Subject: [OTL]: [Robin] In The Blood [4:11] Date: Tue, 17 Jul 2001 07:05:45 -0700 (PDT) From: D Benway In The Blood [4:11] Saturday, May 26 drawn from the vein by Benway This story borrows some Bat-characters from DC for not-for-profit use. This story is not recommended for sensitive or innocent readers. ____________________________________________________________________ I found a lot of reasons not to go home for the next two weekends. This one I'm spending with Kon and the gang. They all know something is up, even Bart. I haven't said anything about it. I haven't phoned my Dad or Dana, and they haven't phoned me. I have no idea if he's even come home yet. I haven't seen or spoken to Bruce. He's been away. We're watching SNL, because that's what everyone does on Saturday night. It wasn't even funny when it was supposed to be funny (I've watched Bruce's tapes; everyone looks stoned), and it isn't funny now. When it's over, Cassie and Cissie turn on me and demand that I spill. I found out my dad's not my dad, I say. I could have lied, said something about Steph. They all know where that's been going, even before I did. There are hugs and sympathetic words, which is nice, but nice isn't what I need. What are you going to do? asked Cassie. I want to know who the donor was, I said. I'm not even going to speak to him, I just want to know who he is. It's a lie. I want to know why Bruce did it. Ever since I found that telephone number, I've known it's him. It's the why that bothers me, that part I can't figure out. My life used to be a complex, constantly shifting set of sequences of events that I could glide over without any real effort. One minute I'm Tim, the next minute I'm Alvin the Loser, then the Boy Wonder (would-be lover of Steph), then Robin of Young Justice. Each one had his own agenda, and they all kept their secrets. Now, there's only one thing on my mind, one way forward into blackness. At the end is the answer, why Bruce has done this to me. Accept it, says Cissie. Don't ask any questions. What's past is past. Come on, says Cassie. He has a right to know. Are you sure you really want to know? says Cissie. Yes, I say. I do want to know. Why? says Bart. Because it's missing, I say. A part of me is missing. No important part, says Bart. Nothing that was missing before you knew. It's just like that extra stuff on the disc that you don't really need to know to play the game. Great simile, Bart, I say. Man, this is really getting to you, says Kon. Yeah, I says. How would you feel? I know who my father is, says Kon. Kind of. What would you do if you did find out? says Cissie. I'm not sure, I say. Check things out carefully, before approaching anyone. Before approaching anyone, says Cissie. So you've already decided that you're going to meet them. What happens then? You have no idea what to expect. I've got a pretty good idea who it is, I say. Then forget it, says Cissie. Now. No way, I say. OK, says Cissie. There was this girl in US Archery. Good, maybe Olympic calibre someday. She found out she was adopted. She spent all her stipends on lawyers, trying to find her birth mother. She tracked her down to some place in Louisiana, some real hole. She knocks on the door, just out of the blue, doesn't even phone ahead. This woman comes to the door. Hi, I'm your daughter, she says. The woman tells her no, no, it can't be true and this girl starts throwing all this paper at her, names, addresses, legal stuff, all that. No, no, says the woman. It's down there you want to go, they live in that house over there. The girl makes her apologies and she's walking down the street when she hears this gunshot from the house. She runs back and finds the woman she spoke to on the living room floor, but she could only tell by the dress because she'd used a shotgun to blow her head off. What a load of urban legend bullshit, says Cassie. That's straight out of Brunvand. It's true, says Cissie. You read it in a book or you heard it from somebody or you read it in the Enquirer at the checkout, says Cassie. I've had enough of this family shit, says Kon, and he flies off. Bart takes off after him. I want to take off, but I can't. Something is going to happen, I feel it. I need to be here. Spill, says Cassie. She does. Cissie, strong as steel Cissie, breaks down, her face falls in on itself, and now I really want to be gone. Oh no, says Cassie. I was made in a petri dish too, says Cissie. I don't want to know who jerked off into the tube. I had a dad, he was sweet, he loved me and he died and left me with my fucking mother. The good ones die and the bad ones are like cockroaches, nothing kills them. You don't know how much I'd- She can't finish. They're now both in tears. Somewhere, in the back of my head, I know I should embrace them, say the things I could never say to Steph, lie. It's all right, it's all right, just like my mother used to, and my so-called father never did. Instead, I stay there rooted on the spot, my hands locked together, watching them cry. Then, I turn and leave. I don't get very far, because the Secret catches up with me just around the corner. She floats in the air in front of me. I can see an exit sign glowing red through where her heart should be. Cissie's right, she says, in my mind. You're better off not knowing. But I have to know, I say. Why? she says. Because there's a whole part of my life missing, I say. Like when you're reading a book from the library and you find a chapter torn out. But it's someone else's story too, she says. How do you know who or what they are, and whether or not they want to be found? So I shouldn't do it because he'll kill himself? I say. You shouldn't do it because you're not the one writing the story, she says. There's no way you can know how it will turn out, and even if you did know it wouldn't turn out the way you want it to. But I have to know, I say. She hugs me, as I cry. I should not have been able to feel it, but I did, more than I felt the hugs from any of the others. She holds me until I'm able to stop, until I can dry my eyes and leave without saying goodbye to anyone else and drive back to school. [next: Tuesday, May 29]