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Robert (P.O.V.)

It was a two year relationship that could've lasted longer, had it not been for our young ages of 21, or the fact that we both had deeply rooted trust issues (drunk parents on my side, multiple affairs between hers—and maybe the fact that that brought us together should've been my first warning sign). In 1998, I had begun dating Alice Amelia Parker. In 2000, I ended a relationship with that exact same Alice Amelia Parker.
That whole 'opposites attract' thing was appealing at first, because we were two completely different people. Maybe if I had known that she was pregnant we could've gone another year or two. I’ll admit it, it was a fun year, the first year. Plans and expectations for the future flowing out of our mouths. The fun disintegrated into dust when she wanted me to wear that blazer and I wanted to wear the much nicer pullover. From there, our young love went downhill, until it ended rather loudly; crashing glasses (which I had paid for) and crashing plates (which I also paid for).
About a week of trips to the local bar, and daily visits to Eric's house to play games of solitaire by myself brought me to a realization. I was turning into my father—not my mother, because she was a poker woman. That got me off my ass and knocked it into my skull that I was 21, and most likely had a good future ahead of me.
That two year relationship 15 years ago resulted in myself standing on the steps to an orphanage to pick up the daughter I was only told about this year. (“Hi Robert, it’s Alice, I know it’s been awhile, but I want to tell you something I believe you should know.”) I appreciate the speed of which Alice told me, because, you know, she could've taken 16 whole years. That would've been overdone.
Ending that beautifully bitter rant, today, on Friday the 20th, I stand on the second of three steps leading to the Children’s Orphanage of Manhattan, hesitating to walk the next step and knock on the large double doors, because let’s face it, I began this whole process out of the impulse to do good for the one child I’ll ever have (mostly because my relationships don’t last longer than about 5 days.)
I don’t open the door until I go home, tell myself that things will be okay, she’ll warm up to you, and then kick my own ass out the house.
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