I stumbled down stairs that Saturday morning after my restless night.
"Wow, you're a mess!" Mom said in horror as I took the vacant seat next to my brother Train. Lately I've had bags under my eyes, hair a mess, and I was still in my pajamas, and tired!
"Gee, thanks Mom." I responded.
"Another bad dream?" Train whispered because mom didn't know about my dreams.
"Yes," I whispered back.
"Honey you need to start going to bed early." Mom suggested. What does this women think I've been doing the past month?!
"It was that women again." I say, once Mom left.
"What would an old bat want from you?" Train asked.
"Train!" I scowled. "She's not old. She's still young I say, early twenties."
"Sorry. Gosh, women these days take every little thing to the heart." Train mumbled.
"Kids!" Mom called from upstairs. "Train? Ember? Look!"
Train and I raced upstairs. We found Mom on the floor, flipping through an old photo album.
"Look, it's your great-grandfather." Mom says, pointing to a elderly Man holding a baby in his arms standing on a porch of an old house. "That's grandma Katherine he's holding!"
"Aw, that's cool." Train said.
We've both learned to act like we cared about our family history.
"Oh and look, it's grandma Katherine when she was about your age with Grandpa Kenny."
"Aw." I say.
I gazed at the old picture until my gaze was broke by the sight of a pretty young women with long curl blonde hair holding a baby that looked just like me!
"Mom, who's this?" I questioned, grabbing the picture from the page.
"Oh, that's um... I'll tell you when you're older." Mom responded.
"Why not now?" I ask.
"Hone, you're not ready. I know you're not." Mom said.
I examined the women. I knew it was her. It has to be. She has the curly hair, the piercing blue eye's and that sweet innocent smile. She was the women in my dream.
"Can I keep it?" I asked. "Please, pretty pretty please!" I pleaded.
Mom thought for a sec. She didn't want to let me keep it but she did.
"Thanks." I ran to my room before Mom could change her mind.
I couldn't stop staring at the women or the baby. I know that must be me. I've seen my baby picture a tons of time. It looked like me! So it must be!
I turned around and on the back it read:
Emily Alexis, March 16, 1996.
In pretty curly letters. March 16, 1996. Exactly one month after I was born.
...
"Mom, Who's Emily?" I ask, that night at the dinner table.
"Who?"
"Emily, that's what it said on the back of that picture you said I could keep."
"Ember, I already told you. You're to young." Mom says.
"Honey, just tell her." Dad said.
"David, No!" Mom exclaimed.
"What's she going to do? Run? Avoid us? She won't do that! She's not a crazy loon!" Dad yelled angrily.
We all starred down at our plates awkwardly because of Dads sudden use in tone of voice.
"I'm sorry, It's just that I think she deserves to know before she finds out her self." Dad said.
"No!" with that, Mom cleaned her plate and ran up the stairs, the slamming of her bedroom door behind her.
"I'll go talk to her." Dad said.
"Good idea. You do that." I say.
"What could they possibly be hiding from you?" Train wondered.
"I've been asking myself the same thing."
