Sun Catchers

I turned off the dusty road into the Bear Valley Trailer Park. I drove slowly down the first
row, scanning the addresses, searching for the mobile home with 1347 painted at the curb. I
passed owl and gnome fixtures in makeshift rock gardens, elderly people eyeing me curiously
from lawn chairs on their tiny porches. When I got to the end of the row, I finally saw it on the
corner. I parked and sat there for a moment, taking in her home. The trailer was a withered olive
green, paint peeling at the edges and around the windows. A potted cactus sat by the front door
and an iridescent hummingbird wind chime hung silent off to the side of the covered garage. An
old beat up VW Bug was parked in the driveway.
I took a deep breath, grabbed the bouquet of yellow roses I purchased at the floral shop,
and stepped out of the comfort of my air conditioned rental car into the scorching desert sun.
The air was dry, devoid of any breeze, and I could smell exhaust from the big rig fumes leaking
over from Highway 15. I smoothed the creases in my slacks and straightened the collar of my
button down blouse. I then ventured up the walkway and knocked on the metal screen door.
The main door was open beyond the screen and I could hear the low noise of a television. I
couldn’t help but notice numerous stained glass sun catchers hanging in the front window–
flowers, dragonflies, birds. The way the light shone on them made it look like tiny rainbows
emanating from the glass. I knocked again, louder this time. 1 “Coming, I’m coming,” called a woman’s voice. A few moments later, she was standing
behind the opaque screen door. When she saw me, she paused, hesitated.
“Hello?” I said, trying to make her out from silhouette.
She stood there for a long moment, silent, saying nothing.
“Hello,” I repeated, attempting to smile, trying to make her out.
“You’re Anna,” she said finally. It was more of a statement than a question.
“That’s right,” I answered. “And you must be Carol?”
Another long moment before, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m Carol.”
She slowly opened the screen door. For the first time, we were face to face. I was
immediately surprised to discover she was white. She was also much younger than I anticipated,
somewhere in her early to mid forties. She wore no makeup yet there was a genuine prettiness to
her. Her bone structure delicate, her hair dark and short, her eyes hazel… the same color as mine.
She wore no jewelry except for a thin gold chain around her neck, a heart locket dangling from
it.
“Nice to finally meet you.” I extended my hand out to shake hers.
Carol glanced down at my hand but didn’t reach out to reciprocate. She just looked at
me, studying me, taking me in.
“You’re early,” she said.
“My flight got in early. I didn’t even check in at the hotel yet. I was just so anxious to
come here…” I trailed off. “But if you’d prefer, I can come back—”
“No, no.” Carol stepped aside, holding the door open. “You’re already here.” 2 The inside of the trailer was small, sparse, filled with the heavy stench of cigarette smoke
mixed with air freshener. I could also smell the thick odor of something cooking– bacon or
sausage– I couldn’t tell. An old red velour love seat sat against the wall and across from that
was a coffee table with a small television on top. There was no art on the walls, no decorative
couch pillows, no fanciful curtains. It was actually hotter inside the trailer than it was outside,
despite the best efforts of two portable fans oscillating back and forth.
“These are for you,” I said, extending the flowers to her.
There was a look of genuine surprise on her face. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to. “ I smiled.
Carol awkwardly took the flowers while brushing past me to turn off the TV.
“You can sit here,” she offered, motioning to folding chairs and a card table in the corner,
masquerading as a formal dining room table. “Oh, uh, do you want something to drink? A soda
or something? I have beer, too.”
“Water would be fine,” I answered, sitting down at the table.
Carol moved into the kitchen and set the flowers down on the counter. “Sorry it’s so
warm in here. My air conditioner busted a few weeks ago and I don’t like to open the windows.
But this should help cool you off.” She filled a glass with ice from the freezer box and ran it
under the tap, then set it down in front of me.
“Thank you,” I said. “And thank you for agreeing to see me. I know you didn’t–”
“Where are you from again?” she interrupted, heading back into the kitchen.
“New York,” I answered. “I was raised there. I work on Wall Street.” 3 “That must be quite a place to live.” She glanced at me as she busied herself by the
stove. “I’ve always preferred a simple kind of life. Not too much commotion.”
I recognized the way she repeatedly bit her lip, a nervous habit of my own. She came out
from around the kitchen with a plate in one hand and a can of Michelob in the other. When she
set the plate down, I was overwhelmed with the pungent odor of sausage links wrapped in cheese
and bacon.
“I don’t know what you like to eat,” she said, sitting down across from me, “But I made
these, in case—”
“Oh, it’s fine, I’m not–”
“These are my favorite and I thought you might like them, too.” Carol gestured to the
plate.
“Thank you.” I forced a smile. I could feel beads of sweat collecting on my forehead
and I wiped them away with the back of my hand. We sat in silence for a long moment. Finally,
I broke it. “You were a difficult woman to find.”
She looked up at me with anxious eyes. “That’s what your detective said. He said
you’ve been trying to find me for three years–”
“Five,” I clarified. “And I know you weren’t trying to be found, but I do appreciate you
taking the time to see me.”
She took a long swig of beer, eyeing me. “What can I do for you?”
“I just… wanted to meet you,” I said. “I’ve wondered about you for a long time. My
whole life, actually. And there are some things I’d like to know… about you. About me.”
Carol nodded but said nothing. 4 I waited a moment before continuing. “Where was I born?” I asked.
“Here. In California.” She looked away from me, down at her hands. “I grew up in
Barstow.”
“How old were you when I–”
“Fifteen, “ she cut in. “I was fifteen. Too young to be a mother.”
“Who was my father?” I asked.
“You’re not eating any of the links.” Carol glanced up, again motioned to the plate.
“Oh, I’m… not really hungry.”
“You should try one.” She began to get up. “Maybe you’d like some ketchup with it.”
“Actually, I’m a vegetarian.”
“Oh, I…” she sat back down. “I didn’t know.”
“How would you…?” I said gently.
She nodded, glancing out the window, biting at her lip again.
“So, what was your family like growing up?” I wanted to know.
“Well, um, my parents worked a lot. I was an only child, so I spent a lot of time by
myself.”
“I’m guessing they knew about me?” I asked.
She nodded again, said nothing. I noticed the way her hands clasped the beer can, her
veins ready to burst through her translucent skin.
“Did they make you give me up?”
Carol was quiet for a moment, fingering the heart locket around her neck. “They thought
adoption was best. Like I said, fifteen was too young to be a mother.” 5 “What about my father?”
“I, uh…” She lowered her eyes, looking away. “I don’t really remember much about
him.”
I waited a moment. “Did he know about me?”
She said nothing.
“Was he your boyfriend?”
“No,” she said flatly, taking another swig of beer.
“Well, I would like to know more about him. How you met, what his name was–”
“I told you,” she cut me off abruptly. “I don’t have anything to say about him.” She
suddenly got up and went back into the kitchen.
“I’m not trying to upset you,” I said. “I’m just–”
“What?” She turned to look at me, her voice suddenly sharp. “What is it that you’re
trying to do here? What is the point of dredging this up after all these years?”
I stood up and slowly approached her. “I’ve always had this desire to know where… who
I came from. I figured meeting you would help put those missing pieces together for me.”
She took out a pack of Marlboro Lights. “Listen, Anna, some of those missing pieces
might not be the answers you’re looking for.”
I took another step closer. “I know this is hard–”
“Don’t tell me what’s hard,” Carol cut in. “You don’t know anything about me. Don’t
judge me.”
I was taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor. “I’m not judging you.” 6 “Yes, you are.” She lit up her cigarette and took a slow drag before continuing. “So,
here’s a question for you. You seem like a pretty smart girl, you drive a fancy car, wear nice
clothes. You must have had it pretty good growing up, right?”
I looked at her, hesitating before answering. “Yes,” I began. “My parents gave me a
wonderful life.”
She exhaled smoke from her lips. “I wouldn’t have been able to love you like that. Take
my word for it, you got the better deal.”
“You know, it’s ironic,” I shot back. “But it’s actually you who’s judging me.”
“So, what is this?” Carol eyed me, her elbows leaning in on the counter top, cigarette
still clutched between her fingers. “A guilt trip? Is that what you want? To make me feel
guilty? After all these Goddamn years?”
“This has nothing to do with guilt.” I felt hot tears burn at my eyes. “But no matter how
much my parents loved me, I was still a black kid growing up in a white family. Do you have
any idea of what that was like for me?”
She said nothing, looked away, taking another drag.
“I thought in meeting you,” I continued, “there would finally be some type of…
connection for me.”
“Obviously, I’m not the connection you’re looking for.” She looked right at me, the
weight of her words hanging thick and heavy in the air.
I could feel the frustration swelling in my chest, years of pent up confusion and anger
bubbling to the surface. “Why did you agree to meet me? If you didn’t want to talk about the
past, why did you even agree to see me?” 7 She flicked the ashes from her cigarette into a half-eaten bowl of cereal on the counter.
“That detective friend of yours kept coming around here. I didn’t really have much
choice, did I?”
Suddenly, her telephone began to ring. It rang several times before she finally moved to
pick it up. “Hello?” Carol said into the receiver. “Hi, honey,” she lowered her voice, turning
away from me, speaking in hushed tones. “No, I’m not busy. You okay?… I don’t mind. What
time?… Okay, honey, I’ll be there.” She hung up the phone, her back still to me. “I, uh… I’ll
have to leave soon. I have to pick up my daughter from school early today.”
I stared at her. I felt like she punched me in the gut. “Your… daughter? You have
another child?”
She slowly turned to face me. “I used to be married. I had Lisa seventeen years after
you.”
“Lisa…? I have a sister?”
“Half sister.” She leaned against the counter, looking out the small window above the
kitchen sink.
I moved back to the card table and sank into the chair. “Does she know about me?”
“No.”
I held my head in my hands, trying to comprehend this new information. “I… I don’t
understand. How could you… raise one child and never wonder about the one you gave up?”
She stubbed out her cigarette. “It’s more complicated than that.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. “I want to know.” 8 She was quiet for a long time before answering. “Anna, you had the kind of childhood I
never could’ve given you… the kind of childhood I can’t give Lisa. But I did the best I could for
both of you… just in different ways. There’s nothing more I can do for you now.”
I was incredulous, indignation flaring. “So, that’s it?” The words caught in my throat.
“I’ve been searching for you all this time, all these years… and this is all I get from you? This is
it?”
Silence. She said nothing.
“I have a right to know,” I said, trying to reign in my emotions. “You owe me that much,
at least.”
Carol’s gaze was focused out the window, transfixed.
“I can’t believe this.” I wiped the tears from my cheeks and stood up. “My family
warned me this would be a mistake.” I gathered my purse and started for the door.
Just as I got to the door, she began to speak, slowly, quietly, her back still to me. “The
summers were always so hot in Barstow. Sometimes, it would be over a hundred degrees, even
at night. We always had double fans blowing, always had the windows open for air.”
I stopped, turned around.
“Mom worked the dinner shifts at Bob’s diner almost every night,” she continued. “And
Pops worked the graveyard shift repairing cars at the railroad. But I was fifteen, old enough to
be home by myself. I was a pretty responsible kid, never got into any trouble. I’d make my own
dinner, watch Family Feud on TV before putting myself to bed by ten o’clock.”
She stared straight ahead, lost, somewhere else, her fingers rhythmically twisting the
heart locket around her neck. “It was the middle of July. I slept in my underwear and this purple 9 unicorn tee shirt I loved that Mom had bought me with her tip money. I must’ve been asleep for
a few hours already because I never heard them climb in through the back window. There were
two men. One was white… he wore a dark green baseball hat with orange letters across it. The
other man was black. The only thing I remember about him was his eyes looking down at me…
dark, cruel… unfeeling. When I woke up, the black one was already on top of me. He had one
hand pressed against my mouth and the other one was ripping off my underwear. He stuffed
them in my mouth to keep me from screaming. He forced my arms above my head and the white
one tied me up with my pink jump rope that I had left outside from the day before.”
I could feel a sob swelling in my chest, climbing up the walls of my throat, choking me
with no breath to release it. All I could do was silently watch her. Her hands trembled as she
spoke, yet her voice maintained the same slow monotonous tone.
“I cried. I tried to beg. I couldn’t get any words out. I remember the black one
laughing… the more I tried to plead, the funnier he thought it was, the rougher he was. Then he
put his hands around my throat and squeezed his fingers so tight every time he…,” she trailed
off, waiting a few moments before continuing. “I could barely breathe. When he finished, it
was the white one’s turn. I don’t remember how long he was on top of me… or how long they
were there. All of it was an eternity. But I do remember my bedroom window. I always loved
sun catchers as a kid. Mom and I collected them and we would paint them together on her days
off. I had all these sun catchers hanging in my bedroom window. Somehow, the moonlight was
reflecting off of them, creating all these… colors. I remember trying to focus on them… trying to
escape somewhere else in my own head… and I remember all those beautiful colors melting
together, making new colors, blurred through my tears. When they finally finished, they just 10 climbed back out the window. Left me lying there, tied to my bed, my underwear still in my
mouth.”
We both stood there in utter silence. I didn’t know what to say. I could feel a wail
forming deep in my gut, something low and guttural. I could barely speak.
“My God,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
She turned around to face me. There were no tears, but her face was somehow changed,
distorted by the lurid memory.
“I have to go pick up my daughter now,” she said quietly.
I wanted to reach out and touch her, console her in some way, but I knew it was too late
for that. All I could think to do was leave. I slowly turned to the door.
“Anna,” she said.
I stopped but couldn’t bring myself to look at her.
Carol unclasped the heart locket from around her neck. “My mom gave this to me on my
fourteenth birthday. There’s a picture of me inside it… kind of a last picture from my childhood.”
She held it out to me. “You can have it, if you want.”
I shook my head, too emotional to speak.
She gently reached down and took my hand, placing the necklace securely in my palm.
“To remember me by…” she trailed off.
There were no words left to say. I quickly turned to the door and left, not looking back. I
got in my car, trying to suppress the violent sobs convulsing in my chest, and turned on the
ignition. As I drove away, I could see the reflection in my rear view mirror of the sun catchers in
her front window, glinting in the afternoon light, hundreds of sparkling little rainbows.