Why You Were Taken by JT Lawrence Page A

‘Do you mean your synaesthesia?’ He knows she doesn’t.
      ‘No, the synaesthesia is my light side. I’m talking about my dark side.’
      ‘The Black Hole,’ he says. God, how he hates The Black Hole.
    As a child she had tried to explain it to her parents, thinking that they had it too, that is was a necessary human condition, but they would get frustrated and lose their patience, just as James does now. Perhaps The Black Hole on its own would have been fine, but together with her synaesthesia it seemed too much for them to handle. It caused a rift: a cool, empty space between them that could easily be ignored; not often navigated.
    Once, when she was still in primary school, she had tried to explain the emptiness to her mother, who became very upset and stormed out, leaving her at home alone. When the minutes streamed into hours and the started sinking she went to the neighbour’s house: a young couple who, non-plussed, plopped her in front of the television. They fed her milky rooibos and stale Marie biscuits while they whispered into the phone. Afterwards, they sat in the living room with her, making awkward conversation, until the glare of her mother’s advancing headlights lit up their sitting room, announcing with bright hostility her return. It wasn’t the first or the last time her mother had left her on her own.
    Eventually, a little desperately, her father had produced Mingi: a meowing yin-yang ball of fluff, hoping the kitten would stitch up The Black Hole, but it didn’t. She kept quiet about it after that, not wanting to cause them any more worry. Now they were gone. And now James was the worrier.
      ‘And?’ he prompts, ‘what’s the reason?’
    She smooths out the polka-dotted tablecloth. She finally says the words out loud: slowly, clearly, listening to her own voice.
      ‘I think I was adopted.’
    James frowns at her: ‘What?’
      ‘Keke visited while you were away. She found out some … well, to cut a long story short, my mother had a hysterectomy before I was born.’
    She lets it sink in. James just looks at her.
      ‘And,’ she says, taking the birth certificate and magazine clipping out of her bag, ‘look at these. Look at this cheap-ass certificate, probably created in Corel Draw. Do you know that there is not one photo of me as a baby? Not one.’ 
    She flips the imposter-baby picture over to reveal the magazine name and date on the other side. James looks stunned. She doesn’t blame him. She doesn’t quite believe it yet, either. He grabs the photo from her hand and studies it.
      ‘I know!’ she says, ‘isn’t it crazy? I’m adopted!’ The woman at the next table looks over in interest. Kirsten lowers her voice.
      ‘So there is a reason I never felt properly connected to them. Why I always felt like an outsider.’
      ‘Everyone feels like an outsider. It’s inherent, the feeling we don’t belong. Ironically, the one thing we all have in common.’
      ‘Yes, okay, but … it’s crackers, right? Do you realise what this means? I could have a family out there!’
    James is quiet, looks worried.
      ‘Well?’ she urges him, as if he has some kind of answer for her.
      ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. I mean, it’s pretty shocking. If it’s true.’
      ‘I need to find them.’
      ‘What do you mean?’
      ‘What the hell do you think I mean? I’m going to find out who my real parents are. And meet them. Have them over for some fucking cake.’
      ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’
      ‘I knew you’d say that.’
      ‘That’s unfair.’
      ‘That night … that night they were killed,’ says Kirsten. James puts his hand over hers. ‘My mother called me. Said she had to tell me something. That it couldn’t wait.’
      ‘Why didn’t you … tell me?’
      ‘She was upset, stumbling over her words. Not making sense. I thought she was … having one of her episodes.’
    Carol had been showing signs of