Have you seen these?
A Year in Books - 2009-12-27
Skip Tracer, Loan Detective - 2009-11-22
New Job - 2009-11-03
The coleslaw got served. - 2009-10-21
Probably a new job. But maybe not. - 2009-10-08

Challenge 3
2001-02-07 18:45:05

You suck, Hand of God.

"You have just received a shocking letter from your parents. Thanks to one of those bizarre twists of fate (that only seem to happen in 19th century novels) you have a long lost sister/brother that you never knew about until now. And in another one of those bizarre twists of fate, it is one of your fellow survivors."

Dammit, Hand, this topic is so completely unsuitable for me. I don't want to play your little "who is my favorite fellow Survivor" game. I'm not really playing, see. I'm just using the topics as writing practice. I don't know any of these people. I don't want to have to single one of them out.

Hmm. If this really happened, I wouldn't get to pick. It would just happen, and I'd have to live with it, whether I liked the person or not. To best simulate that, I've put all their names into a hat (well, OK. An empty ashtray) and I'll draw one randomly. Gimme a minute.

Look out, Chum.

***

When I was five years old, my parents had another kid. When I was 10, my friend Julie's mom got pregnant. I had babies on the brain, and even back then, I was always looking for hidden patterns. I reasoned that my parents obviously were due to have another one too. Maybe I assumed they were going to crank out one kid every five years forever. My mom quickly shot this idea down. But, I knew that my parents had been married for five years before I showed up. If I couldn't have a new baby sister or brother, maybe I would someday find out about an older sibling instead. Mom denied that one too, but she always got a strange expression on her face when I brought it up.

Well, last night, my parents finally came clean. I do have an older sibling. His name is Chumley Gordon. He was born in 1968, which, for those of you keeping track at home, makes him a little more than six years older than me. That's why they got rid of him, ya see. The pattern called for one baby every five years, not six. After weeks of discussion, my parents realized the only possible way to keep the family properly organized was to get rid of Chum. So, shortly after I was born, Mom and Dad and Little Chumley went on a road trip. They opened the car door and threw him out somewhere near Phoenix. Then they came back to Wisconsin, and reassured each other that it really was better this way.

My parents weren't very clever about things at all, really. At the time, Chumley was wearing a shirt with his full name sewn into the label. He was found with a fairly severe concussion by two teachers, who figured out who he was and where he belonged in a matter of weeks.

Thus began a series of increasingly irate letters:

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Ng,

You don't know us, but we have found your son. We know you must be worried sick, and we're sorry it took so long to find you. He's in room 235 of ____ Hospital. The doctors say that although his memory might be affected, he seems to have suffered no other permanent damage. Please contact us as soon as possible.

Jasper and Myrene Gordon"

"Dear Mr. Ng,

We have received your letter, and frankly, we're a little confused. You said you were glad Chumley was OK, but you didn't tell us when you would come pick him up. He's come through a terrible ordeal, and although he hasn't mentioned you yet, I'm sure he misses you. Please call us soon.

Jasper Gordon"

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Ng,

What do you mean, you don't want him back? Chum is a wonderful little boy. Our daughter loves him, and we're getting pretty fond of him ourselves. Although he seems to have no memories of anything before waking up in the hospital here, he is bright and articulate. Please call.

Myrene Gordon"

"Mr Ng,

My wife and I have waited for a response to her last letter for almost two months. Are you people insane?

J. Gordon"

"Mr. Ng,

It's been six months. On the advice of my lawyer, my wife and I have begun the paperwork to formally adopt Chumley. This is your last chance. If we don't hear from you this week, we're going to raise Chum as our son.

J. Gordon"

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Ng,

Although Jasper tells me we've given you far more chances than you deserve, I felt I had to keep you up to date about Chumley. The adoption was finalized last week. He's spent the last six months in hypnotherapy. The doctors assured us that by implanting new memories of his first six years, he has every chance of growing up relatively normal. I hope someday you realize what a horrible mistake you have made.

Myrene Gordon."

And apart from a few random Hallmark cards over the last 26 years (All of them with just one word scrawled across the inside; "Freaks!") that's about it. My parents never mentioned any of this to Lynne and me. Last week, though, Mom got another card from the Gordons. It had the standard message, but then, down at the bottom, was a website address. Something inside my mom snapped.

So, my parents called me last night. "Ana, we never told you, but you've got an older brother. His name is Chumley, and although we don't know anything else about him, here's the address of his online journal. We're a little embarrassed by all of this, so we'd appreciate it if you'd get in touch with him, and tell him how sorry we are."

I went to his journal, and checked it out. Turns out, he's one of the DiaryLand Survivors. A real one. It's a funny old world, sometimes.

He's also an amazing writer. If he wasn't my brother, I'd probably have a huge cybercrush on him. His day to day journal has a good pace, and the content is consistently funny and/or startling enough to make me want more. That alone would make me want to visit him a few times a week. But there's also a whole pile of fiction and essays that will keep me amused for months.

I sent him an e-mail. He responded almost immediately. To make a long story short, he thought I was nuts. Finally, he agreed to meet me in a chatroom, so we could talk.

Chum: Now, start from the beginning.

Ana: Well, we're related. Our parents threw you out of a moving vehicle at age six, because I was born a year too late.

Chum: Do you have any idea how insane that sounds? What kind of parents would do that?

Ana: Um, well....

Chum: Besides, I was born here in Phoenix. I have memories of my fourth birthday party here. I've never been to Wisconsin in my life.

Ana: No no no. You were hypnotized. You've been living a lie.

Chum: You're a looney. I'm going now.

Ana: Don't go! I have proof! You've got a star-shaped birthmark on your left arm.

Chum: No, I don't. Please leave me alone.

Ana: But...but...but...

*Chum has left the room*

I called my parents. "Um, Dad, I tried to contact Chum for you, and--"

"NO way! Jesus Christ, Ana, you're supposed to be so smart!"

"What?"

"Mom and I made it all up. We were bored, so we decided to fuck with you a little."

"But.. but..."

"We did the same thing to Lynne a month ago. She knew right away that we were kidding. What's wrong with you?"

"But...but..."

"Hey, Einstein! Did you know 'gullible' isn't in the dictionary?"

"But...but.."

"Jesus Fucking Christ. We should have thrown you out the window. Wait till I tell your mom."

*click*

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