Dead But Alive

chapter nine: unwilling

You might think it's crazy that I haven't asked my parents about hearing I was-am-a snowflake baby.

It is crazy.

But honestly, it slipped my mind. I was too caught up in that he was asking me to volunteer my life to science, to understand the history behind my birth.

There it is, that word again. History.

So when my mom enters the kitchen, turns on the coffeemaker, and starts brewing her morning cup, I ask her.

"Mom, am I a snowflake baby?"

She turns around, startled. "Reid-why do you ask?"

"Dr. Terrance broke it to me." I say this with contempt, clearly showing my displeasure for his subtle gentle technique. "He says I'm a snowflake baby, made in a petri dish. Is that true?"

"Reid...yes. Yes, it's true."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I'm actually not upset. Big deal! So I'm not my parents' biological kid. I've never thought I looked like them anyway. Environmental factors played into who I am, so my personality did kinda come from my parents anyway. What matters is that despite my blood being someone else's, the parents I've always known love me like I am biologically theirs. Not born from the womb, but born from the heart, my aunt used to say when referring to adopted children.

She thinks for a moment. "I don't know. No good reason." She's being so casual about it, and I love that. She doesn't treat it like a big deal. So I won't either.

Because it's really not.

"So there's no Ridley blood in me," I say, glancing at my arm as if to see foreign blood running through my veins. "Whose blood is it?"

She shakes her head, opening the refrigerator and getting the half-and-half. "We don't know. You don't always know, Reid."

"You don't know anything about them?" I sigh, running my rough and broken fingernails (yeah, I chew on them) over the inside of my forearm. "Can you just tell me what all happened?"

She wraps her hands around her coffee mug and leans across the counter. "Reid, your biological mom had cancer. She knew you wouldn't make it if she went through chemo, but she had other children so she couldn't die. She-"

I break in. "I have siblings?"

"I guess they are sort of your siblings." She takes a sip of her coffee, nearly spits it back out. "Wow, that's hot."

I don't crack a smile; it's funny but I'm too engrossed in this story of my life. "Go on."

"She planned to get better and then have you implanted," Mom continues. "But she didn't get better. She fought two years of that cancer, and then she passed away."

"My biological mom is dead?" I ask bluntly.

"Yes, Reid. She's no longer with us."

"How do you know that? You said you didn't know her!"

"I don't know, Reid. I'm just telling you what I do know."

"Fine." I shift my weight from one foot to the other, squash the banana peel beneath my fist. "Go on. Please."

"So your biological dad didn't know what to do with you. He eventually decided to just leave you, because he wanted you to have a chance at life. They loved you, Reid. They both did. But they believed it was better to let go."

"Give up, you mean." I say this bitterly, but the truth is that I do understand. What would I have done in their situation? Not much different. They did what they could.

"No, Reid, let go. Letting go is different than giving up. They wanted you more than anything. But they were out of options."

"Okay," I say, somewhat comforted by the way that she keeps saying my name. She's taking me seriously, having a one-on-one deep conversation.

"So why did you want me?" I ask finally.

"We couldn't have any kids of our own. We were out of options, and a friend of ours went through snowflake adoption. We looked into it, and we wanted to give those babies a chance. So we got you."

"So I was a frozen embryo," I say. "In a freezer. Just...hibernating." The thought of myself as an embryo, just chilling (pun intended) in a freezer in some sciencey lab makes me smile. "How long?"

"Two years."

"Holy smokes!" I am shocked, vaguely remembering Dr. Terrance telling me this but also remembering that I was too upset at him for it to register. "Holy smokes," I repeat. "So I'm sorta actually almost nineteen?"

"Well...you could say so I guess. But not really. You were frozen, so your growth halted."

"This is so weird!" I can't help laughing. "I was a freaking ice cube for two whole years!"

Mom smiles at my excitement, and also at the fact that I really don't know what to do with myself and my emotions. "It doesn't change anything, though. You know that, right?"

"Yep." I toss my banana peel. "Well, it is extremely strange. It changes something. But not much."

Mom leans across the counter and gives me a quick hug. "I still love you, Reid. I always will, no matter whether you're my blood or not."

"Love you too, Mom." I take another drink from my waterbottle. "I'm gonna go run now, though, OK?"

"Okay," she says, taking another sip of coffee. "Have fun. Don't twist your ankle."

"You either," I say, backing out the door. "Don't twist your ankle doing...whatever it is you're doing. Knitting or something. I don't know. Bye!"

In five minutes I am out on the sidewalk of our neighborhood, feeling the wind sting my face and the gentle burn of my lungs. My legs pound beneath me, taking me away.

Away from what? I don't know. Maybe toward something.

It's a cold, frosty winter morning. My breath makes cloudy puffs in the air. The sky's still dark, the world around me still asleep. Our neighborhood is quiet and still, peaceful. Only a few lamps glow orange in the dark. Other early risers.

I love to run, and I love the fresh air and the tranquility of being the only one awake in a sleepy neighborhood. The undisturbed, perfect chilly morning.

I listen to the steady rhythm of my feet pounding against the cement sidewalk, the ragged in-out of my breath, the pounding of my heart thudding inside my chest.

I reach the corner of the sidewalk by the main intersection, and I slow to a jog and then a walk. I breathe deep, in and out, letting my ribs expand, and taste the cold air on my tongue.

A silver sedan passes by, the only car in the early morning, and I break into a run and continue down the sidewalk, down the street and around the block. When I reach my house again, I'm disappointed, as I always am. Tired and thirsty and sweaty, yes, but running gives me the exhilarating adrenaline rush I can't get anywhere else.

My mind flashes back to Dr. Terrance.

I couldn't give up my mom and dad. Couldn't give up running. Or being outdoors, or God's creation, or any of it.

I am happy where I am.

I don't want to be frozen.