Status: IN PROGRESS
Bloody River
How it all started ...
Sasha Renoir was a normal child, who lived in a normal neighborhood and who had normal friends, until the day when I found out something, I should probably never have found out.
It all began in 1968 when my parents got married. Apparently, it was a beautiful and lavish wedding and my parents loved each other very much. Three years after my parents were wedded in holy matress-mony, my mom was pregnant. 27 and pregnant. My dad, who at the time was 29, was ecstatic. He loved my mom very much and wished only to start a family with her. I guess he really loved her, but I wouldn't know. The jackass walked out when I was two. My mom had always told me that he just felt like he wasn't fit to be a father and figured that we, my mom and I, were better off without him.
So the years went by and by and when I turned 18, I decided that I was going to track down my father. It was hard because my mom, who is now a crack addict and has been since about 1976, could hardly remember him. I mean, how do you forget, even on a crack binge, who your ex-husband was. It just didn't make sense. So, instead of trying to pick my mother's fried out brain, I went to see my grammy in the South Shores Home for the Old. Not a place I like spending time in but she was sure to know something.
Upon arrival, I was greeted by the scent of old people. Plastic, soup and mothballs. The scent would stay with me through out the evening. Finally, playing chess with some old guy, I found my grammy.
"Hey grammy!" I said qutie loud as I walked up to her because she was partially def.
"Hey honey! It's been awhile since you've come to visit your old grammy. How you been Sasha?"
"I know, but I'm gonna try to visit more, it's just mom, she's been gettin bad lately, worse than you!"
My grammy always laughed when I made silly comments about her.
"Hey, I need a favor." I told her.
"Sure honey, what is it?"
"I need to know about my dad, like what his name was and stuff like that."
"I still don't see why your mother never told you. If you go down to the county records clerk, ask her about Maxwell Garrett Renoir. Ol' Jenny's been down in that office since I can remember. Tell her I sent you."
On my way down to the County Clerks Office, I began to think. What did grammy mean when she said, "I still don't see why you mother never told you." It just didn't make sense to me. I wanted to know what my mom had been keeping from me.
It all began in 1968 when my parents got married. Apparently, it was a beautiful and lavish wedding and my parents loved each other very much. Three years after my parents were wedded in holy matress-mony, my mom was pregnant. 27 and pregnant. My dad, who at the time was 29, was ecstatic. He loved my mom very much and wished only to start a family with her. I guess he really loved her, but I wouldn't know. The jackass walked out when I was two. My mom had always told me that he just felt like he wasn't fit to be a father and figured that we, my mom and I, were better off without him.
So the years went by and by and when I turned 18, I decided that I was going to track down my father. It was hard because my mom, who is now a crack addict and has been since about 1976, could hardly remember him. I mean, how do you forget, even on a crack binge, who your ex-husband was. It just didn't make sense. So, instead of trying to pick my mother's fried out brain, I went to see my grammy in the South Shores Home for the Old. Not a place I like spending time in but she was sure to know something.
Upon arrival, I was greeted by the scent of old people. Plastic, soup and mothballs. The scent would stay with me through out the evening. Finally, playing chess with some old guy, I found my grammy.
"Hey grammy!" I said qutie loud as I walked up to her because she was partially def.
"Hey honey! It's been awhile since you've come to visit your old grammy. How you been Sasha?"
"I know, but I'm gonna try to visit more, it's just mom, she's been gettin bad lately, worse than you!"
My grammy always laughed when I made silly comments about her.
"Hey, I need a favor." I told her.
"Sure honey, what is it?"
"I need to know about my dad, like what his name was and stuff like that."
"I still don't see why your mother never told you. If you go down to the county records clerk, ask her about Maxwell Garrett Renoir. Ol' Jenny's been down in that office since I can remember. Tell her I sent you."
On my way down to the County Clerks Office, I began to think. What did grammy mean when she said, "I still don't see why you mother never told you." It just didn't make sense to me. I wanted to know what my mom had been keeping from me.