Open Door: By Crystal Kershaw

Here's a fiction adoption story I found on www.briomag.com! Enjoy!

Emily paused in front of the red door. Her eyes strained to examine its intricate carvings, timeless Chinese symbols for nobility and prosperity. Dragons leaped toward her, their scaly tails whipping around gentle pagodas and lotus trees. "Right," she whispered. "This is the place." Groaning against the door’s thick weight, she went inside.
The Chinese consulate in New York City sprawled out before her. Emily felt an immediate rush of adrenaline as she wandered into its expansive reception hall. Colorful traditional costumes danced among the gleaming glass cases. Chinese faces peered out of the huge photographs scattered among them. Emily was drawn to a small, black-and-white photo peeking through the fog of images. It was of an emperor, surrounded by his royal family. Lost in the photo, Emily was startled at the sound of a voice behind her.
A pretty, petite woman in a red consulate blazer, seated behind a black lacquered reception desk, quietly addressed her. Emily flushed with confusion. "I’m sorry, but I don’t understand Chinese," she said softly. "I have an 11:00 appointment with Mr. San."
"Your name, please?" the receptionist replied in perfect English.
"Emily Hills. Mr. San is expecting me." The receptionist turned to her desk and dialed the phone. After a few minutes of brisk Chinese conversation, she smiled.
"You may be seated, Miss Hills. Mr. San will be here shortly."
Emily sat down. She couldn’t believe she was here. Adopted at the age of 1, she didn’t remember China except in occasional flashbacks. The smell of a spice could trigger a memory, or the slick feel of a silk shirt. Like clouds racing through a sunlit sky, the memories were pleasant, but they passed out of sight quietly and quickly.
Every year around her birthday, Emily pledged to capture one of those clouds. Each of her 12 years had passed without bringing her closer to her goal. Her 13th birthday had brought with it an intensity of longing she hadn’t felt before.
While she was waiting for her mom to get back from the supermarket, Emily stumbled on a National Geographic article about Northwest China. Captivated by the magazine’s shiny spreads, tiny memories began surfacing. Emily felt a knot twist around in her stomach. Seeing this magazine on this day — it had to be a sign of some sort, she thought. She stared in awe at a photo, taken in the province of her birth, of a mountain range surrounded by brilliantly flowering plains. Deep down Emily knew what this meant. The time had come to make a plan — it was time to know more.
Moving Forward"What do you think about me searching for my birth family?" Emily stammered that evening as she and her mother cleaned vegetables for her birthday dinner. "I stumbled on the Web site for the Chinese consulate in New York today during computer lab. There was a listing of consulate appointees, and one of them, Mr. San, is from Xining, too." Emily cautiously surveyed her mom’s reaction.
Emily’s mom put down her paring knife. "I understand your desire to learn more about your birth family, Em, and I’ll do what I can to help. But there are very few solid answers in China. Yes, you’re from Xining, but it’s not a small town. Mr. San is one of more than a million people who call Xining home. The chance he’ll have any knowledge of your birth parents is very slim."
"Slim is better than nothing," Emily answered without hesitation. "I thought I’d send the locket to Mr. San, along with a letter asking about the engraving. Maybe he’ll recognize it."
The locket was Emily’s prize possession, the story behind it her only tangible link to her birth parents. Emily’s mom and dad told her about the locket when they talked with her about adoption. They told her about their trip to China and visiting her orphanage. There, an orphanage worker had slipped them the locket as they walked through the courtyard with infant Emily in their arms. Through translated whispers, she explained it had been with Emily when she arrived. The old woman felt it was rightfully hers and had hidden it away. She wanted Emily’s new parents to have it.
After their discussion, Emily began to understand why she looked different than her parents. She also began keeping the locket in a heart-shaped box in her room. Late at night she’d wake up to see if it was there. After school she’d rush to her room to make sure nothing had happened to it. Emily didn’t have a special blanket . . . she had the locket. The story of how she came to have it, and the hope of what it meant, warmed her.
The locket itself was unremarkable, a style Emily had seen in many Chinese import shops. What set it apart was the intricate engraving on its reverse side. It seemed to be a crest of sorts — elegant Chinese characters surrounded by delicate swirls. Emily had shown it to many people, many times, endlessly searching for a beam of light, a clue — something to hold on to. Again and again the answer came back the same. It wasn’t a motto, so it must be a name. A family name. The name of a family Emily longed to know.
A Royal HeirIn her heart, Emily already knew them. She felt her birth family must be among the elite to have such a crest and locket. In the part of her heart where dreams ran free, she could clearly see who they must be. Forced underground during the communist revolution, they were probably descendants of an ancient Chinese dynasty. Emily had become a voracious student of Chinese history, and for years devoured every book she could find, slowing slowly feeding her growing imagination with stories of who her birth parents were.
Somewhere there was a key, a key that would open up both her heritage and the reason behind her adoption. Perhaps her parents’ noble blood imprisoned them. Perhaps on discovery, they’d been ripped from their home, sent to a prison camp and commanded to part with their infant daughter.
The royal blood Emily felt coursing through her veins colored her life a rosy hue. Racist remarks from kids at school, Chinese eyes being mimicked on the bus . . . nothing could penetrate Emily’s barrier of nobility.
She strove to fulfill her own high expectations. Finishing at the top of her eighth-grade class, she was entering high school with a full slate of accelerated courses. In ballet, she made the graceful bends and twirls of an aristocrat’s daughter. Excelling at art and calligraphy, her work was featured in countless student exhibitions. A noble persona touched her every move, informed her every action.
The night before Emily’s appointment at the Chinese consulate, her mom peeked into her room. "I could use some help with the laundry, kiddo. These clothes don’t fold themselves, you know!" She plopped an overstuffed basket of clothes on Emily’s bed and sat down beside her. "I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow, too, Em. I’m excited you have this opportunity, and hope you find what you’re looking for. Just keep in mind what’s important."
"What’s important is finding out who they are," Emily replied, her eyes filling with tears. "Once I know that, I’ll know how it all fits together. Then I’ll know who I am."
"Hon, who you really are is who you choose to become," her mom replied, softly stroking Emily’s hair. "You have the power to choose, Em, and that power doesn’t come from your birth parents or your real parents. That power comes from God and is given to you. Whether your birth parents were part of the imperial family or rice farmers doesn’t change that."
"But I know they’re special, Mom. I can feel it. They’re royal . . . one of the noble families in China. They . . . they’ve got to be," Emily stuttered through her tears.
"Em, we don’t know if they have a pedigree, but we do know something about them. We know they wanted something better for you than they could give themselves. We know they brought you to the orphanage because they loved you and had hope for your future. That’s nobility, Em. It’s about the quality of your heart. By that standard, you’re already nobility. Consulate or no consulate, I hope you remember that."
True IdentityThis conversation haunted Emily as she waited for Mr. San, her head swimming through waves of emotion. When Mr. San had called, telling her he had information to share with her, she couldn’t wait to meet him. Now as she sat waiting, the dragon of reality was poised. Yes, Mr. San had answers, but were they the answers she longed for? What about my nobility? What did it mean? Emily’s fantasies were as much a part of her as her coal black hair. Would the dragon eat at their core, leaving only the scattered bones of her dreams?
Emily closed her eyes and tried to imagine life as a farmer’s daughter. Would it change who she was, what she did, how hard she tried? Would finding out about her birth parents fill a void or create a larger one? Although her mom and dad had encouraged her search, she also knew on some level it must hurt them. Aren’t my parents enough?
Thoughts circled her mind, slowly forming a whirlpool of confusion and fear. Suddenly Mr. San seemed less like a friend and more like an enemy, a dragon rearing back its head, ready to breathe fire. Quickly rifling through her purse, Emily found a pen and scrap of paper and set to writing.
"Would you please give this to Mr. San?" Emily asked, her hand shaking as she offered the message. "I won’t be able to stay for our meeting." The receptionist nodded politely, accepting the note with a vague smile.
Emily turned, searching through streaming tears for the bright red door. To her surprise, as she opened it to the warm sunlight, it wasn’t nearly as heavy as it had been before.