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Down in the Dirt v060

Some Things Are Better Left Unknown

Boyd Lemon

    Melissa drank the last of her morning blueberry smoothie at her grandmother’s old oak table. She pushed her index finger along the deep gashes her father had made with his pocket knife when he was 12. Melissa couldn’t imagine her father so destructive, but he had confessed. She had placed the table under the east facing window of her apartment so she could look out at the park.
    She gazed at the season’s first snowflakes floating past her window like white feathers falling from a flock of invisible birds, a scene she never would have viewed in Los Angeles. Melissa had moved to Boston four months ago. She remembered the tingling feeling in her chest when her boss at Spectrum Publishing offered her an editor’s position in their Boston office. She was unaware of why at first, but she had known right away she would accept. It was a promotion, and they probably would have laid her off if she had rejected the transfer. Anyway, she had thought, at 26, it was time for her to be on her own, away from her father. She had always been dependent on her father. She needed to learn to be independent. And places and things in L.A. reminded her of her mother, who had died a few months earlier. Boston seemed like her destiny. Still, it was hard to leave everyone.
    Her thoughts returned to her dad. When she lived in L.A., a week rarely went by when they hadn’t shared a meal or gone somewhere. It had been that way since her parents separated when she was ten. She could talk to her dad like she couldn’t talk to her mother. He never seemed to judge or talk down to her. Melissa remembered him coming into the Starbucks where she worked while she was in college. She knew he never went to Starbucks otherwise. She smiled, as she thought about him calling her every Sunday since she had moved to Boston.
    She visualized her ex-boyfriend, Brad. They had loved each other, but she had heard from him only once since she moved. He said his heart had been broken. So had hers, but she knew this move was right for her.
    Her thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone ringing. It displayed “Brad”. Isn’t it strange how that happens sometimes—you think about somebody you haven’t heard from in a long time, and then they call, or you see them. After they exchanged awkward pleasantries, Brad said that a friend of his named Antonio was going to be in Boston for a day or two and had an idea that Melissa might be interested in.
    “Would you have coffee with him?” Asked Brad.
    “What’s the idea?” Asked Melissa.
    “I’d rather he explain it to you, Melissa,” said Brad.
    “Come on, Brad. Why can’t you tell me?”
    “I think Antonio should be the one to present his idea,” said Brad. “You’ll understand it better. I’m just asking you to have coffee with him. He’s a really nice and talented guy, an older man. This is not a setup.”
    “Okay,” said Melissa. “I don’t really like the mystery, but I suppose it can’t hurt to have coffee with him.”
    Melissa went early to Starbucks near her apartment, ordered a latte and sat down at a table near the door to wait for Antonio. A tall gray haired man with glasses wearing the navy blue suit and yellow tie he had described on the phone approached her.
    “Melissa?”
    “Yes, Antonio. Nice to meet you.”
    “My pleasure,” he said, and sat down across from her.
    “Would you like to get a coffee?” She asked.
    “No, that’s okay,” said Antonio.
    “How do you know Brad? She asked.
    “I met him at an exhibition of his sculptures in L.A. We ended up working together on a project,” he said.
    “Brad had wonderful things to say about you, Melissa, and I would love to chat, but I think it’s best if I get right to the point.” A glow of perspiration shown on his forehead, though it was a cool day. “But what I have to tell you is of a private nature. I suggest we get out of here and go for a walk.”
    “Well, ah...I’m not really comfortable doing that,” said Melissa. “Let’s stay here, please.”
     “Okay,” said Antonio. He briefly glanced at a couple seated nearby. “I don’t want to alarm you, Melissa, but I don’t know of a gentle way to put this. I...I believe I am your father.”
    “What?” Melissa yelled in a muffled tone. The couple turned and stared. Her face was flush and her knees shook. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you crazy? My father lives in L.A. Don’t be ridiculous.”
    “Please hear me out, Melissa.”
    “No, you listen to me. Not that it’s any of your business, but my father told me when I was conceived. It was on October 23rd, 1979, the night before my mother left for New York to attend an exhibit of her paintings. When she returned she found out she was pregnant with me? I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. Who are you, anyway? What do you really want?”
    The couple stared again, as did a young man who had arrived with his laptop. Antonio spoke softly. “Melissa, I was the manager of the gallery where your mother’s paintings were exhibited. I met her on October 25th, 1979. And without going into detail, I have reason to believe that you were conceived that night.”
    “No way!” said Melissa. “My mother never cheated on my father and certainly not on a one night stand like that.” Shortly before her death Melissa’s mother had told her she’d had an affair long ago, and that maybe she should have married that man, instead of living out her life alone after divorcing Melissa’s father. That man must have been Antonio, thought Melissa.
    “Well, I have to tell you, Melissa. It was not a one night stand. There were many other nights like that. I loved your mother very much. I thought when she divorced your father she would marry me, but she wouldn’t. She told me when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Then I heard from a business associate she had died. I was devastated, and I flew to L.A. last year for her funeral.” When he mentioned the funeral, a vague image of a stranger sitting in the back penetrated Melissa’s consciousness. “That was the first time I saw you,” said Antonio, “and your image has haunted me ever since.”
    “If you thought you were my father, why haven’t you ever contacted me?”
    “I would have never done that while your mother was alive. She swore me to secrecy. I loved her too much to go against her wishes. And I’m certainly not so crass as to approach you with this at her funeral. I wanted to talk to you about this, but I didn’t know how to find you. My business associate that knew your mother didn’t know where you lived. I talked to a private investigator about how to find you, searched the internet and did some other things to no avail, and then I met Brad.” The couple leaned toward Melissa and Antonio’s table. The young man closed his laptop.
    “How in the world did my name come up between you and Brad?” Melissa asked.
    “We were putting together an exhibition in Santa Monica. We’d worked late and went around the corner from the gallery to have a drink. We chatted, and I asked him if he had a girl friend. He told me he had one, but she had moved to Boston. He mentioned your first name. I know Melissa is a fairly common name. I don’t know why, maybe fate, but I asked him your last name. When he said ‘Armstrong’, I literally gasped. Brad asked me what was wrong. So I told him what I’ve just told you. What I propose is that you give me several strands of your hair. That will be enough to have our DNA compared, and then we’ll know.”
     “I can’t believe this,” said Melissa. “I’ll have to think about it.”
    “Please, Melissa, we must know.”
    “I have to go now, Antonio. I’ll call you when I make a decision.”
    Melissa held back tears until she plopped down on her couch. When the tears stopped, thoughts raced through her mind like a runaway truck. If Antonio was telling the truth, her mother could not have known who her father was. The incidents were too close together. Should she send Antonio strands of her hair? Should she have her DNA compared with her dad’s and keep Antonio out of it for the time being? Could she have the tests done without her father finding out? What would she do if Antonio was her father? She tried to remember what Antonio looked like, but it didn’t matter, she thought. She looked exactly like her mother.
    She called Brad. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me what Antonio wanted,” she said, without even saying hello. “That was cruel to let this stranger tell me he might be my father without any warning. You should have told me so I could have been ready for him and not so shocked.”
    “I’m sorry Melissa, but I thought this should be between you and him. I had no idea telling him your name would create such a mess.”
    “Yeah, I know. I don’t know what to do, Brad. I love Dad, whether he’s my father or not, and it might literally ruin his life if he finds out, not only that I’m not his daughter, but Mom was unfaithful to him early in their marriage. I could have a DNA test of him and me done and leave Antonio out of it. I would do it without Dad’s knowledge and decide later whether to tell him, if it turns out he isn’t my father. Maybe it’s enough if I know. Or maybe it’s better if nobody knows.”
    “Melissa, I think you have to find out who your father is. You can’t go through the rest of your life wondering. And if Walter is not your father, he has a right to know that. But, most important, if Antonio is your father, he has a right to know, and wouldn’t you want to try to establish a relationship with him?”
    “I don’t know, Brad,” said Melissa. “I’m not sure I care that much about Antonio.” Brad nearly shouted, “How can you say that, Melissa? If he’s your real father... I just think you couldn’t live with yourself if you don’t know the truth about such a basic thing as who your father is, when you have the opportunity to find out. And I don’t think it would ruin your father’s life. You and he would go on being close, like you said, whether or not he’s your father. If Antonio is your father, I think you’d establish a relationship with him. He’s smart and talented, and he seems very compassionate. Everybody would be a winner. But if you don’t find out, you and Antonio, if he is your father, will both lose something important. If you find out he’s not your father, nothing has changed.”
    “And if I don’t find out, nothing has changed. I just know if it turns out Dad is not my father and he knows it, our relationship will never be the same. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
    “Well, there’s nothing more I can say,” said Brad.
    “Same here, so, I’ll talk to you later, I guess, Brad. Good bye.”
    Melissa’s dad called on Sunday. “I have good news, dear,” he said. “I’m going to be coming to Boston on business in a couple weeks. I don’t know my itinerary yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I know.” She tried to sound normal. “Oh, Dad, that’s wonderful.” She had finally stopped calling him “Daddy.” “We’ll have a great time,” she said. “I miss you.”
    During the next two weeks Melissa hoped that the answer to her dilemma would rise from the recesses of her brain and her heart and become clear. She prayed. She agonized. She rationalized. She even consulted a psychotherapist, but no clear answer presented itself. She couldn’t sleep the night before her dad was to arrive. The morning was long, and she continued her mental debate.
    She took the subway to Logan International. The clear, cool Boston fall afternoon contrasted with her befuddled mind. Her dad was at baggage claim standing at a carousel. Tears flooded her cheeks as she ran up and hugged him for a long time. “You’ve always been so emotional, Melissa, and you still are, I see. In that respect, you are your mother’s daughter.”
    Melissa hugged him tighter. No, I’m your daughter, she thought. How could I ever tell you there’s any doubt? I don’t really want to know anything different either. Some things are better left unknown.
    “I love you, Dad,” she said. “I’m so glad you came.” He lifted his suitcase off the carousel and towed it behind him. They walked out to the clear, cool Boston fall, arm in arm.



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