruth had passed away, and Great-Aunt Laura had been the one to host the celebration of life after her funeral. Aunt Laura hadn’t been super close to my family, but that was only because of the amount of siblings she and my grandpa had. My great-grandparents had twelve children, including Grandpa Hank and Great-Aunt Laura. Now that both Grandpa Hank and Grandma Ruth had passed, Aunt Laura was my closest living relative on my mother’s side. The drive to her house was about an hour but after hitting traffic and needing to get gas, it felt more like two. By the time I was climbing the steps up to her porch, What if it’s worse than I imagined? What if I can’t handle the truth? What if, what if, what if…? I knocked on the door hesitantly, before readjusting my bag on my shoulder. A raspy, “Come in,” could be heard so I pushed the door open, memories flooding me as I passed the threshold. I poked my head in the lying room, where Great Aunt Laura sat in her recliner chair.
Being 88 year old, my great-aunt was frail and thin, her veins a stark blue in contrast to her pale skin. Her eyes were a misty green-gray, and her hair lay in a frizzy white halo around her head. She beckoned me into her arms as I walked in the room. For a tiny wisp of a woman, she was surprisingly strong. After a few seconds in her arms, she placed her hands on my cheeks, and asked, “What’s bothering you, Janie girl? Something tells me you’re not her just to pay a visit to me.” She gestured to the couch that was placed catty corner to the recliner and I sat down. I placed my satchel on my lap and pulled out the folder. I handed the whole stack of papers to her, “I was going through some of my mom’s things in the attic and I came across these. Am I missing something? Did my mom really have a sister that no one ever talked about?”
Laura’s eyes slid shut as she nodded silently. I shook my head in disbelief, “and she was murdered!?”
This was accompanied by another nod as Laura motioned to the kitchen, “I keep the strong stuff in the pantry. Pour us both a glass and I’ll tell you all about it.” I did as she beckoned, nearling tingling with curiosity. When I sat back down, Laura grunted her thanks as she tipped back the glass and downed hers in a gulp or two. After she set her glass down, she began, “When your Aunt Jane died, something died in your Grandma that day too. When she married my brother she was always sunny and smiling, after we lost Jane she became withdrawn and serious, which no one blamed her for, of course. Your aunt was the same way, with the same sunny disposition as your grandma. Her laugh was utterly contagious. When she was gone, at first no one mentioned her because it upset your grandma but after awhile, I think it became easier to not talk about it. You know how stoic our side of the family can be.” Her voice trailed off a little, her eyes glistening with tears.
“Why was she murdered, Aunt Laura. Did they ever figure out why he did it’?”
“Oh, sweetheart, her ex had already been locked up for abusing her during their marriage, which is the main reason why it didn’t last. He wasn’t the most emotionally stable guy but the kicker happened after they won the lottery. I imagine he felt like it was the last nail in the coffin.”
“But why? What was he so threatened by when she won the lottery?”
“She had a court case pending and, when she won the lottery, he knew she was going to be able to hire the best lawyer money could buy and take everything from him.”
“Was she suing him for alimony? Wouldn’t her lottery winning work against her if she was after alimony?”
Aunt Laura shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and she looked like she was unsure of what to say. I threw my head in my hands and sighed, “I’m sorry Aunt Laura. I know this is probably difficult to talk about. I just wish this is something that I could ask my mom about.”
Aunt Laura put her hand on my shoulder, “Sweetheart, she was suing him for sole custody of their daughter.”
“I-I have a cousin out there that I’ve never met before?!”
“When they found your aunt that day, in the bassinet in the corner, her baby girl was hoarse from crying all day. The baby girl lived with her stepfather until she was two, but it became apparent that he was struggling, with alcohol especially, and so your mother stepped up, dropping out from college and into the role of mother. Your mother.”
Author Statement: Anna Nielsen is a twenty-seven-year-old San Diego native. She is previously unpublished but has been writing short stories since she was in first grade. Annie is supported in her writing by her family, whom she’s close with, and her canine friend, Luey, who loves to sit and listen while she reads her writing back to him.