Greetings from Hollywood -Memoir

This is a new story so I expect it needs attention.  Don't worry about being picky!

PLEASE EXCUSE ANY FORMAT PROBLEMS, I HAVEN'T GOT THIS SYSTEM DOWN YET.

Thanks


Greetings from Hollywood

CHAPTER ONE

I had only known him a few days, so why should I have believed my brother when he said, "You were named after two nurses and the prison ward doctor who delivered you." His comments screamed the words my foster mother drilled into me early in life, "Don't end up like your mother." She never offered an elaboration or explanation. I didn't want to believe him. I always imagined I’d been named after grandmothers or a group of beloved aunts. Until that day, I believed in a fantasy where entering foster care was the result of some horrible tragedy that my parents could not control. Did this brother that I never knew existed, who entered my life so unexpectedly, hold the key that would unlock all the answers to the questions, which plagued many restless nights of childhood?

I had only met my birth mother Harriet once. When I was eleven years old, she showed up unexpectedly. My foster mother, Ma told me to put on a pretty dress, act like a lady and be polite. It was an unsettling, unsatisfying and frustrating meeting. After more than ten years, how could this woman walk back into my life and expect me to want her?

I prepared to show her just what I thought of a mother who had abandoned me at birth. The meeting didn't go quite that way; Harriet did not want me to live with her. I didn’t find out why she came to visit or why she never called me again. Ma insisted there might have been reasons that Harriet couldn’t take me to live with her. But, Ma always tried to see people in a better light, even people she didn’t like. After meeting my mother, I began to believe I wasn't wanted by her and probably not by anyone else. But this was different, I had a brother and he wanted to meet me.

My brother George wrote to me in April of my senior year of high school.. I ran to the mailbox, it had become my after school ritual. I had been late applying to college, never actually believing I would be able to go. My grades weren't good and funds were nonexistent. My school guidance counselor pushed me into applying, convincing me that I should at least try to get into a state funded school. “After acceptance, you can work out the details and money issues.” She told me. I had a strong feeling I was just setting myself up for more rejection, but I had gotten used to that. I had trained rejection to roll off my back. Every afternoon that spring, I waited for an answer, would they want me? 

My disappointment in not finding an official looking envelope quickly faded when I saw something blue resembling a birthday card. It caught my interest.

There were no coming birthdays at our house. Ma’s birthday was in September. Mine was in October. Four year-old Bobby who had lived with us since he was six months old had a February birthday.

I reached for the blue envelope first. Bold black pen addressed to me and a post office cancellation stamp shouted "Greetings from Hollywood." I turned the mystery card over; I stared at the return address. George Filios, Hollywood Florida.

I have to admit I was curious, had I never heard of Hollywood Florida or George Filios. I ripped open the envelope and found a picture of a light-skinned teenaged boy wearing oversized glasses standing with a tall blonde haired woman. The woman looked familiar but I couldn't quite place her. My curiosity was quickly squelched by shock as I read the short note  attached.                     
         

          Dear Roxanne,
I'm George and I am your brother. I live in Florida with my grandmother. I am        going to visit Boston soon and I'd like to meet you. Here is a picture of me with my mother, Harriet. It was taken two years ago. I hope you would like to meet me. I'll call you when I get into town, Saturday the 15th. We can go to lunch if you are free. We have a lot to talk about, too much to say in a letter. See you then if you’d like.
          Your brother,
          George

I don't know how long I stood at the mailbox. I don't remember moving but I found myself sitting on the front steps of the house. Staring at the picture, the painful questions that filled me after my one meeting with her started to creep forward. It wasn’t seeing her that  upset me. I had long ago pushed her from my heart. There were new thoughts I had to straighten out. I had a grandmother. I had a brother. He was coming to visit. He wanted to meet me. How long had he known about me?

I read the letter over and over. Why didn't he tell me anything about himself? I could tell by the two-year-old picture that he was close to my age. Had he grown up with Harriet? My brief meeting with Her was so long ago but  I was quite sure she never mentioned I had any brothers. Was there a sister somewhere? My mind jolted when I realized there was only nine days before he would arrive. I had to make a list, no many lists, things to say, things to wear, things to do and most importantly, things to ask!

I had a lot of plans to make.

CHAPTER TWO

“Ma, Ma!” I shouted, running into the house. I threw my books on the kitchen table and waved the letter at her. “Did you know I had a brother?”

“What? No,  huh? What are you talkin’ about?” She took the letter out of my hand. She studied the picture of my mother Harriet and my brother George.

“He’s coming to meet me,” I said.

“I guess that’s your mother, It’s been a long time.” Ma shrugged. “She never said you had a brother, that’s nice,” she said, then went back to the stove. That’s nice? Ma was so casual about the most important news of my life. “When is he coming? Should I make something special?”

“We’re going out to eat I think. What should wear?” I may have been dancing around the room at that point. I picked up my foster brother Bobby and gave him a hug 'till he squirmed to get loose.

“Down, down,” he said. I giggled and spun him around for one more hug. I picked up my books, took them to my room.

I danced into the room and tossed my books onto my desk. Some stupid essay for English and a study sheet for the Math final could wait. The sudden news of a brother put everything else in my life on hold. This was the most exciting, most important, coolest thing that had ever happened to me.

I sat at the desk looking out onto the backyard. Plans, plans, plans… I took out a silver gel pen and a sheet of black paper. I started a list of restaurants were we could go for lunch next Saturday. I listed only places were the kids from school hung out. Places they would be sure to see us. I was gonna look great and show off my brother. My very own brother. My hand was shaking so hard I could hardly write legibly. The vein on the side of my head started to thump. I had so many thoughts twirling around I couldn’t keep my mind focused.

I went to my jewelry box where I kept the money I earned from my part-time job. I worked three days a week at the Voter Registration Office at the city hall. I counted out my money and quickly calculated what I would need for a new outfit. I had saved a hundred and seventy five dollars for the prom, which was still three weeks away. I could spare some of this money.

I quickly added in my head, prom gown, shoes, nails and fifty dollars to chip in for a limousine. My friends and I really didn’t want to go to the prom in beat-up cars. I was gonna need all this money for prom. I still had one more paycheck before then, two if I could get Ma to lend me some money. I took forty dollars and put it in my wallet. I could get a new shirt and jeans for forty dollars. Who was gonna pay for lunch? He invited me, so I guessed he was paying.

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to decide what to ask my brother first. I wondered why it had taken so long for him to find me. Did I have any other relatives? Would he like me? Was it going to be too hot next Saturday for a sweater? I had seen a really nice red sweater at the mall last week. How tall was he? Should I wear heels? Wow, I have a brother.

I had to wait ‘until after dinner to call my best friend. Dawn was working at her parent’s convenience store until five o’clock then she had to eat and do homework before her father would let her talk on the phone “Dawn, guess what, I got a brother” I sang out as soon as she answered.

“So what, you get new brothers and sisters all the time? How old is this one?” She said in a bored tone.

“No a real brother, real as in, we have the same mother. I got a letter from him today. He’s coming to meet me next week.”

“You’re kidding,” she said perking up with interest.

“He sent me a picture and everything.”

“Shit, you musta been floored.”

“Yah, I  freaked; I need new clothes, going to the mall after work tomorrow, wanna come?” I asked.

“Sure, What about prom, how you gonna buy new clothes?”

“I have enough”

“You can’t spend your prom money.”

“It’s okay, I’ll pick you up at 5:00, Ma’s gonna let me use the car,” I said.

I heard Dawn’s older sister pestering her in the background. “Get off that phone, I need it” Dawn muffled the phone and I could vaguely hear their arguing.

“Okay, see you in school tomorrow, gotta get off” she said. “Oh what’s his name?”

“George, George Fillios, He doesn’t look anything like me”

“But you’re sure he’s really your brother?” She asked. Then shouted to her sister, “Shut up!”

I didn’t hesitate one second. “Yes! He’s the real thing, grew up with my real mother,” I said.

“Shit, he must know everything!” Dawn said, and then yelled, “Shut up you cow!”

“I know. I can’t wait.” I was beaming.

“Calm down, you’re getting wired. What did he say in the letter?” I read the letter to her, word for word, as she muffled the phone, trying to keep her sister’s storm from raining on my sunny report.

Dawn Jackson was a good friend. We had met the first day of High school. I was in homeroom when she first walked up to me. She had been my friend from that day on. I think she found me ‘cause Dawn was black and thought I was too. She tried that first year to show me how to wear my hair in African-American styles, but that didn’t work too well. Every time I puffed my hair into an afro, Ma shrieked and told me to change it. I tried making braids, but I couldn’t do it alone. One day I got Dawn’s older sister to do braids in my hair. Ma went green and I thought she was gonna have a heart attack. The next day Ma went out and got me a hair relaxer kit. Since then my hair has been straight.

I mostly only saw Dawn in school. She lived on the other side of the city in a mostly double and triple-decker neighborhood with only a few lawns and trees. My area was a close nit group where anyone whose name did not end in a vowel garnered extra scrutiny. Three-foot fences separated backyards and all the neighbors picked their own salads daily.

Dawn didn’t come to my house too often. Ma was never rude to her, but whenever Dawn left  Ma had a comment or two. Ma said I should stay where I belonged. Ma said she wasn’t prejudice. It’s just in her day, people were supposed to “stay with their own kind.” My problem was I never knew where I belonged. Culturally I was Italian. Mentally I was colorless. Physically, some said I looked black, ( there was a lot of disagreement on that.) Emotionally, I was confused. So, where did I belong?

Me, going to Dawn’s house was no better. Her parents could tell I was white on the inside. I didn’t get the slang, the food or black history. Dawn’s mom, Tanya was a lot like Ma. She was never rude to me. Still, whenever she was around I felt uncomfortable. Was she waiting for me to make some racist remark? Dawn and I weren’t culture blind but we were color blind. It didn’t matter to me what Ma said or how Dawn’s parents made me feel. I had a best girl friend, the first real close girl friend I had ever had.

After making plans with Dawn, finishing homework and making lists for my meeting with George, I went to get a snack. Ma was watching TV and Bobby had been put to bed.  I took my bowl of ice-cream into the living room and sat on the couch.

“Don’t spill any of that chocolate sauce on my new couch” Ma said.

“I’ll be careful.” I assured her. “Can I take the car to school tomorrow?”

“Why. Where you gonna park?” She asked.

“I have to work after school then Dawn and I are going to the Mall,” I said.

“To hang out with the black kids and the loud music?” Ma looked at me with that disapproving face; I knew that look and could feel my chances at the car slipping away. I had to think fast.

“I have to get something to wear when I meet George,” I said with a smile. “Dawn’s mother doesn’t let her hang out anyway.”

“You have nowhere to park.” She said.

“I can park in front of the school, if I get there early enough. Then I can park in the lot at the city hall. I’ll be real careful, I promise.” I didn’t want to sound desperate, but I knew, if I waited for Ma to drive me to the mall, I would have to get some dorky looking outfit. Ma and I had a vastly different view on clothing. “Please” I threw in at the last minute.

“Oh, fine, but be careful!” She warned. I was so excited I jumped up and spilled my ice-cream on the rug. “Oh you…go, go, get something, quick,” she screeched. I dashed off to the kitchen and quickly returned to clean up the mess I had made. “You’d better take better care of my car” She said.  “You’ll be back by eight o’clock.” It wasn’t a question. Ma had some problem with me and her new 1984 Chevy Nova out after dark.

“There are headlights you know,” I said. “Okay, eight o’clock” I mumbled while I finished cleaning the rug. I was too happy about George to worry about messing up the rug, or having to be home early.

Chapter three

I had planned for my last semester of high school to be a breeze. I tried to choose the classes and teachers who would give the least amount of trouble. However, my plans for English class didn’t pan out when Mr. Magna, who was oh so gorgeous, had suddenly left school. I was assigned Miss Mullins.

Tom Magna was too young and attractive to give massive homework assignments. Victoria Mullins was an elderly spinster who lived with her cat, had loads of time to grade papers and invent creative assignments designed to make her students think. One glance into the classroom during an empty period could let a student know what type of teacher they had.

Miss Mullins usually entranced by some literary classic, grading papers or writing in her journal. Mr. Magna was usually reading the newspaper, hot rod magazine or talking with other teachers about the latest baseball trades or football draft. His life was too full to invent assignments past the school curriculum.

Miss Mullins prattled on about some interesting parts of “Catcher in the rye.” It was required reading the year before but  since we were embarking on our adult lives, Miss Mullins felt it would be “fun” to have a deeper look at a classic filled with contemporary drama and adult issues. “Exercise that muscle,” she urged as she handed out the essay assignment. I suspect she was just trying to keep us from making our prom and graduation plans. Whatever the teacher’s motivation, I wasn’t interested or listening. Dawn sat next to me taking careful notes that she knew she would pass on to me later. School days became a hazy mixture of tranquil dreams interrupted by sudden jolts of unsettling apprehension. Graduation, college, even prom, took a backseat in the journey to meet my flesh and blood brother.

I had a brother. I couldn’t say it enough. The words were sweeter than anything I could ever imagine. He was tall. Like me, he wore glasses. I kept his picture with me and studied it every chance I could, while purposely blocking out the evil demon standing next to him.

Although I refused to look at Harriet, I needed to remember the few bits I could about the brief meeting we’d had seven years earlier. Sitting in English class, I struggled to bring out every detail of that meeting. Details I’d worked so hard to erase from my young memory.

My biology class participation only warranted a “C” on my last report card but I remembered parts of  the lecture Dr. Amrine gave on the human brain. He told us something about unlocking memories.

“Hey, it’s lunch, come on” Dawn jolted me back to reality. Packing up my books, I ran to catch up with her. “Do you want Pizza or Burgers for lunch?” She asked heading for our lockers located on the basement floor. Our high school sat in the middle of Malden square. Malden was a good-sized city about 10 minutes north of Boston. The school was old like every other building in the area, built before locked doors and sign in sheets.  A cafeteria was not necessary, most students brought their lunch from home back then. I think it was built before cooking indoors and electricity became all the rage. With no cafeteria, we had an open campus for lunch. Students were free to roam fast-food restaurants, stores, canteen trucks or wherever they could find during the 50 minutes we were given for lunch break.

“I think roast beef, it’s less crowded,” I said. We arrived at our lockers and exchanged morning set of books for the afternoon set.

“Why are you bringing biology? We don’t have that ‘til tomorrow.” Dawn asked. She knew it wasn’t like me to do any extra studying. Being the third child in a middleclass black family, Dawn’s parents drilled into her that grades were the utmost importance to get ahead in life. In my house the mantra was, “if you are lucky you’ll  find a husband and get married.”

Report cards at Dawn’s house became a sacred occasion that usually resulted in a celebration of her excellent grades. It paid off in the end; Boston University had offered her a full academic scholarship.

At my house, report cards were just another nuisance for which Ma would have to hunt for her eyeglass to sign her name. I could bring home any grade short of failing. It was not expected that I was able to get good grades, but a failing grade was an embarrassment and not acceptable. A failing grade meant that Ma would have to notify a social worker and that was never good. I remember once bringing home an “A-” in spelling one year. That achievement met announcements that Ma’s niece who lived down the street had made the honor roll, as usual. Since academics were of no use in my goal of marriage, studying further than a passing grade was a waste of time.

“I just want to check some things,” I said chasing after Dawn. “Didn’t Dr. Amrine tell us that we could recover old memories?”

“Yes, he said our brains are like filing cabinets and everything is stored away, we just have to find the right drawer,” explained Dawn.  I began to think dawn had swallowed the book. “ every thought, every sound, every experience we ever had is locked away. All you have to do was find a key and remember.”  Some times Dawn gave too much information that I shut down but this was important so I did my best to pay attention. She explained how senses were very powerful in unlocking parts of a lost memory. I eventually gave in to my stubbornness and studied Harriet’s face. She smiled serenely into the camera with her arm lovingly around her son’s waist. They looked happy. Like a family. 

What had Harriet said? Living close by, married, glad to meet me, these were the only snippets I could get my brain to uncover. No matter how hard I tried, I could not hear her say that I had a brother. I would have remembered that, wouldn’t I? Why hadn’t she told me? Why had he waited so long to find me? I followed Dawn blindly across the street, lost in my own world. I hadn’t thought about Harriet in so long I had forgotten what it was like, thinking how she had abandoned me, not just once, but twice. 

On the way over to the roast beef shop, I told Dawn that I wanted to remember if my mother had told me anything about George. Dawn found this all mildly interesting. She explained I should go home and relax on my bed. I should try to think about sounds I heard that day, what it felt like meeting Harriet and what colors everyone was wearing. Dawn assured me if I tried hard, I should be able to remember everything Harriet had said that day, even if I wasn’t listening or didn’t understand it at the time.


CHAPTER  FOUR


After school, I went to work and told the women in our office about my brother and his letter. They seemed to share my excitement. That’s when they explained that their office also recorded the city census. They showed me how to trace family members. One of the women suggested that after I met my brother, I might have enough information to find out more my father and other missing pieces of my life. This was all moving too fast and hard to think about. I tried to keep the thought of a father or any other family members aside. I wanted to concentrate on George. I didn’t want my meeting him to turn out the way it had with Harriet. I had to make sure that my brother would like me and be glad that he had found me.....

to be continued