Imagination

My mother had never had much of an imagination so I happily made up enough for both of us.  I always wondered why she never had any imagination, but never really questioned her about it.  The one time I did, she immediately and suddenly became deaf and wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.  Because she didn’t give me any details or any information about her childhood, I made it my mission to find out what her life was like.  Something had to have happened for her not to be able to dream. 

The more I dug into my mother’s past, the more concerned I became. Because I could find nothing about her life before I was born. Nothing prior to 1997. I had seen my birth certificate before, but now I was wondering if my birth certificate was real. The more I doubted my mother, the more guilty I felt. She had single-handedly kept both of us under a roof, fed and clothed for the last sixteen years and now I was doubting her. Solely because she had no imagination. I couldn’t get her to tell me about her past or what she had planned for her future. The day my mother found me going through her desk was a day I will not soon forget. It was the day I found out the horrible truth about my family and why the two of us were so alone in the world. Kidnapping was only the beginning.