A Price Tag On My Head...
(the littlest Eve)
As a newborn....I was SOLD. Yes. Sold. Let me explain...
A little over a year ago, a relative on their deathbed told me that I needed to know the truth about how I came to into our family. I already knew I was adopted but I never imagined HOW that came to be. Because my family was Roman Catholic I figured it was handled through some type of religious adoption agency. No one ever talked about it, no one ever mentioned it but I wasn't dumb. As a kid, and specially after hitting puberty it was quite blatant to me. My family was all darker skinned with brown curly hair. The women had very fine body hair, large breasts and were quite short with narrow hips. Their eyes were small and round shaped. I was the complete opposite. I was taller and much fairer skinned. My breasts were smaller and my hips were wide. My hair was so straight that even with a curling iron it wouldn't retain even so much as a wave. It was truly black. When any light hit it, it'd reflect blue. My eyes were big and almond shaped, and I've always been as furry as a mammoth.
This person on their deathbed tried to tell me the truth but wasn't able to form complete sentences. She did however give me a name. "Ask About Elvira." She was too sick to tell me more. It was to painful for her to struggle to talk so I begged her not to. The cancer that was destroying her body would claim her soon. A few days later she was dead and I had all sorts of questions but at least I had a name. I finally approached my adoptive mom.
"Mom, who's Elvira?"
She looked pale.
"Please tell me the truth. I deserve to know."
And so she told me. She told me about this woman named Elvira that was offering me up for a sum of money she wouldn't say. She couldn't bring herself to say it. She told me Elvira was a prostitute who needed drugs. She needed alcohol. I did overhear her talking to my aunt one night though and it seems the price for me was 1000 dollars. Someone finally paid her for me and then proceeded to abandon me at a state agency a few weeks later. That's when my first mother adopted me. But she didn't really want a child. Her husband did, as she was infertile. Her sister, (who's my adoptive mom) ended up caring for me. Her husband? He became my dad and the only constant love I've ever had in my life.
I don't remember much about my early years. But I do have flashes of memories that aren't exactly pleasant. My first mother was married to a monster. I only recall feeling fear when he was nearby.
I remember one time when I was close to four years old, my future adoptive parents came by the decrepit shack we lived in and my future dad getting into a fight with my first mother's husband. My dad had found cigarette burns on my chubby little arms. My mom told me that from that day they vowed that they'd do everything possible to take me away from there. My first mother needed help too. They had no doubt in my mind that he was abusing her as well.
After another year of my first mother neglecting me constantly, forgetting me in stores, forgetting me in parks....and not changing my diaper til I had diaper rash so bad I was bloodied....her sister (my adoptive mom) had enough. She talked to the man who would become my dad and pushed him to pursue legal guardianship....but there was an issue...
My adoptive parents were poor. Very poor. They couldn't afford adoption fees or a fancy lawyer. So they sold off anything they didn't need. They sold off their car, jewelry, heirlooms and anything they had of value. Finally with a lawyers help they were prepared to strong arm my mother into surrendering me. And she did. But they didn't have to fight. She knew that I'd have a better with them and she couldn't fool herself any longer. And so, I was handed over for a third time. But this time it was different. This time life wouldn't be filled with pain. It wouldn't be filled with emptiness.
My adoptive parents (specially my dad) showed me love from the moment I came into their home. For the first time I had someone playing games with me, and watching Disney movies with me. For the first time I remember warm light and laughter instead of the cold grey tile floor of the house I previously lived in. For the first time I had a concept of what love was.