This thread will be starting out in the past before coming into the present.
Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada
December 2015
Beer, sweat, and paint.
The scent seemed almost to be signature on her body by now every weekend. Clubs, raves. Caralie had stopped counting the different venues she would cover another shift at, spinning music and creating memories for years to come. A sigh escaped past her lips, a small groan following suit as she paused outside of her mother's front door to remove the black Converse high tops that had been a birthday present that year. By now, she suspected everyone was asleep. After all, it was near five am, the typical time when she got home after watching others party all night.
Often, she was invited to an after party, or to go grab something to eat, but rarely did she ever accept.
She didn’t know how they did it.
Maybe it was the amount of bass that pumped through her system, or the vibrations that coursed through the speakers she worked by, but at the end of the night, she felt drained. It took her a few minutes every day to enter the house, her keys all looking the same in the dim moonlight. Behind her, there was a clamor that had the small woman to jump and gasp out only for a streak of shadows to bolt into the garage. “Star, you stupid cat.” She muttered, shaking her head. The rescue that her sister had bought was always getting itself into trouble. Her keys jingled, got stuck in the door and just as she begun to try and pull it free, a curse escaped past rose colored lips as the handle was yanked out of her hand.
Bright lights caused her to wince and she fell on her backside, squinting up into the doorway to where her sister’s pale face appeared, twisted slightly in terror. “Caralie!” Her stomach dropped at the next words that followed her name, “Something’s wrong. I can't get dad to wake up.” That was unusual. Their dad was a light sleeper, and as Caralie got to her feet, she forgot that she was mad at her sister still. The other girl had mocked her earlier that evening after learning that Caralie had been adopted, earning her a busted lip from the brunette, and the silent treatment.
Together, they ran upstairs. Their mother met them in the hallway. “Call an ambulance.” Covered in paint from head to toe, Caralie went numb inside as she got the phone out of her pocket and dialed the emergency line.
if you can't stay slow, i'll be waiting at the door,
producer -||- Caralie von der Marck -||- disc jockey
if you come and go it won't matter anymore
Selma hated birthday parties, but her maternal grandmother was celebrating her eighty-fifth birthday and that meant staying up half the night blowing up balloons and decorating fifty-thousand cupcakes. Fine, the number of cupcakes was exaggerated, but there were two dozen cupcakes and three canisters of dark-chocolate icing. Of course Harriet had abandoned her younger sister, and both parents, Henry and Bernadette, had claimed they’d spent all day decorating and shopping, respectively. Selma had no help at all. If her maternal grandfather hadn’t passed away two years ago, the man would have stayed up all night helping. That was just the kind of man her grandfather was--he was dedicated and so very in love with his wife.
After she popped her fourth balloon, Selma grabbed the pack of balloons and threw it across the room, scattering the rubber articles across the room. She’d only succeeded in blowing up seven balloons, and her parents had expected her to cover the living room with them, as well as decorating the corners of the “Happy Birthday!” sign that decorated the entryway. Selma had lied to herself when she said it’d take a few hours; she’d be lucky if she got the decorations complete before sunrise. The cupcakes were still warm. The living room wasn’t small. The sign kept falling down. How had she been volunteered to finish the whole event? Oh right, she’d totaled her car and her parents had bought her another used vehicle to replace the car.
“Son of a *****,” she swore, after sliding on a deflated balloon. “I quit,” she mumbled, “I quit. She’s getting unfrosted cupcakes and seven balloons. Sorry, Gram.”
Sitting down at the computer desk, Selma spun around in the chair for a few minutes. She tried to decide if she really wanted to give up on the decorations, if she really wanted to disappoint her family members. Gram wouldn’t care, she convinced herself. Gram was a bit of a wild woman, and she wasn’t one to judge. The insistence for a party came from Selma’s parents. Gram had demanded they just go out for a nice dinner and maybe see a movie, but no. Gram wasn’t allowed to have what she wanted for her birthday. It made no sense. As if on cue, a balloon popped.
human :+: s e l m a - von der marck - m a r c k s :+: sorceress
The ambulance had come and gone, leaving Caralie and her sister at home as their mom and dad left for the hospital. Neither girl looked at each other or chose to speak, unsure of what to say. The idea of losing their dad… it was an emotion neither wanted to feel, a reality that seemed unreal.
An hour after it had left, Teresa called her daughters and asked for them to come up to the hospital. Her voice sounded relieved, but she was exhausted with the rollercoaster. He had been stabilized, a near fatal heart attack. She wanted them there for when he got out of surgery - a bypass, according to the nurse, would be a good thing.
Bailey sat in the passenger seat as Caralie drove, the older sister too rattled to focus on the busy streets. It didn’t bother the younger sister, as it let her focus on other things anyway. The sound of Nelly’s Just A Dream filtered through the radio and cut through the awkward silence between the sisters. The last time they had been alone, Bailey had harassed the younger girl for being adopted, telling her that she had been unwanted.
“This doesn’t feel real.” Bailey murmured, prompting her blue eyed, dark haired younger sister to glance in her direction briefly before her gaze returned to the snow covered road in front of her. She slowed to a stop at a traffic light, leaning forward to turn on the heater more before she turned up the radio. Caralie didn’t want to reply. She just wanted to know that her dad was alright. But Bailey kept pressing.
“Do you think daddy’ll be okay? If they’re doing the surgery now, he should be okay?”
A car sped across the slippery street in front of them before drifting around the corner as they took it sharp, fishtailing. Their actions prompted a man in a blue pontiac to flip the driver off before looking towards the girls as if to ask Did you just see that? “Dad’ll be fine. He’s a strong guy.” Caralie answered, revving the engine impatiently as if begging the light to change.
When the light turned green, she put her foot on the gas a little too hard causing their shared Jeep to jerk forward before stalling. Caralie cursed quietly before going through the steps to restart the stupid thing. Behind her, a horn blared and her only response was to hold up her middle finger - both to say one moment, and to relay a crude message. The engine seemed to start without any issue after that, and with a sigh, they continued on.
But, when they arrived at the hospital, everything wasn’t fine.
He was gone.
if you can't stay slow, i'll be waiting at the door,
producer -||- Caralie von der Marck -||- disc jockey
if you come and go it won't matter anymore
The stairs creaked, one at a time, and Selma jerked to attention. At first, she thought her party preparations had woken had mother, since the woman was such a light sleeper, but then her father rounded the corner. He looked exhausted, his hair disheveled and his robe hanging off his body. He wore his Christmas pajamas, the ones Selma had given him months ago on his birthday. She was dressed in her own Christmas pajamas. They were twins then, if only for their holiday spirits.
“What’s all this raucous?” As if on cue, he stopped speaking and raised a hand to stifle a large yawn. At least he was polite enough to do that. Sadly, Selma had to mimic his actions, a curse she wasn’t sure she quite believed in, but one she still managed to catch. “Do you need to help?”
“Of course I need help!” Her voice was too loud, so she lowered it a notch and continued on with her words. “I still have two packages of balloons to finish, the sign to fix, and the cupcakes to frost. I won’t get any sleep. How you and Mom could go to sleep and leave me to do this on my own is beyond me,” she huffed.
“Beyond you, eh? You have a car parked in the driveway, and so soon after you totaled the last one. That’s why we went to bed. You have to pay us back for that, Selma Caprice. Regardless, this is for my mother and I want it done in time. Let’s start on the balloons, okay?”
Both of them grabbed a package of deflated balloons and set about their first chore. Henry was much better at inflating the balloons than his daughter. He even took time to craft a few of them into balloon animals. The two of them laughed at the deformed cross between a dog and a giraffe, but they both had to appreciate the perfection of the man’s flower. For whatever reason, they heard the stairs creaking again. They ceased their laughter and froze in their spots, neither one of them moving from their place on the sofa.
“So this is where you went,” Bernadette sighed. “I thought we agreed not to help her.”
“Then why are you down here, Bernadette?” Henry had a brow raised, as if daring the woman to say something other than the truth. “You’re here for the same reason I am. You want this done and you want to help her do it. We’ve got some balloons left or you can fix the sign,” Henry rattled off.
The three of them worked together, acting as one big family unit, even though it was only the three of them. If Harriet still lived at home, she surely would have been part of the night’s festivities, but no, Harriet had moved out months ago, choosing to move in with her longtime boyfriend, Scott. Halfway through the frosting of the cupcakes, Henry and Bernadette approached the subject of when Selma was moving out. It wasn’t uncommon, but it was still just as awkward. They wanted an empty nest, but their youngest was still attending college for journalism.
“Look at that, I made a smiley face on my cupcake,” Selma announced, successfully changing the subject.
human :+: s e l m a - von der marck - m a r c k s :+: sorceress
It had been three weeks since the funeral, and once her mourning period was over, Caralie had dove into research. Her mom assumed it had to be part of her coping, searching for the family that she had been abandoned by at birth. In truth, Caralie just wanted to understand why. She wanted to know why she had been adopted, why her birth parents had given her up, who they were, and although she didn’t want to admit it, she wanted to hide her pain.
And while she could hide it in her music, it only did so much.
“Caralie.”
There was a touch to her shoulder that brought her out of her thoughts, wide blue eyes looking up at the woman that stood behind her. Her mom offered her a coffee mug before sitting down beside her, looking at the computer screen. Mildly confused at why the woman was awake, the young woman glanced at the bottom towards the clock and was surprised to see that it was already six am. She had been up for seven hours.
“How’s the search going, dear?”
“There’s a ridiculous amount of searching to do.”
Caralie took a sip from the mug, tasting the sweetness of her favorite salted caramel apple cider mix. She had never been big on coffee or hot chocolate, but cider was the best. It hadn’t been easy, finding the agency that her mom had told her that she had been adopted from, but the doors had since shut much to her distress. It was, however, something. A starting point - Kitchner, Canada - to where the agency was based out of.
“I know dad’s death has been hard on you…”
She had been dreading this talk. The don’t lose yourself in your grief talk that her sister had gotten the moment they found her last week with a bottle of Hennessy and the boy from down the street. Teresa didn’t want her daughters to fall from their strengths, from their passions. She wanted them to live, just like her husband would have wanted them to.
“Mom, I’m okay. Really.”
Caralie put on a forced smile. Truthfully, smiling was probably the last thing that she wanted to do. But, the gesture seemed to set the woman a bit more at ease because after a few moments, she nodded her head. Afterwards, she held out a large yellow envelope to her daughter, who blinked at her in confusion.
“Dad and I knew one day you would want to find out about your biological parents… we never did find out much about your father, but your mother’s name is Catherine Dupree. She asked that your name be Caralie Maeve.” The words confused the younger woman as she opened the envelope and frowned. She felt a tear slide down her cheek and she carefully removed what looked to be her birth certificate.
There was a name written down where her father’s would be.
Henry Marcks.
if you can't stay slow, i'll be waiting at the door,
producer -||- Caralie von der Marck -||- disc jockey
if you come and go it won't matter anymore
Three weeks had passed and all Selma could think about was her final exams. Essay after essay rolled right into her lap. Her English Lit course wanted her to write two essays on the hidden meanings in The Yellow Wallpaper, while her Psychology course wanted her to do a report on Audrey Hepburn, analyzing the woman's life from the view of Erikson’s stages of development. Selma felt dragged down, and it didn’t help that she had another major life moment fast approaching. Her parents’ anniversary was right around the corner, and she didn’t know what to give them, other than a lovely dinner at a fine restaurant, or maybe an expensive bottle of wine, something her mother would have been happy to receive.
She sat at the desk in the living room, so when the mail arrived, she was the first one to get up and grab the post. At the same time, the telephone rang. Selma chose to get the post rather than answer the phone. Her mother was the one to grab the phone. It really made no difference which one of them went where. Selma sifted through the bills and junk mail, and she held onto her final grades from some of her more boring courses. Apparently, she’d received an A in her Mathematics course and her Microbiology course. Yay!
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have the wrong number,” Bernadette, her mother, huffed. “No. Yes. Yes, Henry Marks. This is his wife, Bernadette Marks. No, he’s not home right now.” There was a long pause, and then Selma heard her mother raise her voice. “There must be a mistake, or this is some kind of sick joke.”
Almost on cue, Henry slid open the sliding doors leading into the joint kitchen and dining room. Bernadette pulled the phone away from her ear and held it out to her husband. Her cheeks were red with unannounced anger, and she held in her sharp tone. Selma recognized her mother’s barely concealed rage, but she couldn’t move from her spot, even faced with her mother’s sharp look. It wasn’t something for Selma to hear.
“Yes, this is Henry Marks,” Henry, her father, announced. “I see.” He sighed and raised a hand to rub at his left temple. “No. I have no interest. No, the records can remain sealed. No. No, I told you I’m not interested. If she reaches out, I’ll reply in the same manner. Thank you and goodbye.” Without any other word, Henry pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up.
For a good ten minutes, no one said anything. Selma had so many questions, but she knew that her mother had so many more. She should have gone back to her studies, but Selma remained where she was, standing in the doorway.
“Why would an adoption agency be calling us, Henry? Who requested paperwork? Why would we be getting a call like that? Don’t even try to get out of this one,” her mother ground out. “Look at me, Henry. Why would an adoption agency be calling us? You seemed awful calm there. It obviously wasn’t the wrong number, was it? Look at me, Henry. Look at me!”
“Bernadette,” Henry sighed.
“Dad?” Selma interrupted. “What’s going on?”
“Just,” Henry tried, raising both hands to silence the two, “listen. I don’t want to talk about this. It happened a long time ago. I told them I’m not interested.”
“My God, Henry. What did you do?” Selma watched her mother utter those words, and then the woman collapsed into one of the chairs at the bar separating the kitchen from the dining room. “Were you even going to tell me? Were you even going to tell us? How long ago is a ‘long time ago’?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
human :+: s e l m a - von der marck - m a r c k s :+: sorceress
It actually hurt Caralie a lot more than she thought it would, the day that she’d gotten a call back from the adoption agency. It was a bit of a slap, really. With all her digging, she had never found any indication that her parents had been married. Was it an affair? Was it non-consensual? Caralie didn’t know what to think. But, she'd dropped the subject all together as the months wore on.
Her mom needed her, and so did Bailey.
And so, as Caralie pulled up to the two story house in Whitehorse, she hadn’t expected to find her sister waiting on the front porch for her. After the death of their father, the two sister had gotten somewhat closer, depending on the other for some sense of sanity. It also helped that their mother needed them to fight less, now that she was working more. If she wasn't working on something in the house, she was gardening or cooking up a storm. But, she wasn't depressed.
Surprising both girls, the woman had started dating again. Eric Hamilton from down the street had actually proven to be a decent man.
“Cara! You have mail from Kitchener!”
The excitement in her sister's face confused her as she slammed the door shut of their shared Jeep. The action caused Bailey’s to only fall momentarily with a glare, she hated it when she did that, before she bounded over to her blue eyed sibling. “It’s addressed from the adoption place. Where you were dumped on the doorstep.” While they were getting along, it didn't mean Bailey’s sensitivity had improved, and that time, Caralie glared at her as she put her bag over her shoulder. They met halfway in the yard.
The envelope was already open, causing Caralie to give her sister a pointed look, but the grin on Bailey’s face didn’t indicate she did it.
Inside, she found a letter addressed to her, in a shaky, yet pretty script.
Caralie Maeve,
You probably don't remember me at all. My name is…
It was surprising, a letter from her biological mother. Addressing everything she'd ever wanted to know, and then some. Halfway through the letter, she closed it up and stuffed it into her bag, unaware that her biological father, too, would have his own letter arriving. The woman falling ill, had wanted to make amends. And as Caralie threw her arm around Bailey’s shoulder, she didn’t know what to think as she said, “I need something to eat.”
if you can't stay slow, i'll be waiting at the door,
producer -||- Caralie von der Marck -||- disc jockey
if you come and go it won't matter anymore
