Aunt-Mother Story
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Of
course Miranda was surprised to find that she was not the genetic offspring of
her mother Lucille, despite there being great evidence that Lucille had indeed
given birth to her; rather, Miranda was the genetic offspring of an aunt she
never knew she had, one that had been destroyed and reabsorbed by Lucille while
still in utero. Miranda didn’t know which disturbed her more: that she herself
was some sort of genetic anomaly, or that her mother was in possession of the
ovaries from a nonexistent twin sister, or the fact that this made her mother into
some sort of twisted DNA murderer, and Lucille’s sister and Miranda’s aunt was
just floating somewhere in the ether never to be born.
In
light of recent events, Miranda didn’t feel particularly close to her
mother-aunt or her aunt-mother. On some rational level, she knew it didn’t
matter who was who and who had disappeared before they even really existed. Her
mother was her mother. Lucille had given birth to her. Lucille had raised her.
Lucille was her mother. But she was also Miranda’s aunt. On some existential
level, Miranda found this turn of events to be rather vexing.
She
supposed it explained why she had always found both herself and her mother (now
her mother-aunt) to have both been such introverted individuals. They were both
overly friendly and always trying to make friends with everyone they met. But
they also didn’t keep friends. They were a bit hit-and-run when it came to
relationships. It was like they were both always searching for something. Now
it turned out, what they were searching for, was a long lost relative that
still sort of existed inside both of them.
Miranda
began to worry constantly about this missing element of her and her mother
(mother-aunt). She was feeling a strange paranoia, afraid that she too might
have had a vanishing twin of some sort. She tried to talk to Lucille about this
far too often for it to possibly be healthly. Miranda was worried that her
mother was a murderer and that she was a murderer and that if she ever had
children herself, they too would turn out to be murderers. It didn’t matter
that fetal resorption was not known to be a genetic trait that mothers passed
down to daughters. Miranda researched enough to know that there really hadn’t
been all that much research done and that most cases like this went
undiscovered.
“I
wonder what she would have been like. I wonder what she might have taught us.”
“I
know this is hard, honey, but you can’t focus on this so much.”
“Can’t
focus on it? Are you kidding? We’re a family of murderers and you don’t want me
to focus on that?”
“You didn’t murder anybody, I didn’t murder anybody, and I wish
you would stop talking like that.”
“You might have murdered somebody.”
“Miranda!”
“What? I’m not mad at you. But I could have had another mom. You
have to acknowledge that I could have had another mom. I came from her ovaries
that you stole. You would have been my aunt.”
“I’m your mom. Stop saying things like I stole them or you or
whatever. You’re my daughter.”
“You’re aunt-mom. Or maybe mom-aunt. I don’t know. I haven’t
decided yet what the term should be.”
“Mom.”
“But—“
“Mom. The term is mom. Or mother. Or mommy even. But I am not your
aunt.”
“If this is a sore subject—“
“Damn it, Miranda. Enough. E-NOUGH. This is rude and hurtful and
all you’re doing is making things worse with all this. We are no longer
discussing this.”
Miranda began talking to anyone and everyone about this. It was a
way of coping, not that she recognized that yet. She couldn’t get her head
around the idea and it was as if she lost her total sense of identity. Some
would say that most teenagers lost their sense of identity and spent those
years trying to figure out just who they really were going to be. Certainly
learning that your mother isn’t your mother, or is only half your mother, or is
somehow your aunt as well as your mother, isn’t going to help when it comes to
firming up any sense of self-identity. It was a strange and confusing time.
Miranda needed help and the people around her were not equipped to give it.
“What if I had a twin brother or sister?”
“You didn’t.”
“How do you know I didn’t? What if you had a twin you don’t about?
I could have had a twin brother and you could have had a twin sister.”
“I already have a sister, and you have a brother – we have each
other.”
“Yeah yeah. A cousin-brother.”
“Don’t start that with me.”
“All I’m saying is what if? Haven’t you ever felt like you were missing
something?”
“Why are you so obsessed with this?”
“I don’t know. I am. It feels right to be. You know? I always felt
so alone. Maybe this is why.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“You know I didn’t mean it that way. I love you Paul. You’re a
great brother… And a great cousin.”
She smiled to lessen the impact of her words. At this point she really
wasn’t trying to piss off every family member she had, but she couldn’t help
herself from making the joke.
“It’s just… I don’t know. You know?”
“Obviously I don’t.”
“I just felt alone so much when I was a kid.”
“You are a kid.”
“I’m seventeen.”
“Still.”
“Whatever. I felt so alone as a little kid. Okay? And I feel so alone now. I love you and mom, but
I feel so alone sometimes.”
“I know what you mean. That’s normal. That’s life. That doesn’t go
away. That’s not because you didn’t have the twin you were supposed to have.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Believe it or not – I can’t convince you otherwise. But trust me,
I feel alone in this world too. This world is a lonely place. Just wait a
couple of years when you’re on your own and working and going home at night to
an empty apartment. You’ll really feel alone then.”
“All the more reason for me to have had a twin.”
“I don’t think twins are what you think they are. Twins aren’t
magic.”
“I know they aren’t magic. Still, it couldn’t have hurt.”
“It’s not like mom did this to you, you know? This wasn’t some
plot. She’s wasn’t making plans in the womb to kill her sibling.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
“She didn’t do this to you.”
“I know. I know.”
“If anything she did it to herself.”
“I know, I know. I. Know. Just stop talking now. I want to hold on
to this a little bit longer.”
“Okay. But then you’ll have to let it go and you’ll have to apologize
to her.”
“I know.”
Miranda went to a Chimera Meeting. It was an umbrella group, open
to those that fell into a wide range of twin related genetic maladies. It
encompassed many things, even if the name only came from one distinct subset of
conditions. The Greeks believed in a fire-breathing creature made up of equal parts
lion, goat and snake. It was as if a monster jigsaw puzzle was shaken up one
too many times. Genetically speaking a
chimera
was a pretty rare condition involving at least two genetically distinct
cell DNA strands. Two fetuses for the price of one, thought Miranda. The
meeting wasn’t just for those with chimerism. It was really for a wide range of
disorders that all basically boiled down to one thing – one twin made it, and
the other didn’t. The group had been established as a way to seek empowerment
and search for solace with others that suffered similarly and perhaps grow past
the mental turmoil that could occur when someone believed that they were only
one half and could never find their other. Miranda knew she didn’t really
belong at the meeting, and that her mother was truly the one who should have
been there, but seeing as how her mother didn’t exhibit too much distress over
the situation, but Miranda did, it was Miranda that went.
Miranda met a nice boy named Steven who had his
nonexistent sister’s ovary inside him. He was thinking of having it removed,
but couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. Miranda told him she thought it was
kind of awesome that he had it and that maybe it would make him better able to
understand what women went through in life. She made it sound like that was a
desirable trait, and the way she said it made Steve believe it was true.
Miranda thought Steve was cute and threw him quick glances and private smiles
the rest of the night. She had no idea how she really felt about Steve’s
problem, but she liked it when he smiled back at her.
Miranda declined the invitation to speak. She didn’t
think anyone there would understand her situation or want to hear her complain
about her mother-aunt and aunt-mother. These people all had tragedy as part of
their defining personality trait. They had someone die on them or not quite be
born, or had someone disappear in the womb, or had absorbed someone or some
other variation of the genetic trick. All Miranda had were some complaints
about not knowing her mother who wasn’t really her mother. It sounded petty in
comparison. Perhaps she should have gone to a meeting with adopted and
abandoned children. They would at least understand her longing to know someone
that was unknowable. But they might resent her for having been raised by her birth-mother and not understand what she was talking about when she explained
that her mother wasn’t really her mother.
Miranda had a great amount of fear that people
wouldn’t understand her problem and just think she was spoiled and complaining
about nothing or making the whole thing up. She figured that she was all alone
in this and that no one would understand.
“How was the meeting?”
Miranda was on her way down the hall to her room when
her mother called from the living room.
“Most of them were just assholes. Their therapist or hypnotist or psychic
or whoever convinced them they needed healing and the only way to do that was
to believe in some sort of nonsense.”
“But not you?”
“No. Not me.”
“You’re tough. You’re fine.”
“Yeah.”
Miranda stood there for a minute, unsure what to say to her mother.
She wasn’t sure what to share. She didn’t know what to say to make this strange
hurt go away. She also didn’t want to alienate her mother anymore or make her
feel any worse than she might already be feeling. Miranda had taken this whole
thing rather hard and never once stopped to truly wonder what it was doing to
her mother. Lucille was now her aunt-mother, but Miranda had also been
instantly transformed and was now a niece-daughter. She hadn’t thought about
how strange or odd that might be to Lucille. She hadn’t wondered how hard it
would be on her to lose her daughter and her sister in the same moment.
“I’ll be fine. What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“I’m still your daughter.”
“Of course you are.”
“No, I mean, I’m your niece now too, but I’ll always be your
daughter.”
“That was never in doubt.”
“Oh. Good. Because I am.”
“Yes dear. You were my daughter, you still are, and you still will
be. Come here.”
Miranda crossed to her mother and sat next to her on the couch.
Lucille wrapped her arm around Miranda.
“You can call me your niece if you want to.”
“I’m not going to call you my niece.”
“You can if you want. Just to try it out.”
“Maybe when you misbehave or embarrass me in public. I can say to
the other parents ‘don’t blame me… she’s my sister’s kid.’”
“Yeah.”
Miranda started to laugh. Soon Lucille joined in, except her
laughter was mixed with tears.
