Beyond the Drama

Chapter 1 - Present History

   Mary McGinnis was a little surprised to see that her son was
still up after returning late from work again.  Normally, after work
he just went to his room and crashed.  But not tonight.  He seemed
a little restless and troubled.  She might have just thought it was
another teenage phase if she hadn't found him flipping through old
pictures, both digital and tangible.

   Maybe this had something to do with the loss of his father.  She
never had been confident in how she tried to help her sons through 
that.  She figured she failed miserably when Matt had become excited 
about the idea of ghosts, on the off chance that he could talk with 
his father again.  Since that moment after the funeral and in talking 
with Matt after that comment, Terry rarely menioned his father.

   Did she fail both of her sons?  This single motherhood thing was
a lot harder than some people made it sound.

   "Terry," she called as she walked toward the kitchen, "I'm making
some tea.  Would you like a cup?"

    Her eldest looked up from the scrapbook in front of him.  "Sure,
Mom.  Thanks."

    Mary nodded and headed into the kitchen.  She tried to use the few
minutes the tea took to figure out how to discuss her concerns with 
Terry - without sounding like a preachy mother.  She did preachy with 
Terry enough; it didn't work well.

    As she brought the tea into the living room, where Terry sat
surrounded by pictures, Mary wondered what her opening would be.

    In the end, she didn't need one. "You know," Terry said after
he thanked her for the tea, "I never realized how little you look
like Nana and Pop-Pop."

    "That is true, isn't it?  But it isn't really surprising, if 
you consider that they adopted me when I was five."

     "A - adopted you?" Terry asked in shock as he turned to his 
mother.

     Mary sighed as she looked at her son.  "I probably never did
tell you, in part because your grandparents didn't really want a 
lot of people to know.  Shortly after they adopted me, we moved
to Gotham.  Having a child was so important to them that they 
wanted eveyone to think that I was theirs.  I wasn't allowed to
even talk about my birth parents in the beginning.  For a few
years, I even thought I dreamed up by birth parents.

    "Finally, when I was a difficult teen, my father pulled me
aside and told me about them.  It helped to straighten me out 
a bit.  A kid should be able to talk about their parents, work
through their memories of them," Mary added, thinking that would
give Terry the space to start talking about Warren.

     Instead, Terry asked, "Can you tell me about your biological
parents?  What do you remember about them?"

     Mary stopped to think a little.  "So much of it is snapshots
now, because I was so young.  I remember being happy with them.
I have vague impressions of other family - uncles, an aunt, 
grandparents.  I got my hair from my mother.  I don't remember
what my father looked like, but I remember that he liked to make
me laugh and that I always felt safe with him.

     "I don't remember the night I was adopted.  I only remember
what your grandfather told me.  He and Mother had just left another 
adoption ageny, despondent, when they were contacted through email
from a family looking for someone to adopt their daughter.  Dad
never told me how the agreement happened, but he did tell me about
the night I came to live with them."

**

     It was a rainy night in Metropolis as the couple sat in the
room, waiting for their dream to come true.  Their new daughter
would be there any minute.  The brunette turned to look at her
husband, Charles Adameson.  "This is the right thing, isn't it?"

     "Yes, Amanda.  It's the right thing.  It's the only thing 
we can do.  You heard all of the agencies.  None is willing to
place a child with us right now.  You know that."

      "I know, I know.  But-" Amanda's statement was cut off by
the doorbell.

      Her husband rose to get the door.  As he opened it, he found
the man with whom he had been in contact about this opportunity.
With the built, sandy haired man stood an attractive redhead, who
must be his wife.  She held in her arms the answer to Charles and 
Amanda's prayers, a girl to call their own.  This pretty little 
red-headed girl was smiling at Charles.

       "Come in," Charles invited

       "No," the wife quickly objected.  "If I come in, I'll turn
around and come back out with my baby."  She sighed and then
turned to the bundle in her arms.  "Sweetheart, Mommy's going
to put you down, okay?"

       "'Kay." the angel replied and didn't fuss at all as the 
woman lowered her to the ground.

       By this time, Amanda had gone to meet her husband at the
open door of their appartment.  "Oh, what a pretty little girl!
What's your name, darling?"

	"Mary," the little girl answered as she pulled on one of
her ponytails.

	"Her name is Mary," the woman confirmed.  "Mary Possible-"
here her voice broke a little, and she couldn't seem to finish.

 	"Mary Possible Adameson," Charles stated, communicating
that he agreed to let the little girl keep part of her name, as
long as the couple didn't back out on their end of the deal.

 	"KP," the male part of the couple said as the woman
jerked suddenly.

	"I can't do this," the woman suddenly said.  "Why can't
I do this?" she asked her companion.  "I'm supposed to be able to 
do anything!  So why-?" the woman started to cry.

	"KP, you know why we have to do this.  It will be okay.
We know that."

	The redhead tried to nod.  Then she pinned Charles and
Amanda with her stare.  "You promise to take good care of Mary?
You promise to adore her, right?  And any children she ever has?"

	"Of course," Amanda quickly agreed.  "She's our miracle."

	"And you promise to encourage her to name her first born
Terrence, right?  Terrence James?"

	Amanda and Charles blinked at the odd request.  What 
kind of biological parents, when placing children up for adoption,
insist on being able to name future grandchildren?  But it was
a small concession to make.  "Sure."

	"Terrence James?  Because that sounds better than Terrence
Timothy?" the sandy haired man had asked his wife, but she didn't
answer.  Instead, she turned and began to walk away.

	"Mommy," the little girl left in the appartment called,
a little panicked, until her father bent down to talk with her.

	"Mary P," the man said.  "These nice people are going to
take care of you for awhile.  Mommy and Daddy have to help with
something important, and we can only do that if you stay here."

	"I can't come?" the girl asked in a quavering voice.

	"No.  But you can help Mommy and Daddy tons by staying
with these nice people and being happy.  Can you do that for
Daddy, sweetpea?"

	"Uh-huh," the little girl nodded.

	The sandy haired man pulled the little girl into one last
hug.  "Goodbye, sweetpea.  We love you lots, 'kay?"

	"'Kay."

**

	"According to my father, my biological parents left after
that. About a year later, we moved to Gotham.  It never really
became an issue until my teens, when I first began to realize
how different I was from my parents.  When she was in high school, 
your Nana Amanda was into yearbook.  I was on the cheerleading squad.  
was a great tumbler, too." Mary shook her head as if to shrug off the
memories.

	Amazingly, Terry seemed to take the story rather well.
He had started a little bit over one of phrases Mary has used
in the story, the "able to do anything" one, but other than that, 
he didn't seem phased.

	"And that's how you got my name?  From your biological
parents?" Terry asked.

	"Well, in your Pop-Pop's story, my biological mother had
seemed so insistent on it, so I insisted that we christen you 
Terrance James McGinnis.  I let your father come up with Matthew
for your brother, but I insisted on the Timothy.  I figured there
was a reason the other name came up as well."

	"Why didn't my grandparents tell you about the adoption 
sooner?"

	"Honestly," Mary answered, "I think they were afraid
that I would try to find my biological parents and leave them; or, at
the very least, tell the world I wasn't their daughter.  It's not 
that my parents weren't good parents or didn't adore me, but I think 
all kids are curious about their genes.

	"As it is, I don't think my parents told me the whole 
truth," Mary shared quietly. "When I asked where my parents were from, 
your Pop-Pop said Middleton.  When I pressed where that was, he said 
somewhere in the midwest.  I did a Google search - even used Google 
Earth.  Never found it.  I'm not sure 'Middleton' exists.  There were 
probably from somewhere close by, maybe Jump City or New York.  Who 
knows."

	"Oh," Terry was quiet for a second.  Then he picked up
the vid remote and un-muted the system.

	"Terrance James McGinnis!  You are planning on watching
vids at this hour?!" Mary asked, shocked that Terry was stopping
the conversation there...and that she hadn't noticed the system
was on when she had come in.

	"Tomorrow's Saturday, Mom.  No school." Terry said as
he began to flip through his options.

	Mary rose and picked up the un-touched tea cups.  So much 
for a heart-to-heart on Terry's feelings about Warren.  Maybe he'd
open up later.  As she glanced back at the TV, she blinked.  "The
Classic vids channel, Terry?"

	He shrugged.  "Someone at work mentioned an old show 
called Sliders.  Said I should check it out."

	Mary just shook her head.  She would never understand her
eldest son.  "Just be sure you clean up in here before you crash."

	"Okay, Mom."

- to be continued -