Not Mine

'Why is she watching me?’

I grab my book bag from the passenger seat and place it in my lap, hugging it to my chest. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

‘One. Two. Three. Four. Five.’

The stranger in the dark coat blinks, then looks away. The second she looks away, I take that opportunity to jump out of my car and scurry into school. Glancing over my shoulder before I walk in the building, I see that she has pulled her dark coat around her tightly and slipped on some sunglasses. She is no longer watching me, and begins to walk away. The big coat was a strange wardrobe choice, considering that it is the beginning of spring and the sun was warming up the days. Maybe she gets colder than most people, just like I do. I smooth out my sweater by running a hand over it and rush into the warm building. 

In my car after school, the stranger is nowhere in sight and I feel like I can breath again. I drive back to my house and try not to think of the mysterious woman in the weird coat. Although I do not see her when I get home, my mother has left out a bowl of our favorite snacks: chocolate covered pretzels. I call out to her and I get a muffled reply of her saying she’s on the phone. I plop down on the couch to wait for her. I have no siblings to share my free time with, so my mother has become my close friend. We watch TV together, tell jokes and secrets, and do fun activities together. She is the type of mother who has created a safe space for me and my friends. Once off the phone, she comes to sit next to me and I hit play on the movie.

Tap, tap, tap.

I open my eyes with a start. There is a tapping on my window. Suddenly wide awake, I debate going to investigate. My curiosity gets the better of me and I ignore the saying my mother once told me: ‘Curiosity killed the cat’. She would always smile as I said the next part: ‘And satisfaction brought it back’. I roll out of bed, wrapping my blanket around me. My blanket was a spontaneous gift from my mother, just like so many other knick knacks found in my room. As I creep over to the window, I see that the noise is simply a branch hitting my window. Typical. I almost resist the urge to go downstairs to get a glass of water, but my dry mouth insists. I find myself tiptoeing down the stairs, where I find my mother sitting at the kitchen table. She is pouring over bills and financial papers. There is a stack of magazines that has been discarded and pushed to the side, most likely what she was reading before looking through the mail. I sit next to her silently, grab a magazine and begin reading. 

The next day, I see the stranger again. It is brief, but jarring. I drive right by her on my way to the mall. Today, she was wearing the same odd coat, even though it is even warmer than yesterday. Her hair was down and looked about the same shade of brown as mine. I had always envied those with blonde hair, like my mother. She was a natural blonde, but refused to let me dye my own hair. She claimed that it made me unique. Did the stranger see me? Is she going to the mall as well? It looked like she was walking that way. There are too many ‘if’s’ for me to worry about. I turn up my music to try to distract myself from overthinking them all. 

I duck behind a shelf of kitchen supplies. She’s here. And it appears like she is looking for someone. I just hope it isn’t me. Now that she is closer, I can tell that she looks tired. She has bags under her eyes and wrinkles around her mouth. Her small figure is hunched with worry and stress. I consider pulling out my phone and calling my mother, but decide against it. After twisting her head in both directions, the stranger has left. Now, all I want to do is go home. I get into my car and before I can pull out of my parking spot, she materializes behind me. The stranger. My hand flies to the door handle and I push the lock button. I duck my head, but she has already seen me. She inches around to my window and peers inside. 

Tap, tap, tap.

She tells me to roll down my window, that she just wants to talk. There is something important she needs to tell me. She begs and continues tapping my car. Tears are forming in my eyes and I reach a shaky hand for my phone. I need to call my mother. I begin to put the car in reverse when she shouts something else at me. She tells me that she is my mother. She gave me up for adoption because she was irresponsible and stupid. I try to catch my breath. If what she says is true, then this is not how I wanted to meet her. I roll down my window a small amount, but just enough so she can hear me loud and clear.

“You are not my mother.”

She holds out a birth certificate. My birth certificate. A photocopy, no doubt, but still mine, along with a picture of me as a newborn. The same picture my mother and I have sitting in the living room. I begged her to take it down because I was so small, but she insisted on keeping it up. I know I am adopted, my mother did not keep that a secret from me, but I had no desire to ever find the woman who had left me. The only thing I had to say to her was ‘thank you’. Thank you for giving me to a woman who has loved me unconditionally. Thank you for sending me away so I would never have to live with you in my life. Thank you for staying away from me, and I wish you would do the same now. 

‘She is not mine.’

She might want to be in my life, but she is not my mom. She is a stranger who I am unfamiliar with. We are only connected by DNA, whereas my mother and I share memories and love. I am my mothers daughter, and I refuse to let this stranger mess with the relationship we have. 

‘One. Two. Three. Four. Five.’

I take a deep breath and drive away.