tears of rain (sam kiszka)

i was born by a river

Twelve hours ago I was lounging around my beautiful, apartment in Chicago, reading art history books, ice skating in my free time, and working from home as a graphic designer. I was living the best life a 23 year old could live after college.

Now I'm driving my beat up 2005 red, Jeep Cherokee back to my hometown. Frankenmuth, Michigan.

I tucked a piece of red hair behind my ear as I sped through the snowy, desolate, road. The frost on my windshield grew with every mile I drove. It's the dead of winter, and Michigan winters were brutal.

I flicked my windshield wipers on and watched the flakes disappear. I was 20 minutes away from town, almost eager to get there. The tiny quaint town relies on tourists, and it's German culture. During the winter, however, the town is left to its residents. The community is tight knit. I grew up figure skating, and became one of the best in state. But obviously, growing up in this seemingly perfect town, had it's dark moments.

My birth mother, Rachel, the reason I'm driving back, was found dead on the train tracks. Rachel was plagued with mental illnesses that no one seemed to understand, and she couldn't possibly be categorized by anything else but the small town junkie. We didn't know really who my dad was, but the man who was around when I was conceived skipped town.

Rachel collected trash to store and stack in her one bedroom mobile home on the edge of town. She acted erratic, had a temper when she was shooting up. When I was born, I was left in the care of the folks around town. Everyone tried really hard to get me out without having to put me through the system. Thankfully, a lifelong friend of Rachel's, called Shelby, stepped in.

By age 2 I was adopted by Shelby. She worked as a figure skating instructor, and a massage therapist. Shelby sparked my love for figure skating. She encouraged me to do everything I could to make a great life for myself. I got a scholarship to Chicago University thanks to my figure skating. I owe everything to her. Shelby had an unconventional way of raising me. She was a naturalist and a hippie.

Shelby never hid the fact that she wasn't my birth mom from me, which people always criticized her for. Although, I do see her as my mom, she always tried to include Rachel. Rachel came to a handful of my competitions, school events, and birthdays for a few years, mostly when I was little. Shelby was hopeful that I could mend my relationship with her. But as I got older, Rachel stopped calling. She stopped showing up. What little hope Shelby had for Rachel to get sober drifted away. I'm sure you can imagine how confusing that was for me.

I can't remember the time I was in Rachel's care but Shelby always told me it was dark. She needed to get me out of there, and it was perfect timing because she found out years before that she was completely infertile.

Shelby always hoped I found forgiveness for Rachel. Shelby wanted me to heal. She wanted me to move on.

Shelby has a pure heart. She's one of those people who forgive with no hesitation.

Three days earlier my phone rang at 3 in the morning. It was December 5th.

I hazily picked it up. Shelby's picture showed up. I answered it without hesitation. "Hey mom," I grumbled. "Hey honey, sorry to wake you," she spoke softly. Her tone was off. "It's okay," I sat up straight in my bed. "What's wrong? Are you- Are you okay?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. "Well," she took a deep breath.

My birth mom had been missing from the town for a while. I had a feeling by the tone in her voice, it was about that.

"Rachel was found on the train tracks. It's a suspected overdose," her voice shook.

I paused.

"I just identified the body,"

I said nothing. As terrible as it sounds, I knew I'd get the call one day.