Girl Without A Name

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic

Charles Brewer is greeted by a mysterious girl who claims to be his daughter from a long ago ex-girlfriend. In time, Charles seeks closure from the terrible relationship he was in 16 years ago with his daughter who was never born. The story delves into the issues of broken relationships, abortion, and spirituality.

My name is Charles Brewer, a writer and part time Sergeant for the US Army National Guard.  It was the National Guard that took me out of poverty by helping me to finish my Bachelor’s Degree, and after a few deployments I was able to save up a good sum of money.  I transferred to a peaceful neighborhood in Montana and bought a house.  The land in Montana is fairly cheap, so I got a good deal on it.  

With money saved up, I was able to sit back and write whatever came to mind.  Some of the stories I wrote were published, some of them were modest successes.  It was then that I met my wife Dianne and had two kids; a boy and a girl.  She was the heir to a successful rancher here in Montana.  Money issues would never be a problem for us, which gave me peace of mind as I stayed at home.  Dianne was an elementary school teacher in town; she did it because she liked the job, not because of the money.  

She came to my door while I was writing a draft on my computer.  The house had its own study room where I put my desktop computer, printer, and other equipment.  I had a cup of coffee on a place holder.  When I heard a knock on the door, I felt like ignoring it.  But I had already lost my line of thought by the knock.  I got out of my chair and walked towards the door.  

I opened the door and in front of me was a girl about sixteen years of age; I could have been off by one year.  Her complexion was darker than the average person in the city; her hair was dark brown.  It seemed evident that she was of Hispanic origin.  She wore typical tennis shoes, jeans, a pure white t-shirt, and a ski jacket.  

My first thought was that she was here to give me the “Good News.”  Since I was often at home, I was often targeted by groups wanting me to convert to their cause.  I was a practicing Christian, so I just sent them on their way in a polite manner.  But this girl didn’t have a Bible in her hand or even a flier.  So, I then assumed she might be a Girl Scout; every so often they came around wanting to sell me some cookies.  My particular favorite were the mint chocolates; my own daughter was involved with them.  But that was not the case here either; she wasn’t in the uniform.  So, it was with some uncertainty that I asked what she wanted.  

“Can I help you?” I asked in a most polite manner.

“This is 1156 Central Ave?” she asked with a smile.  

“That’s right.”  

“And you must be Charles Brewer,” she said.  

“Right on both counts.  What can I do for you Miss?”

“I need a name.”  

It was an odd request and I didn’t know what she was talking about.  I felt like shutting the door and going back to my work, but my curiosity was perked.  “What kind of name?”  I asked.  

“A first name.  My first name,” she clarified.  

“You don’t know your first name?” I wondered.  

“Yep, can you help me with that?  I would greatly appreciate it.”  Her attitude was completely sincere and she seemed to be in a very hopeful mood.  

“You don’t have any identification like an ID, Social Security Card, or Birth Certificate?”

“No,” she shook her head.  

I fought the urge to stereotype the situation.  She was a Hispanic without identification; it sounded like an illegal immigrant case.  I never had to deal with an illegal immigration case nor did I know who she should get into contact with.  I didn’t know of any Federal immigration service in the area.  I didn’t want to send her off to the police station, because I knew she would be detained there.

“I don’t think I can help you with your problem Miss.”  

“But you can.  You gave names to your children Jake and Melinda.”  

I froze as she said my children’s names.  Was she spying on me?  I instantly became a little paranoid, if she knew things about me that was one thing, but now my kids were involved.  “They’re my kids.  That’s different, and how do you know about that?”  

“I know a lot about you Charles Brewer.  I am your daughter.”  

I simply stared at the girl and on a subconscious level I looked at her for any resemblance to myself.  I snapped myself out of the delusion.  I had empathy for kids who wanted to know their true parents but this was impossible.“I think you have made a mistake,” I told her.

“No, you are the right person.  My source is infallible.”  

“Is that so?” I asked skeptically.  “What is your mother’s name?” I demanded.  

“Adria Valez,” she answered.

Adria was my ex-girlfriend before I met my wife.  Our six month relationship ended under bad circumstances.  And it was true; she claimed to have been pregnant although I disbelieved.  She also claimed she miscarried.  So, what was the truth really?  There was still the possibility that this girl here was a relative of Adria and was trying to set me up; it would not surprise me at all.

“Want to come inside?” I asked.  The weather was cold and it was becoming uncomfortable for me as I stood at the doorway.

“I would appreciate that Charles,” she said happily.  

I gestured towards the couches in the living room and then closed to door to keep the heat from escaping.  “Can I get you something, a soda?” I asked.  

“No, I’m fine,” she said taking a seat on the couch.  

I returned from the kitchen with a glass of water.  Already my throat was tightening up from emotion and nervousness.  I sat down on a recliner and put my glass of water on a small table nearby.  “Okay, here’s what I know,” I began.  

“Adria was my ex-girlfriend, and we did have an affair.  Do you know what I mean when I say affair?” I asked.  

“Yes, please continue,” she said quickly.

“Right, so she claimed after we broke up that she was pregnant.  It was a ruse to get me to come to her, and when I refused, she said she had a miscarriage one week later and then blamed me for it.  So, you can’t be my kid.  I’m sorry,” I said.

 “Why did she say you were to blame for the miscarriage?”

“We had an argument over the phone, it was a really heated one.  And she claimed that after I hung up on her, that she had some sort of seizure and miscarried.  She claimed the argument we were having caused the miscarriage to happen.”  

“Did you believe her?”  

“No, I thought she was full of it.  Seizures are not caused by emotional distress and they don’t cause miscarriages.  And I am pretty sure the pregnancy and the miscarriage never happened,” I said with some agitation.  

“But you don’t know for sure.  I am here to bring you some closure,” she said.  

“How can you do that?”  

“Adria was pregnant; she knew about it a few weeks before you broke up.  Remember that trip to Planned Parenthood?”  

“Vaguely.”  

“You thought it was for a hormone injection and a pregnancy test.  She told you she was not pregnant at the time, but that was a lie.”  

“Not surprised.  She lied about a lot of things.  Are you sure she didn’t lie to you about this?”  

“My source doesn’t come from her?” she replied.

“Okay, so, did you hire a private investigator or something?”  

“Not really.  I do know that she was pregnant and I am the result.”  

“So, the pregnancy was true, but the miscarriage was a lie.  She carried you to term, gave birth to you, and now sixteen years later you’re here at my door?”  The idea was plausible but unlikely.  Adria was strongly pro choice and told me flat out she would abort if she got pregnant.  We were both young at the time and didn’t have careers or strong sources of income at the time.  But Adria was a selfish witch who used me whenever she could.  I couldn’t see her carrying a baby to term and then raising it all by herself.  None of this made sense.  

“No, she never gave birth,” she corrected.  

“How does that make sense?” I demanded.  I felt like I was being manipulated.  

“I died before she gave birth to me.  What you see is not human.  I am in this world, but not of it.  


 









Submitted: May 22, 2010

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