Finding Rhoda

I had waited 336 days 1008 hours and 5040 minutes for a letter. A crisp white letter that would tell me who I was, who I am. My fingernails were scratched and bitten in anticipation, my thumb danced around the mouth of the envelope never quite staying still enough to have the will to do what I wanted, needed. The morning light invaded the darkness soon it would be morning and the neighbours would grace us with the true meaning of noise. There wasn't much time it ticked by lethargically somehow racing ahead of me. My fingers attacked the letter, ripping it into small shreds revealing a small neat letter staring up at me. I unfolded the edges Mother: Liliana touji Father: N/A no desired contact. That was it the cold hard truth raining over my perfect fantasy. That is who I am, no desired contact it felt like a huge stamp sitting on my head. I'd waited 18 years for what? To merely comprehend that my mother hadn't even left a phone number. Nothing. She didn't want me- not because of a reason or practicality. She didn't want me, clearly there is nothing there. No desired contact.

They found me in a church's charity bag swaddled in blankets and pre- loved toys blissful, peaceful the happiest I'd ever been, ever will be. Unaware of what had just happened. There was no note, no explanation just a birth certificate scrunched at the bottom carelessly forgotten.

My gut twisted like a cement mixer- moving around and around; it doesn't define you, it can't. Accept the sad thing was it did it told me the most important thing about myself. I was not applicable.

"Rhoda?" I shoved the letter into my back pocket. Elliot stared up at me with those round saucer eyes I knew so well. "You hungry?" he nodded. I heard the floor boards creek as he ran to the back porch.  I walked into the kitchen and began warming the stove i pulled an oatmeal packet out and thrust it into a pot on the stove. "Tap, tap, tap" I looked up "Thom you can't keep doing this it's"

"None of your business" he smirked 

"But-" I switched the clasp "What if I told?"

"No one would believe you, you're just that foster kid we took in I'm there son, get real Rhoda". He slammed his left leg on top of the counter tipping the oatmeal all over the floor.

"Thanks sis" 

"Don't call me that" and just like that he left me standing around thick stodgy oatmeal covering every inch and corner of the tiled floor.

"So no oatmeal"Elliot asked 

"No do you want some toast" I turned to wipe the counter tops.

"Rhoda"

"mmhmm" 

"Do you think Miss Jenkin's would mind if I called her mummy"

"Elliot I don't think Miss Jenkin's has a motherly bone in her body".

I hadn't seen much of Miss Jenkin's since I'd arrived at their residents. They had a young baby who often stayed up stairs and a teenager my age, Thom who cursed my every breath. I'd met Mr Jenkin's a handful of times as he was all ways away on business. Elliot was fostered 6 months prior to me, and we were to eat our meals on the back porch, unless there was company we would sit on the table. We weren't to bother the family and the only time we were allowed out with them was to mass on Sunday and Wednesday. That was that. We  were medals to be worn to church and left on the shelf when there was no need for us. It was sick and it taught both me and Elliot one of the most important lessons in our short lives. Not every person who goes to church is good.

The letter in my back pocket crunched, as though it wanted to be heard. I sighed and pulled the blinds open. Light flooded the room with vibrant colours of pinks and deep reds, vast peaches and yellows illuminated my every breath, my hair shone golden through it all. The once dark counter tops gleamed in the morning sun. The light rays twirled through the kitchen pirouetting around the pots and pans. My body reflected every sparkling part of me. I knew who I was- all along I was Rhoda just me and I would define myself no letter could do that, and surprisingly that was okay. Well for now anyway.