Ariel's Daughter

Chapter 15

I was home. Not under the surface of the water, picking up sand like I should have been according to my 'aunt'. But I was here, with my dad, with my best friends again. That's all that mattered. I hear my father's steps pull away. I want to be in his embrace for forever, but I know that it can't last as long.

It's raining hard and the wind is knocking at the sides of the house, making the curtains outside the windows rap at the glass, trying to break free. I look into my personal darkness and try to focus. I can't do this on my own. I can't live without my father, but I also just have this inner strength of yearning to find my mother. This inner urge to figure out the puzzle pieces and see her, for real, to see things for the reality they are. One problem is, being blind is the only thing I know, it's the thing that makes me how I am: and I can't change that. Where my mind flutters throughout the darkness in my eyes, where I feel safe somehow: because it's a familiar place, it's my home.

We sit still at the couch, and the television relays the weather quietly. I don't know what to say to my father. I don't know what to think either. What happened? So far, I can't even process that he had gone to see my mother, who had apparently not left Juneau.

All of this felt worse when I took in the fact that I'd been lied to my entire life, and that, was a fact that I couldn't believe to be true. I couldn't believe that my father was the type of man to do that to me, his own daughter, or that my mother, for whatever reason just couldn't tell me who she was herself. That was the pain that I couldn't bear. The fact that both my parents didn't feel like they could be honest with their own daughter. That was the heart wrenching thing that I couldn't think about any longer. I stopped and stared at where my father's figure was, knowing that he very well knew what I meant with my toned down angry expression. It was silent, even through my glare, and it had been silent all morning.

Finally, "Ember, I can't stress this enough. I'm sorry, and I mean it." He answers, and I believe him, but I can't quite stop being angry with him, because I don't forgive him yet. Not yet.

"I can't forgive you until I know who she is, and why you've kept her a secret. Heck, why she kept herself a secret from me. I'm her daughter, and she doesn't want to see me? She doesn't care about me, so why should I forgive you?" I end up yelling like a maniac, but I can't help it. I feel too strongly about this. I want answers. I storm out the door, and start walking quickly towards the city bus stop above, at the harbor. I know its silly to do this, but I want to be alone, to find out what I can: to really know who my mother is. I have to know who she is.

I ask someone that's sitting at the bus stop how to get to the department is. Then, I wait for thirty minutes until the bus comes. I slowly get on, because I am still getting used to the rock of the steps and how high up from the ground they are. I feel someone's arm at mine, guiding me onto the transportation. I finally sit at the front, where I know I'll feel safer. I feel the now familiar tug on the brakes as the bus starts forward. I end up sitting in the uncomfortable leather like seat for an hour until the stop is made to the right building. I slowly get off with the help of some stranger. Then I make my way up the stairs and find myself inside quicker than I thought I would. I guess I am both excited, and nervous, making my legs go faster.

From there, I wait until I can approach the desk, but I feel antsy, and full of unreal energy. Still, I wait, letting person after person get their turn. Finally, after what seems forever, I stand quickly and walk. Its silent for a moment, for too long until I get the nerves to ask what I've been wanting to know for days since my father told me he'd seen my mother. I wanted to see her too. After all, I am her daughter, I have that right. I have to know.

"I want to know who my mother is." I say trying my best to sound clear and calm, but still my voice wavers as if I'm about to cry.

"And who might you be? Birthdate? Name?" The man asks. From his voice, I know he must be bored of his job, of asking what people want all day. I sort of feel bad for him, sort of. I push that aside.