the latest news

The Meeting

“Beth?” I called from the bottom of the stairs. “Dad is ready for our suitcases.”
“Okay, but come in here first. I have something to show you.”
I raced up the steps. Ever since I entered seventh grade that year Beth started treating me less like a little sister and more like a best friend. She’d tell me juicy secrets about gossip she heard in the halls at school, and sometimes she’d even let me read her journal.
“Ta da,” Beth said as she handed me a large portrait drawing. “What do you think?”
“It’s great! It looks like you, but it’s a guy!”
“That’s what I think my real dad looks like.” Beth paused. “Well, kind of,” she added, lowering her head. “I think I’m going to give it to him when I meet him, you know as a little gift.”
“Amber? Beth? Come on girls. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us,” Dad yelled.
I thought Dad and Mom would be upset when Beth first told them she wanted to meet her real parents, but they weren’t. “It’s only natural to be curious,” Dad said “and at sixteen, Beth is old enough to make this decision.” Mom added that it was important for us to try to understand Beth’s feelings about her adoption, even if it meant traveling to see her biological parents.
Dad and Mom knew little about the parents they had met briefly fifteen years ago when they signed legal documents at the courthouse, so it took them a while to try to locate them. They never found Beth’s mom, and they called around for days before they could finally contact her dad. He had moved back to his hometown in Arkansas.
Beth was at a friend’s house; it was late, and I was supposed to be sleeping when they called him, but I wasn’t. And, because my room was right beside Dad and Mom’s, I lay in bed with my ear pressed against the wall and heard his voice, clearly, over the speaker phone.
The phone rang three times, and then a deep, raspy voice answered, “Hello?”
“Hi. My name is David King, and I am looking for Bill Wood,” Dad said in his friendly phone voice.
“Yeah. He’s here,” the voice continued in a slow, dragging tone.
There was some shuffling, and then the voice cackled, “Son, phone’s for you.”
A few seconds passed, and then Bill picked up the phone. “Hello?” His voice was similar to the first voice, apparently his father’s, but more slurred.
Dad repeated, “Hi. This is David King, Beth’s adoptive—”
“I know ya’,” Bill cut in. “Everything all right?”
“Yes. Everything is just fine. My wife and I were just calling to see where you relocated and umm to see if, well to see if you had ever thought much about visiting Beth.” I could hear the nervousness in Dad’s voice. He usually wasn’t nervous.
“Oh, I think about ‘er sometimes,” he said slowly, as if he was thinking about her then.
“Well, Beth has mentioned wanting to see you—”
“I wouldn’t mind. Be kinda nice to see how she turned out and all.”
“Okay. We’re still living in Indiana, so I thought that—”
“I’ll tell ya’, I can’t make it there anytime soon. Things have been kinda tight lately and—”
“Oh, no. We were planning to make the trip down there. We’d bring Beth to see you.”
Everyone was silent. I wondered what Mom was doing. Was she just listening? I pressed my ear closer against the wall, hoping they hadn’t turned off the speaker phone.
Finally, Bill replied, “That’d be nice. I reckon you could bring ‘er by my place. Now, the place ain’t nice,” he said slurring even more. But it’s my own.”
“Okay,” Dad said slowly and almost rudely. What is your schedule for this summer?”
“Oh, I piddle around here and there durin’ the day and am here at Momma’s for dinner in the evenin’s. Nothin’ special.” His words ran together, sounding as if he had just woken up.
“Well, my wife and I are going to talk this over, and we’ll call you back when we find a good date.”
“Okay,” he said slowly.
“It was good talking to you.”
“Yep.”
“Goodbye.”
“Bye.” Click.
I couldn’t hear anything for a few minutes. Then, Mom’s crying broke the silence.
“He was drunk,” she said angrily, raising her voice the way she does when Dad upsets her.
“I know, honey. I know.”
“We can’t let her see him like that,” she raised her voice even louder. “Can you imagine how hurt Beth would be if she saw him? He doesn’t even have a job, and at 40-something he still bums off his parents!”
“Shhh. You’re going to wake up Amber.” I jerked my ear from the wall when Dad said my name, but they kept talking, so I waited a few seconds then quietly pressed my face against the wall again.
“Well, what he does with his life is his business, but I am not hurting Beth by putting her in a situation where she has to see her father that way,” she said firmly.
“We won’t go. It’s that simple,” Dad said softly. I pressed my ear harder against the wall to hear him better. “I think that it is best to explain to Beth that now is not a good time to see her Dad. Okay?”
Mom must have nodded because Dad replied, “Good. Now, let’s get some sleep tonight, and we’ll talk to Beth tomorrow.”
I fell asleep wondering whether I should tell Beth what I had heard.
The next evening at dinner, Dad told Beth he had some news.
“Beth, your Mom and I talked to your biological father last night—
“Yeah!? Does he want to see me!?
“Well, yes, but Mom and I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to visit him right now.”
“WHAT?” Beth screamed. “THAT’S STUPID.”
“Beth, stop it,” Dad said firmly. We don’t mind that you want to see your dad, but now is not a good time.
Beth jumped up, threw her napkin, and stormed to her room, locking the door behind her.
Mom followed Beth upstairs and begged her to come out so they could talk things over. Beth ignored her until Mom finally gave up for the evening.
The next morning, Beth refused to come out of her room and go to school. When I knocked on her door, she screamed, “YOU STAY AWAY TOO.” I wanted to tell her that Dad and Mom weren’t being mean; they just didn’t want to see her get hurt. Dad banged on Beth’s door and told her that if she didn’t come out, he was going to climb through the window. “ONLY IF I CAN SEE MY DAD,” she screamed.
“We’ll talk about it,” he said.
Beth came out and joined us for breakfast.
“Why can’t I see him?” she asked staring at her egg omelet.
“Beth, what do you think your dad is like?” Mom asked, calmly.
“Like me. Tall. Dark. Athletic.”
“Well, maybe he is, but Beth your Dad is also a lot different than you.
“How is he different?” Beth asked turning her eyes back toward her omelet.”
“He lives differently than we do, Beth,” Dad said slowly and sternly. “He’s doesn’t work, so he doesn’t have much. Not that we are better, but he just lives a different lifestyle, one that you aren’t familiar with. And, Beth, he drinks, more than he should.”
Beth stared at her omelet. She didn’t seem surprised. “So. I don’t care. I still want to see him.”
Dad said he would think about it and let her know tomorrow.
That evening, I knocked on Beth’s door and asked if I could come in. “I guess,” she said, smiling a little.
We talked about our homework for awhile, and then I asked her if she was upset about what Dad and Mom said about her real dad. “No,” she said. “He is who he is.” I was happy that she finally seemed to understand that he wasn’t who she pictured him to be. But, then she said, “I wonder if he has any horses. I love horses.” It was as if she knew the truth about him, but was trying to create her dream dad, one that looked and acted like her and loved everything she loved. I sighed and went back downstairs.
Four weeks later, after many more family discussions and a few more phone calls to Beth’s Dad, we were on our way to Arkansas.
‘Fifty-three’ I counted loudly, trying to drown out Beth’s loud singing as we passed another red car on the interstate. Beth hadn’t stopped talking since we left the house hours ago. “I bet he’s funny, handsome with black hair and loves sports,” she kept exclaiming. I couldn’t understand why she was so excited about meeting some guy who hadn’t seen her or even called her in fifteen years. Wasn’t our dad good enough? Beth had always talked about how great our dad was and how she loved being Daddy’s girl, until the last few weeks when all she could talk about was her “real dad.” The more she talked, the angrier I got. I acted like I couldn’t hear her during our stop for brunch when she asked me if I was as excited as she was. The rest of the way I pretended to read a book.
“We’re almost there,” Dad finally announced, slurping his last bit of coffee.
Beth stared straight ahead holding her drawing. Her bubbly excitement had turned into silence when we passed the big, green “Welcome to Arkansas” sign about an hour ago.
“Now, Beth, just be yourself. There’s no need to be nervous,” Mom said, reaching over the seat to pat Beth’s leg. Ever since Mom went back to college last year to finish the Psychology degree she started eighteen years ago before she married Dad, she was always trying to encourage us to be calm and stay true to our feelings and personalities.
As we turned off the highway, I shielded the sunlight to read the faded black letters, “Wood Lane.” The lane was a car-width worn down path in the middle of a grassy field.
“I believe this is the address,” Dad said, slowing the car.
I craned my neck around Dad’s shoulder. “This is his house?” I uttered.
“Amber, sit down,” Mom demanded, as she stared out the window.
The place looked like a trailer, but only half the size. Grey splintered boards hid behind yellowed peeling paint. Plastic and duct tape covered one small window to the left of the door. The porch was a stack of cement blocks.
Dad slowly unfastened his seatbelt, while Beth glared out the window. Loud barking broke the silence.
Led by three large dogs, a tall, thin man with black, wiry hair staggered onto the porch. His t-shirt, once red now faded to an almost pink, hung loosely around his dirty, torn jeans. He placed his whiskey bottle on the porch behind his left leg.
Dad and Mom exchanged glances.
“Go on. He’s waiting for you,” Mom said, shrugging her shoulders.
Dad made his way toward the man. They shook hands and talked a few minutes before Dad waved his hand for us to get out of the car. Beth slid her drawing underneath the seat.
I scooted close to Dad as we climbed onto the cement blocks, and Beth shuffled behind Mom. I gasped as the dirty mutts rushed to sniff my feet.
“Go on. Get yoselfs on outta here,” the man said, kicking the enormous grayish black dog.
“Beth, this is Bill, your Dad,” Dad said, clearing his throat.
Silence.
“It’s okay. You can give him a hug,” Mom whispered.
Beth slowly inched toward Bill, her head down and arms half extended. He nervously reached out and gave her a short pat on the back. Beth gradually crept back behind Mom.
Bill’s eyes were round and small just like Beth’s. His hair was the same black shade. He was ugly, though. The few teeth he had were brown and rotten, and his face was wooly with black and gray whiskers. He looked older. A lot older than Dad.
He stared at Beth. “Ya’ look a bit like me,” he uttered softly.
Beth forced a smile, looking away.
Silence.
“Beth’s in tenth grade. She makes the honor roll every year,” Dad said.
Bill shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still watching Beth.
“She plays basketball, too. Coach made her team captain this year.”
Beth’s arms were crossed as she stared across the grassy field. You could see the disappointment in her face. She could no longer imagine and hope that her dad was the perfect dad who was handsome, who looked and acted like her, and who loved everything she loved. She finally had to accept that he was different from her, very different.
“Sure is hot out here,” Dad mumbled.
Silence. Bill stared at Beth, and Beth stared across the field.
Several minutes passed with Dad talking about Beth’s interests and habits, hoping that Bill would laugh or chime in. Bill only stared at Beth as Dad talked about Beth’s passion for animals and how she loved to help him out with the pigs and horses on their farm. He remained silent, still staring, when Dad asked him the names of his dogs.
Silence.
“I suppose we should get going,” Dad finally surrendered.
“Do you want to hug him goodbye?” Mom whispered. Beth didn’t budge.
“It was good to see you,” Dad said shaking Bill’s hand. “Thanks for letting us stop by,” Dad continued as he looked toward Beth.
Arms crossed, Beth stepped in front of Bill. “Goodbye,” she mumbled towards the ground. Bill stared, smiling softly. A few seconds passed before he extended an arm and patted her back.
Beth raced down the cement blocks and climbed into the car. Bill, still staring at Beth, mechanically lifted his hand as if to say goodbye. He remained frozen as we drove down the long, grassy path.
“Beth, you feel okay?” Mom said as we turned off the path and onto the highway.
Beth glared out the window, ignoring Mom’s question.
“Listen, honey. I know your dad, Bill, didn’t umm say a lot, but he was happy to see you,” Mom said. “Don’t you remember us telling you about how he wanted to see you and how you’d grown? Maybe he’s a shy person. Or, maybe he was just nervous. Sometimes it’s hard to find the right words to say when so many thoughts are racing through your mind.”
I reached over and grabbed Beth’s hand. I felt so guilty for ignoring her earlier.
“Beth, would you like to see your dad again tomorrow?” Dad interrupted. “We could see if maybe he’d like to go out for dinner and…”
“NO!” Beth shouted, pulling her hand away from mine and shifting more toward the window. “JUST SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU!”
The radio and occasional, random conversation from Mom filled the silence for the two hundred miles before our short stop at an Arby’s drive thru and then for the hundred miles to the Ramada Inn.
Later, in the hotel bed that night, Beth snuggled close to me. “He was everything I knew he would be,” she cried.