8/25/11 More stalking today, but took it a step further this time.

Today, while I was supposed to be scheduling appointments for Chris, for about 7 minutes, I was instead, sitting with my co-worker and dear friend in a vacant office down the hall from our cubes, stalking my birth mother. Yes, I said it. I was stalking her. Not only have I come to new lows, I have successfully dragged my friend down with me.
Every once in a while, over the past few weeks, I've had some inkling and sudden urge to google Colette, or one of her unsuspecting family members. I go from web search to image search and teeter on the brink of both back and forth on occasion.
I don't know why I keep doing it. I've gone through about 27 pages of images and websites only to find practically zilch. The only two pictures I've seen of her, were barely determinable, black and white, with more black than white, and shrouded over the years. I guess I keep hoping that I'll find something I overlooked the last time. As it turns out, it's not the case. I just keep bumping into the same old pages- her son's facebook and MySpace pictures which are very small, and because I'm too wuss to add him, will remain small. There's something to be said for privacy- and here it is: "If you want to remain private, never log onto the internet. How bout them apples?"
So today, I decided that if I couldn't see a picture of her, I would instead, hear her voice. And yes, I know, how crazy that sounds. I even felt weird asking Allie to do it with me. She, who has balls of steel, and an even mightier mentality than I did at age 24, was even reluctant to assist, but with some silent treatment after I asked the favor, it didn't take long to spark her curiosity. You learn in sales that you ask the question, and then you shut up. That's Sales 101. Anyone who's ever been in sales knows that. It worked. After all, Allie, was one of the 4 of us who spent countless hours in the search to find her. She is now closely tied to it all whether she wants to be or not. She does though. She's clearly driven by curiosity and finishing the job. That's why she is one of the top schedulers on my team, and gets whatever she wants when she wants it, and on a platinum and diamond inlaid plate. Good for her- smart cookie, and stunning too, a great combo for a young woman in her twenties.
Since we are cube neighbors, and have become closer than I thought we ever would, we talk a lot. She knows about my wild sexual escapades, and I know about hers. She hears me crying about random things, and comes over to comfort me when she hears the sniffles. Most people see someone upset, and they run the opposite direction.
Yesterday, for instance, Mom called at 3 in the afternoon and wanted to discuss burying my dad's and brother's ashes, which we've had for a combined total of over 12 years.
Mom, really? Do you not know me by now? Do you not know I will be a train wreck after that discussion? Of course, I was, and Allie, poor Allie, had to hear the whole thing, and quickly rushed over to lend a shoulder, and tell a joke, as soon as she heard me say, "goodbye, and I love you too, Mom." The Big Lebowski is all I have to say. If you've seen the movie, you'll get it. If not, go rent it on NetFlix immediately. You are missing out.
I asked Allie, let me rephrase, told Allie, that I was going to prank call Colette, which I later confirmed after "the call", that I had been spelling her name wrong all along. It's spelled with one L, not two. Allie's response: "What? You are such a stalker, Brooke." Well, hello? We already knew that, Einstein.
I found her work number online. That was easy actually. She's the director of the College Foundation at a community college in the eastern part of the state. Sounds like a good job. Sounds like a helping job. The college foundation is usually the part of the school that doles out money to needy students in the form of scholarships. Sounds rewarding in more ways than one.
We decided that we would call her and ask her how to donate money to the school. Allie's idea. I told you she was brilliant. And it worked like a charm.
The lady who picked up the line quickly sent us to Colette, and she answered with a sweet Southern accent, that would best be described as slightly twangy by most people's standards, charming nonetheless. She was on speakerphone, so I could hear the whole conversation.
Amazingly though, I didn't feel nervous, no rapid heartbeat, no holding back tears. It was like a normal, everyday conversation to me. I just sat there across the big desk in that barren office without any lights on, and watched as Allie found out the best way to donate money to that college. Turns out, the best way is the old-fashioned way- drop a check in the snail mail. Some things never get old I guess.
I kept finding myself trying to link her voice to mine. Picking apart sentences, listening to intonations and variances of each syllable. It was like I was a voice teacher. I did hear a few things that I thought were reminescent of my voice- the way she pronounced an N sound.
God, I sound so desperate.
She was very polite, friendly, responsive. I don't know any other way to describe her other than sweet. That word keeps intruding on my brain waves.
She asked the philanthropist, Allie, how much she was going to donate, to which she replied after a slight pause to ponder it, $500. I was impressed that Colette even asked. It takes some courage to ask direct questions like that to a donor, or anyone for that matter.
She also said something that I felt was something that I would have said. She asked Allie why she chose to donate the money. She asked her if she had been helped by the Foundation. Allie said no. She also asked Al what her name was, what her occupation is, and where she lived. She answered truthfully. I guess we didn't think that one through.
When we do meet, if we do meet, Allie has already asked me to apologize to her for lying to her, and regretably, not getting that $500 in the mail to the foundation like she promised. I almost feel like donating it just to keep Allie's conscience at bay. But I won't. I certainly would if I had more money. Hearing my birthmother's voice is worth that to me.
When they hung up after about a, oh I don't know, 7 minute conversation filled with honest deceit (oxymoron if I've heard one), I felt elated.
I felt like a had more of a fighting chance with her. She was not rude, not cold, not quick to hang up, not aloof, but friendly, caring, and genuine. That's a plus. I felt better almost instantly after hearing her voice. That's a feeling I can't describe with a Thesaurus.
I need to hurry up and get that letter in the mail. The thought actually occured to me, "What if she gets killed in Hurricane Irene, and I never get to meet her?" That would be unbearable. This whole thing is taking over my ability to think rationally now.
All in all, today was good, and I don't regret a thing.