Wayfaring Traveler

ten

「 I can only hope that falling in love feels like this. 」

t e n

There was an elephant in the room, Francesca's eyes glazed over it every time she came into my motel room. The cursive writing that read my name and the slight yellowing on the envelope caused her to stare, wondering on as to when I would muster up the courage to open up the letter my mother had left me. Her staring was generally silent, after all, Francesca knew that I would open up the envelope when I felt it be the right time.

But, after two weeks of the letter sitting on my bedside table, I realized that there would never be a right time to read it. By the rate I was going at I would never open it, afraid of the truth and whatever lie in the envelope. In all honesty, I was still just a scared boy that was lost and searching for answers.

It was after closing down shop one day that I realized I had to open the envelope addressed to me from my mother, after all, it would mean gaining a sense of closure.

"Francesca, I need to read it," I told Francesca once we had locked up the café, she immediately stopped moving upon hearing my voice.

She smiled, happy that the time had come for she had to be a bit curious as well.

"Will you read it with me?" I asked her, needing her to be there with me and make sure I read the letter thoroughly.

"Of course," she replied.

We returned to my place after a short walk, herself making herself at home in my unconventional temporary home. She had been back to my room over a dozen times, staying the day and leaving at night. I lifted up the letter from the bedside table and took a seat next to her on the foot of the bed, staring down at it intensely. After about fifteen seconds of nervous staring, I ran a finger through the sealed portion, gently ripping open the envelope. It wasn't until I saw the actual letter in which was written by hand that I realized that my mysterious birth mother had reached out to me.

My mouth gaped at the sight of the content, perhaps because I imagined my mother being rough around the edges and brass, because the letter was so eloquently worded upon mere glance and looked of great value.

Behind the letter there was a single photo, it was of my mother and a newborn baby. She looked down at the baby, her son, with a small smile. I had never before seen a photo of my mother, the one she attached to the letter my only memento of her. It wasn't that I ever daydreamed of her, but she looked exactly as I imagined. She had dark wavy hair with dark brown eyes and her smile was slightly crooked and charismatic.

I smiled looking at the photo, happy that I was finally receiving the closure I deserved. Setting aside the photo I began reading the letter addressed to me that had been stored for two decades.

Dear Ezra,
"My son, I love you so much, it is just that I know that I cannot provide you the life you truly deserve. It would be selfish of me to keep you to myself when I have yet to mature, a child cannot possibly raise a child. If the circumstances were different I could love you like a mother should, I would take you to school every day and pack you lunch... But, circumstances are as they are. Now don't blame your father for these circumstances, he is not the one your anger should be directed at. Ansel Banks is an honest man and had no knowledge of my pregnancy. Ansel, your father, is the man I hope you grow up to become. You are the product of true love, a form of love I hope you come across."

I said everything above minutes after you were born, that was what I was compelled to explain to the baby version of yourself. By the time you are reading this you must be grown, perhaps even with a family of your own in which you look at with pride. It is funny how life turns out and I can only hope that my decision has not scarred your future. It is debatable whether or not I am to be viewed as selfless or selfish, I hid you from Ansel so that he would live the life he had dreamed of and yet I also deprived him of a son. Ansel had said that if anything were to happen he would stay and I could not have that happen. I couldn't watch my love compromise his future for my sake. In addition, raising you by myself with a minimum wage job would only prove to be unrealistic, providing you a steady supply of food and shelter would be far too difficult. If the circumstances had been different and you graced us a decade later perhaps everything would have been different. Perhaps, in the end, I am just a mother looking out for her child. And perhaps the world just is not as perfect as it seems.

Ezra, so help us all.

Love,
Maman (Florence Durand)

It was the formation of tears in my eyes that caused me to look up from the letter, I had to pass it to Francesca so that I would not tarnish it. Francesca placed the photo in the letter and put the two items back on the bedside table. She walked back over to where we had been sitting and sat back down, placing her right hand over mine. She didn't have to say a single word for I already knew she would support me in my time of grief.

I turned towards her and gave my best smile, tears slowly trickling down my cheeks.

"It's been twelve years since I last shed tears, I used to cry every day when I was a kid back in Chicago, crying because I was parentless in a place I couldn't call home. But, then one day I stopped crying because the tears ran out and I realized that no amount of tears could fill the void of abandonment," I began, having to take a moment to wipe tears, "here I am now, crying because I wasn't abandoned. I'm crying because I was loved. I'm crying because I have found the resolution to an unsolved mystery."

Francesca sat straight up and I leaned my head against her shoulder, letting her support the most vulnerable version of myself. She kindly accepted and let me lean on her like she had leaned on me.

"I'm crying because I have finally found my home."