Fifty Two

Chadwick

My fingers brushed against the plush fabric of the overpriced first-class airplane seat. My mom glanced out of the window frequently. I could tell she was nervous, but I didn't know why.

I have known nothing about my father's whereabouts or his origins since the day I was born. Mom booked our flight. We were headed to Creek Island, a place I never knew existed on the world map until today.

Tired of watching sappy movies, I took out the noise-canceling headphones while my mom quietly asked a flight attendant for a blanket.

"Mom, how did you find out about Creek Island? Did you work there?" I asked, trying to know more about my father's family and also get rid of whatever worry and unease that was eating her up.

She shriveled a little at my question, and her misery was a steel weight. Her hesitation to answer piqued my interest.

My father must have been a very bad man. Perhaps I was a backyard baby or a product of rape.

Although it was too late to worry about things that