The Photograph

           Chelsea sat upon a dust-covered raggedy old wooden chair that had been in storage in her childhood home’s attic for more than twenty years. Cobwebs were scattered about the rafters and the stench of stale air pierced her nasal cavity.

           It had been three weeks since her mother passed away, and it was Chelsea’s duty to sort through her belongings and decide what was worth holding onto before the house was sold.

           She opened an old cedar strip trunk that sat partially hidden behind on old quilt that Chelsea’s grandmother had made years ago. As she dragged it out into the light, a small grey mouse scurried out across Chelsea’s feet making her jump out of her chair. Her head thumped hard against the wooden truss above her.

           Once she was certain that the mouse was not returning, Chelsea sat back down and unlatched the trunk. As she opened it up, the odor of moth balls struck her like a slap in the face. It overpowered the smell of the stale attic air at least.

           Inside the trunk were a series of pictures and notebooks that she soon found out were journals belonging to her mother. There was a black wig, possibly from the 1960s judging by the “Flipped Bob” hairstyle. She also found a small jewelry box. When she opened it up, music began to play as a ballerina twirled in a pirouette position in front of a small mirror.

           The jewelry box contained two small drawers. Inside the first were some small trinkets, likely made of colored glass, and in the other was a small silver necklace with a locket attached. She opened the locket and was shocked to see a picture that closely resembled her inside. Chelsea could not recollect ever seeing this baby picture before, but now that she has, she had no intention of letting it go. It warmed her heart to know that her mother held that picture close to her, at least for a while.

           Chelsea and her mother had their differences, as mothers and daughters often do, so to think that her mother loved her enough to cherish that picture was heartwarming. Most of her childhood and part of her adult life had been spent in frequent arguments with her mother. When you looked around the house, there were very few photos hanging on the wall of her family either.

           Chelsea stuck around the house until nearly sunset before heading back to her family. Her husband, Jack, and son, Luke were setting the table when she arrived. Jack gave her a quick kiss on the lips as he passed her on his way to the stove to stir the pasta that was boiling over. He opened the oven to check on the roast and informed Chelsea that dinner would be ready in five minutes. That gave her enough time to wash up and change her clothes.

           During dinner, she filled Jack in on the items that she discovered in the attic, especially the locket that she held out and showed him. She told him that she had never seen the picture before, and Jack suggested that she take the photo out for a closer look. The latch for the release on the glass cover was seized slightly, but with the help of a butter knife, she was able to pry it loose.

           She carefully slid the photograph out. Its edges were slightly tinged brown. Chelsea slipped on her reading glasses and held the picture up in front of her face. As she moved it in front of a lamp, she noticed lines showing through from the opposite side. When she flipped it over, she was able to read faded words which read, “March 1972”. Perplexed by her discovery, Chelsea began to calculate her age in the photo. She figured out that it would have made her three months old.

           The following day, Chelsea returned to her mother’s house and began to read through some of her mother’s journals. She found one dated from 1972 and began to read. The first entry was from January 8, 1972.

           “It has been a struggle with this pregnancy so far. The constant cramping and nausea prevent me from sleeping much anymore. I haven’t heard from Billy since I told him I was pregnant. Last I heard, he ran off with Megan Foster to some small town in the next state.

           I don’t know how I am going to survive as a mother. What do I know about kids? It’s not like my mother was ever a good role model. She spent her nights passed out on the couch while I made meals for me and my sister, Sylvia.”

           She continued to read through the faded pages…

           “It is January 15^th, and the big day finally arrived. I had to drive myself to the hospital when my water broke because my mom was still in a drunken stupor.

           I was in labor for thirteen hours before the birth finally took place. I decided to name her Chelsea Elizabeth Stratton. She weighed a healthy six pounds, seven ounces. I was shocked, however, when the doctor said that baby number two was ready to come out as well. I had no idea there were twins inside me.

           Christine Jessica Stratton was born three minutes and twelve seconds later and weighed five pounds, eight ounces. Christine was having difficulty breathing at first and was kept from me for further observation.”

           Chelsea felt betrayed that her mother had never told her that she had a twin sister. As she read on, she found an entry from March 18, 1972.

           “The hospital is finally allowing me to bring Christine home, but they said she will need to be checked out regularly until things improve. It turns out, she had an abnormality on her heart and may not survive.

           I did not want to have children at first, but now I am upset because I may lose one of my babies. I think I am being punished somehow.

           My sister, Sylvia helped me dress the girls up and we are going to take some pictures of them with our mother’s Polaroid camera. They have matching pink frilled dresses and tiny lace bonnets. If not for the difference in size, I’m not sure I could tell the two of them apart. Well, that and the fact that Christine cries a lot more.”

           Chelsea set the journal down and started searching through the stack of pictures that had been tied together in a pile with twine. Out of all the photographs that were now scattered across the floor, only one was of Chelsea and Christine together.

           She slipped the photo into her purse along with the journals from 1972 to 1974 and headed back home. When she arrived back at her house, she immediately sat at the dining room table with her laptop and began to Google Search the name, “Christine Jessica Stratton”. Hundreds of hits appeared on the screen. There were mortgage specialists, figure skaters, volleyball players, and more. She narrowed down the search by putting her date of birth. The list was now down to three possibilities.

           A birth record search led her to a girl that had been adopted in 1975 by a family just one hour from their hometown. She located the phone number and called. Nervously, Chelsea chewed on her knuckles as she waited. On the third ring, a woman answered.

           Chelsea asked her if her name was Christine Jessica Stratton. She said that it was at birth, but she now goes by the last name of Hanley. Chelsea asked if her mother’s name was Abby, to which Christine answered, “yes,” but with a tone of curiosity.

           Christine explained that she grew up in foster care for a couple of years. She said that her mother had left her with the neighbours and left town, never returning. She moved from one foster home to the next for more than a year before a lovely couple had agreed to adopt her. She had been with them ever since. It wasn’t until she was in her late teens that she had discovered who her birth mother was and what she had done.

           Chelsea sat silently for a moment before explaining the reason for her call. When she told Christine that she was her sister, Christine nearly dropped the phone. Chelsea filled her in on the story of the locket and the journals, and Christine agreed to meet up with her that coming weekend.

           When Saturday arrived, Chelsea sat nervously in the living room, frequently getting up to look out the front window and check her phone for any missed calls or texts. A few minutes before her expected arrival, a Lunar Blue Mercedes Benz pulled in the driveway.

           Chelsea rushed to the door and paused. She did not want to appear too anxious. When the doorbell rang, she waited a full thirty seconds before answering. When their eyes met for the first time, it was almost like looking in a mirror, apart from hair color. Chelsea was a sandy-blonde while Christine was an auburn color.

           Chelsea started to lean in for a hug, but it felt awkward, so she stopped halfway into the lean, which in turn felt even more awkward. Instead, she held out her hand. Christine took her hand then pulled her in closely for a tight embrace. Chelsea felt her awkwardness and anxiety beginning to lift away like a dissipating fog.

           She asked Christine to join her in the living room where she introduced her to Jack and Luke. Jack served them each a drink then excused himself and Luke so the ladies could catch up.

           Chelsea told Christine about their drunk of a mother who recently died of cirrhosis of the liver. She then took out the journals and let Christine read about their past. Chelsea then handed the locket to Christine along with the photo that she had removed from it. Christine looked at the picture then opened her purse. She reached inside and pulled out another photo. It was a duplicate of the one from the locket. That was when Chelsea realized that the photo that her mother had held so dear, was that of Christine, and not of herself. A tear began to cascade down her cheek. She tasted the salty tears as they crossed her lips.

           Christine reached out and held Chelsea by the hand. She could understand why Chelsea was upset, and she told her that their mother must have felt guilty for abandoning her all those years ago and could not let go of the memory.

           Christine asked if they could go together to their mother’s home the following day, and they met there at 9:00 am. Christine had never lived in this house, but she could feel the presence of her birth mother as soon as she crossed the threshold. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke still hung in the air.

           Chelsea showed her around the house, pointing out the area on the carpet where she found the body, surrounded by a puddle of whiskey that poured out from her glass, and the stain of dark urine.

They climbed the ladder to the attic where Chelsea showed Christine the stack of photographs which consisted mostly of their mother and many different men that dropped by the house on occasion to fill their mother’s carnal needs.

As they read through more of the later journals, they discovered that their mother had not forgotten about Christine. In fact, she would sometimes see her when she travelled to Christine’s new town. Abby would watch her movements, making sure that she was being taken care of properly.

When they finally reached the last journal entry from April 10, 1985, they discovered a side of their mother that they didn’t know. It turned out that she had been donating what little money she could to helping orphaned children. Again, it looked like she had remorse for letting Christine go as a baby and tried to make up for her mistakes by helping other children.

Chelsea was ready to close the book when she saw that one of the pages was askew. When she gave it a tug, one sheet gave way and slid out from one of pages near the back of the journal. On the paper, it read…

“In my life, I had made many mistakes. The biggest of which was separating my two beautiful daughters. I hope that one day I can bring the two of them back together. If I am not around to witness this day, I hope that they are able to forgive me for my wrongdoings.”

They stared at the paper for a moment in silence, then at each other. A look of mutual understanding was visible across their faces. They just smiled, nodded, and got up to leave. On the way back, however, they made one more stop.

Chelsea brought Christine to Resurrection Cemetery where their mother had been buried. They kneeled together on the soft ground and told their mother that they forgave her for all the decisions that she had made. They told her that now that they had found each other again, they would come and visit her more often.

A strange, yet familiar odor wafted through the air by the gravesite. It was a mix of cigarettes and Jack Daniel’s. This time, instead of closing off their noses to the smell, they drew in a deep breath as if it were fresh air because they knew that it was their mother’s way of saying she was there with them.