My father handed me the picture I kept on my dresser. It was a faded picture of a woman with long brown hair holding a 2 year old boy. The woman held the boy in both her arms and sat her head on the top of his. She was in her early 20s. The boy was sitting on her lap, his head underneath hers, and was looking at the camera. I found this picture in the basement when I was looking for tape. It was the only picture I had of my mother and me.
I tried to snatch it, but dad lifted his hand up. “How’d the hell’d you get this?!” He yelled. “I found it” I said quietly. “Well, this brings up my point. We found your mother’s address. Me and your brother are gonna track her down” He told me. I flinched. I never wanted to know my mom. Meeting her would just confirm my fears about her not really loving me. “Oh, alright.” I said, feeling a little stirred up. My brother had bought dinner and we chowed down, not saying a single word to each other.
Afterward, my dad sent me to bed early so he could talk with my brother.