Dawn's Abyss

Scratch that; I’d now been disappointed by Ashton Voss twice. I waited and waited all through Biology class for him to come running through the door, apologizing for his tardiness. My wait didn’t stop even after class ended. But as I walked down the halls with my head facing my shoes, I noticed something unusual besides the absence of a certain friend. People were whispering as I walked by. The customary bellowing conversation no longer surrounded me. Instead, I believe they were whispering about me.

Feeling tremendously insecure, I lifted my head up to see what all the fuss was about. My eyes were met by a horribly familiar sketch. My abyss . . . Dawn’s Abyss was blown up on one of those giant pieces of paper and plastered to the wall. In the bottom right hand corner, my name was written neatly in a penmanship that I couldn’t identify. I scanned the rest of the hallway and felt my face drain of color. There were countless more of the same blow-ups all over the walls.

It came to me then. That flash I had seen behind me yesterday when I’d been going over to see Ashton’s artwork. Somebody had taken a picture of my drawing. Out of cruelty or spitefulness, I didn’t know, but someone had done this to me in order to hurt me. It was true. Someone – I didn’t know who – was really out to get me. One of my own classmates was trying to ruin me. The worst part of it all was that I hadn’t the slightest idea who it could be or why they were doing this.

I could figure it out though, right? I mean, whoever had taken the picture would have to have been in my art class with Miss Rayneshine. It was a small enough class. The only thing was: would I be brave enough to confront the person when/if I found out who it was. I doubted it, but maybe I was underestimating myself?

By lunchtime, I’d just about had all I could take of the murmurs that had followed me all throughout the day. I guess it was a matter of pride, but I didn’t have what it took to take down all of the posters all over the school. I’d walked up to one and stared at it for a good ten minutes during lunch period, but I hadn’t been able to do it. After I’d eaten alone (despite Ashton’s absence, I hadn’t seen Loraine at lunch either), I’d gone back to the same poster of my drawing. My stomach ended up churning and a wave of nausea swept over me. I only just made it to the bathroom in time before the contents of my lunch spilled into the toilet bowl disgustingly.

Throwing up in school got one an automatic Go-Home pass. I was grateful but also a bit upset. I was clearly grateful because I wouldn’t have to endure everyone talking about me behind me back. Even though I’d come out of my shell a bit and was able to talk to people – well, one person, at least – didn’t mean that I was comfortable with being the sole source of entertainment for the entire school. It was as if I weren’t self-conscious enough already! The reason that I was kind of upset, too, was that I was hoping to scope out the students in Art class and try to figure out possible suspects for whoever put my drawing all over school.

The moment I got home, I lay down on my couch. I’d been expecting to rest my eyes for a moment or two and allow the queasiness to pass before calling Ashton, finding out why he wasn’t at school, and telling him about my fiasco. Things didn’t always go as planned. I already knew this, of course, but it was proved as I ended up falling asleep.

☼☼☼

I was staring down at a blank piece of black construction paper. It didn’t have anything written on it. From my point of view, I saw two, pale, chubby little arms sticking out from the direction of my body. My arms didn’t look like that now, but I knew it was me. In one of those pudgy, toddler hands there was a piece of chalk.

A larger, masculine hand came into view. It gently took hold of the arm that was holding the chalk. A deep and soothing voice emanated from the man whose body the big hand belonged to. I couldn’t make sense of the word he was speaking. I knew they were English, but they didn’t register in my mind. All I knew was that he was encouraging me. He was encouraging me to write down what I had already learned.

I knew what to do then. I remembered what the man had taught me. My miniaturized hand flew across the paper with a speed that did not match up with the size of my tiny fist. I was writing out a key, or a legend. It was the secret to decrypting a hidden message or code. Wasn’t there some sort of numerical letter I was supposed to be figuring out? I couldn’t remember.

I watched with intent amazement as I wrote and wrote without hesitation. I studied my work and found that I actually understood what it meant.

I shot up from the couch like a zombie might do in a horror movie after just becoming one of the undead or living dead. Whatever that dream had meant, I didn’t know. One thing I could be sure of was that I knew how to solve the hidden message. It was so simple that I wanted to smack myself in the head for not having at least thought of it before. I rushed over to the countertop where I had set the black paper, nearly identical to the one in my dream.

13 3 11 14 9 7 8 20
3 15 2 14 21 20 20 15 14

Each number was equivalent to the letter it was in the alphabet. In my dream, my infant hands had written:

A=1
B=2
C=3

It went on like that until it got to Z=26. Now all I had to do was match each number with its corresponding letter and the message would be decoded. I hoped it would actually mean something.

In all of this excitement, I completely forgot that I was supposed to call Ashton. Little did I know, he was otherwise preoccupied for the time being. He wouldn’t have answered even if I had called him. Meanwhile, I figured out the puzzle.

M=13, 3=C, 11=K, 14=N, 9=I, 7=G, 8=H, 20=T
3=C, 15=O, 2=B, 14=N, 21=U, 20=T, 20=T 15=0, 14=N

Okay, that left me with McKnight, Cobnutton. McKnight could be anything; a name, a place, a brand of something. The only Cobnutton I could think of was a small town about two hours away that was a serious tourist attraction because of its historical value or something. I’d never driven there, but I’d heard about it. I figured I could just MapQuest it for directions. The internet! I could go to Google.com and see if there was anything called McKnight in Cobnutton. My spirits were suddenly soaring high in the air. I didn’t know what this all was leading to, but it had to be something good, right?

Upstairs, my heart was racing as I pulled up the internet on my computer. Was this really it? Was I about to find my family? I suppose the better question was, did I really want to see them? I’d made a promise to myself long ago that I wouldn’t waste any time looking for them. I didn’t think they deserved that kind of devotion after they’d forsaken me. I wasn’t strong enough to just forget about them, though. I had to try and find them, even if it was just to demand and explanation for . . . well, for everything.

I waited for the page to load on Google after I’d typed in what I had decoded of the letter. This would be the moment of truth, I suppose. Maybe there wouldn’t even be any results. What if the only thing I was left with for the rest of my life was a piece of paper with the intended message “McKnight, Cobnutton,” on it. Would I be able to live with that? I doubted it.

My mind almost went into panic mode when I laid eyes on a nearly blank computer screen. That was, until I spotted the single match that had come up for what I’d typed in. I hurriedly clicked on it. Some website that I’d never heard of before popped up. There were only a few things on the page. Foremost was a name: Carson McKnight. Below that was a bunch of information. Most importantly among that data was the address of this man who lived in Cobnutton.

I printed that out along with directions to get to his place. I didn’t know if this was even the right person, but it was all I had to go on. My instincts were urging me forward, but something was holding me back, as well. Then, I remembered. Ashton! He hadn’t been at school today and I hadn’t told him about my drawings all over school or my divine discovery only moments ago.

I quickly pulled my cell phone from the back pocket of my dark, khaki pants. I actually carried it around with me now that I had someone to call. After five rings, I heard his voice.

“Hey,” he said.

“Ashton, it’s me. I just –” I began, but was promptly cut off by him.

“Sorry I couldn’t get your call. My cell phone is obviously inconvenient for me to answer right now, so if I were you, I’d leave a message. Hopefully, I can get back to you soon. Here’s the beep,” his voicemail beeped and I left a short, but descriptive message about what had happened at school. I asked why he hadn’t been there and I told him about my revelation. Then, I said goodbye after explaining my plan of action.

If I had it my way, Ashton probably would have been coming with me. However, beggars can’t be choosers, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be alone or not the first time I met Carson; my dad. If he wasn’t my dad, he must just be some person who is trying to warn me against ‘the Kurl.’ Whoever the person was, they would have to know about Mrs. Kurl. Who would know about her that didn’t live in Hazelwood, unless Mrs. Kurl was a Cobnutton native. That didn’t seem likely because nobody ever moved to Hazelwood. It was probably the most boring place on Earth. I wouldn’t even call it peaceful either, except, perhaps, for the community park. I was fairly certain my Algebra teacher wasn’t one for going on walks, though.

Without another thought, I was pulling out of my driveway in Grandpa Plucky. The directions to Carson McKnight’s address were in the passenger’s seat. Glancing at the paper made me realize something. If Carson was my father, would that make me a McKnight? The idea of actually having a surname was quite appealing to me. Dawn McKnight; it sounded pretty good, come to think of it.

No, I wouldn’t think like that. I couldn’t get my hopes up and have them broken. I’d waited too many years for my family to come barging through the door. I’d been disappointed for too many years to ever let myself believe in something fully.

Two hours and one gas station later, I was cruising through Cobnutton. Although it was a small town, it was still about three times as large as Hazelwood. I was supposed to be looking for 319 Mosley Dr. I’d followed my MapQuest directions faithfully so far, and if they were valid, I would just have to turn right at the next stoplight and that would be Mosley Drive.

It turns out that the directions were quite accurate and I was now scoping the numbers on the sides of all the houses to try and find Carson McKnight’s humble abode. This was a nice neighborhood, but these were no Voss Manors.

Number 319 was right where it should be: between 317 and 321. The house was two stories, had a rather ugly green siding with off-white shutters and a blinding orange door. Other than the tacky paint job, the house seemed nice enough. It wasn’t in bad condition and the lawn seemed well taken care of for being in the middle of autumn.

I parked Grandpa Plucky in the street. I would feel too imposing if I were to park it in the driveway. There was only the slightest possibility that he was my father. Even if he was, that didn’t mean I would move in or anything. We ought to take things slowly, if at all.

Knocking on that door may have been the most intimidating thing I’ve ever had to do. I didn’t know this person. For all I knew, this could be the biggest mistake of my life! The only person I’d told where I was going was Ashton. Actually, that was a good thing. He would know where to find me if this person ended up just being a psycho who’d tried to lure me to his house with the only intention being to abduct me. That couldn’t be right, either. This person would have to know me and my address, and they’d need a motive. I’d never even been to Cobnutton before, let alone gotten on the wrong side of anyone from there.

“I’m not buying any Girl Scout cookies, for the last time!” a voice yelled from the other side of the door. It was distinctively male, but didn’t sound exactly like a middle-aged man. Of course, his rejection only increased my uncertainty, but I knocked again, albeit timidly, regardless.

“Can’t you people ever leave me alone?” the voice demanded before throwing open the ghastly orange door. There stood a guy, just as I’d expected. He wasn’t quite the guy I’d been expecting. The person in front of me was at least twenty years younger than I imagined my father to be. He was tall, pale-skinned, and lanky.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled awkwardly, shuffling my feet. I couldn’t drop my gaze from his face, though. It bore a striking resemblance to that which I saw every morning in the mirror. He had short hair, colored not unlike my own but the red was a little more subtle than it was in mine. His eyes were a deep blue that reminded me of what I imagined the depths of the ocean to look like.

The young man didn’t say anything for a moment. I couldn’t possibly determine who he was, but he simply stood there, staring down at me upon his doorstep. His face scrunched up in confusion as if he’d seen me somewhere before but couldn’t quite remember where. Okay, so he wasn’t the only one feeling some major déjà vu.

“Dawn?” he asked incredulously. He was dressed in camouflage, cargo pants and a bright red t-shirt. I noticed this as I tried to remember where I’d seen him before, or where I’d heard that voice before.

I nodded my head in response to his question. “A-are you Carson McKnight?” I asked, although by now I was completely sure I’d found who I was looking for.

“You figured out my letter!” he screamed, jumping at me in a bone-crushing hug. My body became rigid, because I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was being trapped by a complete stranger in a friendly bear-hug.

“May I come in?” I asked after he released me. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore, at least. I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me – au contraire – I just wasn’t sure what he was trying to protect me from. I’d gotten on sixteen year without any protection, and I didn’t understand why my life had so suddenly changed.

“Of course, little sister,” he ushered me on in before closing the door behind me. At that same time, I’m pretty sure my jaw unhinged itself and fell to the floor. Carson McKnight was my older brother? I had a sibling? I wasn’t an only child!

“Are you kidding me?” I asked softly, following him to what I supposed was his living room. It was surprisingly tidy. I estimated my brother’s age to be around twenty or so. That would normally mean a messy, fraternity brother-like style home.

“I kid you not,” he said solemnly. “I, Carson McKnight, am your older half-brother.”

“You’re only my half-brother?” I questioned curiously, sitting down on his couch. “Why is that, and where is our, or my, mom and/or dad?”

He laughed good-naturedly. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, Dawn. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get into contact with you earlier. I had to make sure the Kurl wouldn’t find out whom I was or that I had been sending you letters. I’m only your half-brother because we only share a mother. My dad, Harvey McKnight, got our mom pregnant when she was only eighteen-years-old. She wasn’t ready for a commitment like that at such a young age, so she left him. After she had me, she gave me back to my father. Five years later, Gloria (that was her name) married your dad. They conceived you on the night of their wedding, and so that would make you Dawn Parma.”

“Parma?” I asked, for that seemed like an unlikely name. “Well, where are Gloria and Harvey? And what was my father’s name?”

“Yes, Parma is a city in Italy known for its artistic beauty. Gabriele Parma was your father’s name. His grandfather was an immigrant from Italy, if you are wondering about the name. As for the whereabouts of Gloria, Harvey, and Gabriele, that is a sad story indeed. I think you have waited long enough to hear all of the answers. What say you and I go back to Hazelwood? I think I could be of more service to you if I were nearby, and the drive might just be long enough for me to explain everything, though I doubt it,” he said, smiling.

Alright, I’ll admit it, I already liked my brother. He was upbeat, and he had a way with words. You wouldn’t have thought we could be related. The prospect of getting to live with an actual relative was unimaginably wonderful to me. Carson McKnight and Dawn Parma; siblings. It sounded so strange, even to my mind’s ear.

“That sounds fine. Did you used to live in my house? I imagine you’ll find your old bedroom just as you left it. I call it the spare room because I’d never actually imagined having a brother or sister before. I’d really like to know everything, if you could spare the details. I’ve gone eleven years without knowing my parents, and I can’t remember any of them before that. It would be great to know my history and origins; I need to know where I come from,” I proclaimed. I was already out of breath. My vocal chords weren’t used to being exercised that much, apart from yesterday when I spilled absolutely everything to Ashton. Would he and Carson meet? Would they get along?

“That’s what I’m hoping for. Yes, I had a room there. I moved back in forth between your place and my dad’s. Even though Harvey had full custody, Gloria still liked to see me once every couple of weeks or so. I think I just reminded her too much of my dad, and that was painful for her. Now, I’m sure you’d like to hear the full story, so we ought to be leaving,” he answered.

We headed for the door.