by Tiana Laveen
“Ace, the more I look at you right now,” she grinned a bit wider and shook her head, “there is just no doubt in my mind that your birth family had ended up here from one of these many migrations. We can do a blood DNA test if you like, but more than likely you don’t have an ounce of any other blood in your body. You are pure Romanian — and not to creep you out or anything, but there was also a time period when it was believed — and highly plausible — that there was quite a bit of inbreeding. Romanians are one of the European races that did not cross over with other ethnicities, at least not in ways as prevalent as some of their other European counterparts.”
“Yet here I am, in love with a black woman.” They both burst out laughing.
“True, but anyway, you understand what I’m getting at here. Many people know little about Romanians. They just think of Dracula, or something like that. Actually, Romanians are a huge population! Romania is the largest country in southeastern Europe. Due to an invasion from Russia during World War II, your culture now also sports quite a bit of Russian influence; however, your people were able to maintain their language and other important aspects, despite this fact.”
“Isn’t Romania communist?”
Yes, because all true-blooded Americans need to know this, and that was all Ace knew. Up until now…
Brooklyn smirked. “Well no, not anymore, but yes, it used to be true. But bear in mind, in the ’80s, the United States was anti-Russia, in part due to communism, but Romania’s president at that time, Nicolae Ceausescu, was speaking out against the Soviet Union so he got brownie points from the U.S because of that. Now, unfortunately, starting in the late ’60s, early ’70s, Ceausescu borrowed a bunch of money after making a gang of alliances, to try and get his country up to par, to keep up with the Joneses, so to speak. This led to Romania becoming bankrupt. Thus, you had people fleeing to other countries because now people were waiting in long lines for food rationing, heat, and the like. All sorts of terrible things were happening. In 1989, the people revolted and the violence was so bad, President Ceausescu and his wife were murdered — executed to be exact. It was during this time period, Ace, that your family more than likely had either already left, or were preparing to do so.
After a pause she said, “Romania boasts some of the most beautiful castles in the world. That is where the story Dracula comes from.”
Ace nodded in understanding.
“Over thirty percent of the land is covered in mountains…”
“Have you personally been there?” He scratched the back of his head.
“Yes, Ace, I have. Twice, to be exact and I must say, it is one of the most interesting places I’ve ever had the pleasure to travel to. These people have been through a hell of a lot, historically, but they have persevered. Some were able to get away during one of the worst times of their history…I suspect your parents were two of those people.”
He sucked his bottom lip and looked up at the ceiling, then out the window. His thoughts, concerns, and worries swirled within him.
“You come from warm people, Ace. Your culture is rich. For the most part, it is intact. And…you came from smart stock. Did you know that the second most common language spoken at Microsoft is Romanian?”
He smiled and laughed. “Now baby, how would I know that?” He threw his hands up. “That’s what I have you for.” He kept trying to stuff down his emotions, but his eyes betrayed him. He could feel the moisture building up.
“Yes, that is what you have me for.” She clasped her hands together. “You got your brains from these people. Ace, you’re a brilliant man. The way you can find people, that computer system you created for age progression; it’s amazing! You’re a natural with computers, and stuff like that. I can barely figure out my phone half the time.” She chuckled. “The way you know human nature… you got it honestly. Your people invented the jet engine and insulin for diabetics. I could go on and on!”
“Oh, come on, that’s like saying all Japanese people are smart, Brooklyn. You’re just tryna make me feel better is all.”
“Ace, you bullheaded egg head!” She grinned. “No, and as far as that comparison, well, sorry, but some stereotypes have some truth. Many Asian cultures score higher on their standardized tests, so,” she shrugged, “if the shoe fits! Now look, I am your one stop European history shop; well, any kind of history as long as it has to do with human beings. I want you to stop sitting over there acting like you don’t want to get up, dance and shout. I know you…”
At that, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Yes, baby,” he looked down into his lap. “You do. And, I really can’t thank you enough for this. I can start over now. I can investigate my own life with fresh information. Finally, a new lead.”
“Well, let me give you another piece of information to start you out.”
“Okay.”
“In 1988, in the migration of Romanians to Chicago, there were several adoption agencies that had sprung up, and suddenly went under just as fast. If I were you, I’d start there.” She stood and removed another packet from her purse, handing it to him.
He looked at it, swallowed, and his stomach flipped. He gently took the packet from her hands.
“That’s information about the migration and some of the families, Ace. Your family may or may not be listed, but…it’s something.” She bent low and kissed his forehead. Then, as if she knew what he needed, she turned and walked away, disappeared down the hall and closed herself off in their bedroom. Now, he was alone to think and decompress. In that moment, when he was certain he was safe, he clutched the envelope so tight, he feared he may rip it in half. He moaned and sighed, felt the vein on the side of his damn neck pulsating as he tried to maintain his composure to no avail. Relief moved throughout his body, releasing the prisoner within. He’d never felt so free. Tears streamed down his face, startling him, though they’d already warned of their pending arrival.
He sat there for a long while, until he’d built up the courage to open the information, and start to read it page by page. As it got dark, he paused to turn on the standing gold lamp beside him, and read some more. He stayed that way, gripping that packet of paper, until he’d unknowingly fallen asleep. Strange thing was, when he awoke, he was in his bed…and there she was, beside him, asleep, her head on his chest. He didn’t recall walking in there, but he must’ve. He looked over to his left. There on the nightstand was the packet of papers, and on top of it, that damned white mask, smiling back at him…
~***~
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Ace’s fingers kept moving. His pinky finger rubbed his index finger, and they twitched, as if a nerve had gone bad. He sat there at his parent’s dining room table, amongst a heap of papers scattered all about, while sweat beads ran down his face. The last few weeks had been pure hell. Brooklyn had tossed him the ball, and he’d taken it from there. This shit consumed him. Dr. Rose had been brought in on the ordeal, and gave him food for thought, healthy advice, but it all went by the wayside. Ace was now staying up long nights, digging and digging, until he’d unearthed the mother of all bullshit, and underneath her fat ass was a flattened, hidden away pile of shit known as the Carthage Agency. Just as Brooklyn had stated, the files showed there were a number of adoption agencies that had seemed to open overnight, catering to adoptable children, most of which were immigrant children.
There was just one problem. These were ‘black adoptions’, also known as illegal. The children had no American residency, yet they were being adopted, given American names and social security numbers, and after a few months of business, the agencies would mysteriously disappear. After that, a brand new one would pop up in its place. His mother, father and brothers sat around the table, sipping their respective beverages as they listened to him explain what had transpired. In the background, a song played on the radio, making his nerves even worse. The Eagles serenaded him while the full moon shone through the window, belting out, ‘One of These Nights.’.
He t
apped his fingers against the table, leaned back in his seat, and twirled a toothpick at the corner of his mouth.
“And that’s where everything stopped. I couldn’t get further than that. The agency went under. They were under investigation, and I was left on the steps of St. Paul’s Church the day before the police came with a search warrant.” He took a deep breath, and exhaled. “So…here the hell we are.”
“Ace, we…we had no idea!” His mother threw up her hands. “Everything looked legitimate.”
“I know you didn’t know, Mom. Many adoptive parents didn’t know, actually. Some did, but the ones like me, that came through the foster system first, well, you’d have no reason to suspect anything.” He said it, meant it, but he didn’t care anything about that anymore. All he knew was that he had been in an illegal adoption agency; the owner fled and left him to his own devices. He was entered into the foster care system and subsequently saved by Sarah Blackstone. He’d kept digging and what sucked most of all, he felt he’d gone no further than he had weeks previously.
How did I get here? Who brought me to America?
That was the million-dollar question.
If my mother didn’t leave me on the steps, who did? And where were my parents all that time I was waiting for adoption? Why didn’t they try to find me?
He shook his head and rummaged in his pocket, trying to find his cigarettes. They were gone.
“Shit!” He’d forgotten he purposefully left them in the car.
“Ace.” His brother Pierce stood to his feet. “Look, I know you being adopted has been an issue for you. You never really talked about it, but everyone knew it was an issue for you, okay?”
Ace looked at him coolly. “Are you goin’ somewhere with this, man?”
“Yes. I love you, we all love you. If there is anything that I can do to help you, let me know. I’m glad you’re starting to get answers. If what you’re saying is true, then there is probably a pretty watered down paper trail. In retrospect, some of this makes sense, though.”
“Yeah, it does,” Reid piped up, crossing his arms. “I remember,” he swallowed hard, then took a sip of his gin as if something were lodged in his throat. “Excuse me…uh, I remember when Mom and Dad brought you home. They explained you’d be with us for a few months.” He sniffed and wiped his nose. “I was just a little kid back then myself, but I remember staring at you, real close, too. There was nothing unusual about how you looked or anything like that but, after a few weeks, I was in your room helping Mom with your bookshelf.”
Their mother’s sad grin blossomed a bit as everyone listened.
“I picked up one of the books. I think it was ‘The Three Little Pigs.’ Yeah, that’s what it was. Anyway, I was learning to read pretty well, so, I thought I’d show off and sit you down and read you the book…like big brothers are supposed to. I gotcha, sat you down, and we flippinged through the book. In one illustration there was a house, a little brick house, just like how the story goes. You weren’t really talking much, you’d make little noises, say ‘yes’, sometimes, but that was it. Everyone thought something was wrong with you.”
Ace cleared his throat, agitation eroding his patience. He shot Reid a look of warning. He wasn’t in the mood for this crap.
Stop trying to take fucking shots at me, and just get to the damn point!
“Regardless, you seemed to understand, you know. Like, when someone said, ‘Come here.’ You’d come, stuff like that. Anyway, I pointed to the house in the book as I read to you, and I said, ‘house.’ But you said, ‘casa.’”
Sarah gasped. “Reid, you never told me this!”
“Ma, I didn’t even know what ‘casa’ meant! I didn’t think he was actually talking, I thought it was just babbling! I thought it was just gibberish.” He looked back at Ace, a hint of remorse in his eyes. “I didn’t know Spanish. I didn’t know that ‘casa’ is also house in Romanian, until I just looked it up right now.” He held his phone up and moved it around like an exhibit for a court room. “As you were sitting here telling us all of this, that story came back to me. I had to see for myself. I had to see…” His voice trailed. He bent his head low for a moment, then looked back at Ace.
“I’m sorry, Ace.”
“For what? There was nothing you could’ve done.” Ace leaned back further in his chair. “Anyway, I don’t remember anything at that age. It’s all just a blur, I suppose, as if it never happened. I’m going to keep searching but I’ve exhausted myself and need to take a break from it, for now.”
“Of course,” their mother whispered, reaching over and patting his hand.
“If I find out more, I’ll let everyone know. Thanks for coming by.” He stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. He thought he may be safe, be able to just drop and run, but he should’ve known better. The damn family swarmed him, enveloping him in warm arms, loving on him. At first, he didn’t want to hug back. He wanted them off of him so he could go lick his wounds in peace, but his heart did want them around. His heart got its way, so he surrendered to it. Mom’s perfume and Dad’s Old Spice aftershave comforted him. And his brothers, smelling of liquor, were the missing touch that sent a wave of peace through his body. Right then, at that moment, everything was okay. When he walked out the door, that would be another story, but he’d deal with that when the time came…
~***~
Dr. Rose’s amber colored sweater had five lint balls on the right shoulder. Ace surmised he must keep a backpack over that shoulder, causing the fabric to rub and bunch. Those lint balls had become his focus as the man told him in no uncertain terms, he must accept closure, at any given time.
“You may never get more information than you currently have.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Are you pleased that you at least know more now, however?”
“Of course I am. But now, I have different questions that I didn’t have before. So though I can close one door, three more are opened.”
“Hmmm, do you regret that you know your parents were possibly immigrants? That you weren’t born in America?”
Ace stretched his arm and scratched the underside of his elbow. “How could I regret that? That’s part of my identity. My girlfriend has given me a boatload of books about Romanian culture and I am gobbling that shit up. It is a relief, actually. It also explains why I wasn’t circumcised. My parents had it done to me when I was six…talk about traumatic.”
Dr. Rose grinned and shook his head.
“How does your girlfriend, Brooklyn, feel about all of this now?”
“She just wants me to be happy. If I want to stop, she supports me. If I want to continue, she supports that, too.”
“And this week, I was pleased to hear that the nightmares have lessened. That is wonderful news, Ace.”
“Yeah.” He massaged his kneecap. “It is good. I’m not sure what triggered it.”
“Well, I have a theory. Would you like to hear it?”
“You know I would.”
“It’s because though you are terribly stressed out right now, you still have a sense of relief. You know who you are. You have unearthed an important layer.”
Ace sat there for a long while and thought about what Dr. Rose way saying. He finally nodded, agreeing that that very well may be the case.
“I believe,” Dr. Rose continued, “as stated during your very first visit, that these nightmares are the result of something traumatic in your childhood. Now that you know a bit more about that period of your life before your adoption, there is some relief. You are forming your own conclusions now, making peace, because you have a bit more information to go on.
“Apparently, that is something you need, even more so than many others. You are systematically trained, your very brain,” Dr. Rose tapped his temple, “to compartmentalize information. This is also illustrated by your excessive tidiness and need for order. You are compelled to put everything in a box and label it inside of your mind, Ace.”
&nbs
p; “Part of that is due to my dyslexia.”
Dr. Rose nodded in agreement.
“That is how I learn and retain information. I taught myself to put labels and pictures in my mind, of words, so that they’d look correct to me when my brain would misfire.”
“Yes, you did. Everything in your mind, in your world, has to be in its rightful place. It isn’t really because you give a damn if something is clean or turned face forward — it is about what that means to you. It means—”
“Completion.”
“That’s right!” Dr. Rose blurted excitedly. “You’ve got it.”
“I need everything to be clean, accessible and cataloged, not because it looks nice, but because to me, it signifies a beginning and an end. I get it.” Ace smiled and nodded. “This therapy stuff ain’t so bad…”
Both men looked at one another and busted out laughing.
“You’re going to be okay, Mr. Blackstone… You’ll be A-Ok.”
~***~
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
