The Last State Continued…
“John—” I begin.
“I’m all my mom has. She worked too hard for me to end up a young father. So, are your folks too, Rose” John replies, turning the wheel onto another dirt road. We are in the middle of the highway 66, heading to the land of stars and honey. Another idea by John to go before returning home.
“My mom would have understood—-”
“Would she, rose?” He interrupts. Would she?
I remain silent.
“Exactly rose, they would have judged you. Made you get rid of her, the baby. This was the best option.”
My pawns are sweaty. Cynthia dying, she cannot die. How can he say that?! The fluoresce lights beam in front of my vision. I can’t see but hear her name: Cynthia, Cynthia.
(10 years later)
Hi, my name is Cynthia. No last name because I’m in the system. My name is often link to a barcode label as my false mother call me in for meetings with the potentials. The hopeful parents. Right now, the Monty’s are here with me. They want a daughter, well-mannered false child to fit their views and acceptance.
“We are the Monty’s. I’m Richard, and my wife Carly, here.”
“What’s your name sweetie?” He asks.
“Cynthia, just Cynthia.” I rely.
“Ah, what a lovely name. Cynthia.” Richard says with a big goofy grin.
“I’ve always loved the name. Cynthia.” Carly says with a soft voice.
I bet she does. My real mother got one thing right, a good name. But, to leave me at a police station with no note but a bracket, confuses me. For years, I have been figuring out the message behind this turquoise teal and grey bracket that constantly breaks. Then, I keep repairing this ridiculous heirloom she left outside, for me. Did she love me? I often wonder.