I Am Anastasia

The Apartment Across the Street

I remember how mad dad would get if I would try to ask about her. How he would tell me that it was better she wasn’t here, that she wasn’t a good mother. Being six years old and begging him again and again for a picture of her, to tell me what she looked like. How he had turned finally, his face red with emotion and the glass he had been holding shattered against far wall, leaving wet shards scattered through the carpet.

I never asked again.

            Benji must think I'm just especially taken with the picture.

            “You want me to drag one of the chairs over for you?” he offers.

            I whirl around suddenly, and Benji jumps as I choke out, “The artist - what does she look like?”

            Benji stares at me for a second before stammering, “Uh, she’s tall and she dresses kind of funny. She has long brown hair.”

            “Straight brown hair?” Subconsciously, I touch my own.

            “Um, yeah I guess so.”

            “How did she...I mean, have you met her?”

            “Yeah, she actually moved into in the same apartment complex as me and dad a few months ago. Dad was pretty excited about it.”

            Do I look as shell-shocked as I feel? “She lives across the street from here?”

            Benji stares at me like he’s sure I'm going nuts. “Well that is where I live, so yes.”

            “Oh...” I walk back to the front of the gallery and stare out the window at the large grey apartment building across the street as if I might see her walking out of the glass doors at the base of the building any second now.

            What would I feel like if I saw her? Angry and hurt?  Happy? Excited? I probably wouldn’t  recognize her, since she left when I was two. 

            “Sam, are you okay?” Benji peers down at me past shaggy black bangs. “You look...disturbed.”

            “I am disturbed.” I turn to him. “Look, I’ll see you later, okay? I have to go.” I spin around and march out the door, ignoring the fact that Benji is staring after me.  I'll go right in there, I'll  ask at the desk for Mrs. Da’Silva, then I'll  knock on her door and demand she let me in. I want answers. “Why would you abandon us?” Abandon me, and leave me here, stuck with dad.  Maybe she'll have a perfectly good explanation. I can't think of one, but there has to be something, some reason.  Doesn't there?

            I jaywalk across the street and heave on the handle of the glass doors, jerking my arm a little in the socket. It's heavier than I thought.  The lobby is carpeted in blue and there are fake ferns in large red pots. Other then a few chairs against each wall, there's nothing here, a pair of elevators at one end and a door labelled “Stairs”.

            No front desk.

            This isn’t a hotel, of course there’s no front desk. 

            I stand there in the middle of the sparsely decorated lobby feeling stupid. I could take the elevator up, but what would that accomplish? I don't even know what floor she's on. I could go back across the street and ask Benji what number she lives in, but I don't feel like explaining. It isn't anyone’s business but mine. 

            After standing in the lobby for a minute or so, I realize I’m half thinking about standing there  for hours, hoping she'll just emerge from one of the elevators.  No, this is ridiculous.  I turn to go - I'll catch the bus back to my house for now and then tomorrow, when I get off work and come down here again I'll....what?