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Mibba

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Connections

One

I raise my hand to the door, but as I move to tap it with my knuckles I freeze. What am I even doing here? Will they even let me in? Will I see him? Will they let me see him? Will they call the police on me?

Taking a step back from the door, I try to breathe right. What am I even doing here? For eight years I didn’t even know that this boy existed, and yet here I am, trying to force myself into his life. What if he is totally content with his life? What if I completely derail everything and fuck this up?

There isn’t any turning back now. I have driven nearly 1,000 miles, spending an entire night driving with only a power nap at a motel parking lot for an hour, from my home in Los Angeles to Roswell, New Mexico. Even if I only catch a glimpse of him, I have to see him. He’s my little brother. This won’t be for nothing.

Steeling myself, I raise a hand and knock. I’m going through with this, I’m going through with this, I’m going through with this, I’m going through--

The door opens, revealing a woman in her mid-fifties with heavy make-up and a fake smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hello, how can I help you?” she asks.

I swallow hard, reciting the line I practiced a thousand times in the car. “Hi, Miss Michaels. My name is Mina Oswald. I was wondering if I could come in for a moment and speak with you on behalf of my father, Parker.”

Immediately, her smile falters. I can see plainly in her eyes the suspicion and disgust at the mentioning of his name. “Of course. Come in,” she says, politeness in her voice but not in her features.

I step in, and immediately my senses are mauled with the stench of cigarette smoke. The place looks homey, but it’s also dingy. It looks like a stay-at-home mom from the fifties decided to quit cleaning the house. I let Miss Michaels lead me into her living room, where an old green couch and loveseat are placed. “Can I get you anything to drink?” she asks.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” I say. She gestures for me to sit, so I do. Once she sits, I ask, “Do you know my father? Parker Oswald?”

She rests her forearms on her legs, looking closely at me. “I’ve heard the name before,” she answers. “Never met him, though. Wasn’t he on the news or something?”

Again, I swallow my nervousness. “Yes. He was convicted for murdering two men in the drug trade, which he was apart of.” I shake my head. “My father is in no means a good man. He’ll be in prison for at least the next twenty-five years before they consider probation.”

“Good. Evil people need tough love,” she says, picking a cigarette carton up from the ottoman in the room. She holds the pack out to me in offering, but I shake my head. After lighting up and taking a drag, she says, “Well, I don’t know him personally, so I’m not quite sure why you’re here. Please, enlighten me.”

“Well,” I start, but my anxiety stops me mid-thought. How is she going to react to what I’m about to say? Is she going to throw me out?

“Well?” she asks, agitated.

Before I can speak up again, the front door opens with a loud squeak. We both glance up to see who is entering, and in front of the bright sunlight coming from outside is the tall figure of a man, and in front of him is the small silhouette of a boy. My breath hitches.

“Oh excuse me,” Miss Michaels says, standing. “My boyfriend and my son have just come home. They went to one of Richard’s friend’s houses.” She walks to them as her boyfriend shuts the door, and before he can say a word she’s whispering in her ear.

My eyes are glued to the little boy standing in front of them. His brown mop of hair is tousled and his blue t-shirt and jeans almost swallow him. He’s incredibly small for an eight year old. He looks at the man and then to me, and when our eyes lock I gasp. His eyes are the same eerie gray as my father’s.

This little boy is my brother.

“Mina, let me introduce you,” Miss Michaels calls, but I hardly hear her. I stand and take a few steps forward, my eyes still on the young boy in front of me. She introduces her boyfriend as Richard, and he shakes my hand with a firm grip. Then she says, “And this is my kid, Nathan.”

“Nathan,” I repeat. I kneel down to his level. “Hi, Nathan. My name is Mina,” I greet.

He looks behind him at Richard, who gives him a nod. My eyebrows furrow at this, but Nathan replies, “Hi, Mina.” His voice is small and shy.

I reach out to push a piece of hair from his face, but he flinches back. I immediately pull my hand back, trying not to scare him. Miss Michaels interjects, “He’s a bit jumpy. Don’t mind him. Nathan, why don’t you go to your room?”

He stares at me for a few seconds before walking away down the hall.

“So, Mina, what can we help you with?” Richard asks.

I finally take a good look at him. His white tank top is covered in stains that could be beer or grease (or both) and a little beer gut protrudes past his belt. He looks sweaty and dirty, his hair oily and slicked back. Shaking out of it, I answer, “I was talking to Miss Michaels--”

“Oh please,” she cuts me off. “I hate being referred that way. Call me Sloane.”

“I was talking to Sloane,” I repeat, “about my father, Parker Oswald.”

Immediately, Richard tenses beside Sloane. “Okay,” he says, his voice even but gritty. “If you could give me a minute alone with Sloane, I just wanted to talk to her about Nathan.”

I nod, but inside I’m worried that he knows. Is he going to tell her that I’m his sister? They walk away, going into the kitchen. I hear low whispers and coughing, and then a cigarette being lit.

Looking around, I try to find anything that would make the home personal. There isn’t anything like pictures on the wall or paintings or decorations, making the whole thing seem a little less welcoming. My eyes scan down the hall and I see Nathan, looking at me from his bedroom. I look behind me for Sloane and Richard, but once I determine they’re too into their conversation I walk to him.

“Hi, Nathan,” I repeat, crouching down to him.

“Hi, Mina,” he replies, his statement the same. “Your eyes are the same color as mine.”

I nod. “I know.”

He stands there silently, just looking at me. When I move to push the hair from his face again, he flinches but allows me. I look at him for a full minute, taking in the features of his face. He looks just like me, and I look a lot like my dad. I took my mom’s naturally black hair, but my brother has his father’s.

Nathan asks, “Why are our eyes the same color?”

I swallow hard, looking behind me to confirm they aren’t watching. “Can you keep a secret?” I ask.

He nods.

“I think I’m your sister,” I whisper.

His eyes widen. “I don’t have a sister,” he says.

“I know. We’ve never met,” I say. “But my dad is your dad. Have you ever met your dad?”

Nathan shakes his head. “No. Only Richard.”

From behind me, I hear yelling but still from the kitchen. They’re fighting with each other. When I look at Nathan, his eyes are shut tight.

“Do they do this a lot?” I ask.

“Every day,” he answers. “They always fight about me. I hate it”

“Why?” I swallow hard.

He opens his eyes at me and just stares for a moment. He curls his finger, telling me to get closer. I do, pulling my hair back from my ear. Then he whispers, “Sometimes Richard takes me to his friend’s house to help him make money. Sloane doesn’t think I go over there enough.”

I look at him. “How do you make money?” I ask, my voice low. They couldn’t be doing something like that, could they?

Before I get a response, I hear Sloane behind me. “Sorry about that!” she says, almost jogging down the hallway. “If you would, let’s talk in the living room again. Nathan needs to do his homework since school is ending soon, isn’t it?”

He immediately nods in compliance. He gives me one last look before turning into his room and shutting the door.

I stand slowly and follow Sloane back to the living room. Richard has positioned himself in one seat of the loveseat, so Sloane sits beside him and I sit on the couch again. Once we’re all sat, Sloane says, “Please. Tell us why you’ve visited us.”

All my ideas are thrown out the window. Do they hurt Nathan? His answers and mannerisms worry me. If I ask, will they do worse to him to hide him away? What are these people really like?

I clear my throat. “I, uh. Well, I was only wondering if you knew my father. The other day he mentioned a Sloane Michaels when I visited him, and I was just trying to figure out if you knew anything about why he did the things he did,” I lied. Not my best, but what was I going to do?

“Well, no, I don’t. Sorry that I can’t help you,” she says before erupting into a burst of smoke-induced coughs.

“Y’know, your eyes are very similar to Nate’s,” Richard notes.

Immediately I freeze. Oh my God, he knows.

“It’s strange. I don’t know a lot of people with gray eyes,” he says, accusation in his voice.

“Me neither. That is weird,” I reply. I start scratching my leg.

“Well, if that’s all then I guess we’d better send you on your way,” Sloane says.

“Could I ask a question about Nathan?” I ask. Oh, this wasn’t a good idea. Quickly, I cover up, “I mean, he’s just so jumpy and nervous. Do you know what that’s about?”

The couple both give me hard looks, Richard looking very suspicious now. “No idea,” he mutters. “Thanks for coming, Mina. Have a safe trip home.”

Obviously this is my cue to leave. I stand, and Sloane stands too to walk me out. As I walk past the hallway, I see Nathan looking at us through a crack in his door. Our eyes lock for the briefest of seconds before the wall obstructs my vision, and then I’m standing on the porch and the door behind me is shut.

After getting to my car and turning it on to combat the heat of almost-summer New Mexico, I sit back and relive exactly what happened inside.

There isn’t a doubt in my mind that Nathan is my little brother. He looks just like me and my father! Thinking back to his slim figure and messy hair makes my heart skip a beat, knowing he’s not the best kept. The cigarette smoke in that house must have stunted his growth too. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has asthma.

I know that Sloane isn’t his mother. Parker told me that. When he finally confessed about my brother, he told me that the mom never wanted to look at him again after he was born, so she put him up for adoption. He was adopted shortly before my father was arrested. How he could never tell me until now baffles me. Although I couldn’t have taken care of him when I was seventeen, I can now. And I will if I have to.

I move my car so they can think that I left, but then I sneak into their backyard by climbing their gate on the side of their house. Nathan has a window on that side, and when I find it I gently knock.

God, what am I doing? Am I crazy? I’m going to get myself caught!

After a few seconds, Nathan opens his window. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“I want to give you my number,” I tell him, writing it down on a napkin from my car. “If you need something, or you just want to talk, call me okay?”

He looks at me for a long moment. “I don’t have a phone,” he says.

“Do you have a house phone?” I ask. He nods. “Use that then. You don’t have to call me if you don’t want to. I don’t even know why I’m doing this.” I bite my lip and look at him for a moment before I say, “I’m sorry, Nate. I won’t bother you again.”

He takes the napkin from me and stuffs it in his pocket. As I turn to leave, he says, “I think you’re my sister too.”

A little tear pricks at my eyes, but I just smile at him. “Call me if you need anything, Nathan, okay? Anything. I’ll be in town for a couple days,” I say.

“Okay,” he replies. And with that, I hop their fence again and run to my car before they can notice me. With a little hope in my heart, I start the engine and drive to a little motel down the street, fighting back tears for my brother the entire time as I felt an invisible string tying me to him the whole time.





Notes

Ahh!! It's happened!!

I'm actually kind of nervous for this story. It's the first one I've written in a long time so please be gentle with your feedback.

Also! Give me some fucking feedback! It helps me write faster and I just like interacting with you guys a lot.

(and the anxiety begins bubbling, waiting for the first comments)

Yours,
~Niki X,,,,,,x

Comments

Awesome update! Don't get discouraged, keep up the super sick work! :D Love it!

SmuttyPariah SmuttyPariah
10/2/17

You butthole! You know I love your stuff! I'm WAY WAY WAY behind on reading anyone else's shit since starting my new job, though. It only gives me time to write 1-2 times a week, if that. I have to give that priority as I've gotten pretty cranky from not being able to write as often as I want to. But I wouldn't take getting no comments personally. Even when I was updating my shit 5 times a week, I'd get maybe 1 comment every 6-8 weeks from someone that wasn't a personal friend I've known for years, across 3 different platforms.

SmuttyPariah SmuttyPariah
7/30/17

omg, stfu grandma! mina can't resist the androo!

he digs what essentially amounts to her baggage, so hit it, mina, hit it! do it for all of us! :OD

anathema anathema
3/7/17

I love it so far!!!

TheSadOutcast TheSadOutcast
3/7/17

'anthem,' eh? anthem for a generation of dying, rotting, nekkid zombies!

my arch-rival is right- i also get almost no comments on anything i write, so don't let it get to you. it's also pretty classic to have so few votes early on, that one a-hole sinks your rating a lot. shit, i have a story that's over 300 pages long, and it still only has, i dunno, less than 40 ratings, i think.

p.s. andy is a dreamy kinda guy! :O)

anathema anathema
2/21/17