How I Found My Sister, Pt. 4

The search begins. Where do I start? Well, this was 1996. I didn't have a computer and had no idea how to do it. I stewed over it for months and finally just sort of gave up. But, it was always in the back of my mind.

Finally, a couple of years later, I finally got a computer of my own.  I picked back up on the hunt. I went to genealogy sites. Asking if anyone ever heard of or knew of or could help find a "Marsha Jean Rose."  I never got a reply. I tried "Marsha Jean Rose Aquino" as well. Nothing. This was extremely frustrating. I kept wondering if she even knew or cared and maybe was doing the same thing. Looking for me. Maybe dad dropped it on her years before. Telling her she had 2 other brothers. But, that didn't make sense. He knew how to get a hold of us. So, unless she knew and just could care less, then it was probably not the case.

I wallowed around for a few years. Telling my heartbreaking tale to friends and strangers alike. All wishing me well in the search. Yeah, thanks. Anyone work for the CIA or FBI? It seemed like that would be the only way that I could find her. A friend made a joke that I had probably already met her and had relations. I kicked him square in the testicles and ripped out his esophagus with my bare hands. WITH MY BARE HANDS!

Throughout the years, I continued on in life. Bartending and doing shows. In 2000, I was cast in the national tour of a new Broadway musical called Selena Forever. Based on the life of the late Tejano singer, Selena.  The tour was abruptly ended a few months after it started. Nice reminder that it's show business. I jumped back into the bar scene of New York City and decided to take a long hiatus away from acting. I started bartending at this hip lounge in midtown upon my return. Yes, it's hip because I worked there. One night, this beautiful girl walks in. We locked eyes from the beginning.

Wait. Let me stop your thoughts right there. No, it wasn't my sister.

This girl was kind of shy, so I talked to her friend. Who was kind of insulting. The girl, Jenna, finally spoke up to defend me. We really hit it off and hung out the next 2 nights. She was in town from Las Vegas. I asked her what she did in Vegas.

"I'm a dancer."

Oh, cool! One of those cheesy Showgirls type variety show dancers! I bet she has some funny stories about it! Oh wait. Not that type of dancer, but that type of dancer. Yes, an exotic dancer. Okay, stripper! I know what you're saying. Of course, I meet the one stripper from Vegas in my bar that night. So, she goes back home and we stay in touch. She had said I reminded her of her husband. Also of Filipino descent. Similar in size. (I assume, from the waist up!) He used to have long hair like me. Now, at the time, I looked like this.

150 lbs. soaking wet. Lean and muscular. I worked out 5-6 days a week. Ate healthy.

She and I had danced at my bar that night, and she thought I was a really good dancer. Hey, I got rhythm. Whaddya want from me? She brought up that her husband had been a dancer as well. The club she worked at had a male revue upstairs where all of the bachelorette parties, female birthdays, crazy old ladies and lonely women went for some shake 'n bake. She suggested I do it. Now, I had never thought of stripping or anything like that and certainly didn't see myself doing it.  I wasn't big and beefy like those Chippendale type guys. She said it didn't matter. Her husband was my size, had long hair and could move. The ladies loved him. She then suggested I move out there to do it.

We kept in touch and chatted on line and on the phone often. I flew out there for a week and stayed with her and really fell in love with the city. I decided. I'm going to move to Las Vegas in May, 2001. I'll bartend somewhere and hey, why not. Give this stripping thing a try. Coming from a theater background, I imagined costumes and such. One night I would be Zorro. The next, Geronimo! And then maybe a masked superhero! I would grind and move and flip my hair around. Hells yeah!

More likely, I would just move out there and bartend. Still, the idea of a fresh start in a new town was enticing. I figured I'd stay out there for a year and if I really liked it, then I'd stay longer. If not, I'd just come back.

The beginning of 2001 was still not very stable for me. I had always had trouble finding a place to live. As I mentioned before, I was constantly subletting apartments. One of the many reasons that I wanted to move away and start fresh. As May approached, I started getting nervous. What the hell am I doing? Vegas? Really? I mean, Jenna and I had became good friends over the year, but she had a kid and couldn't really just rely on her to take me around and show me the ropes. I thought of pushing back the move a couple of months.

Then, at the end of April, I get a call from my aunt Tessie. Guess who's coming to dinner? Yep, that's right. She was informing me that my dad was coming to the U.S. for the last time to "settle affairs" and what not. If that translated into giving me money, then I was all for it. At the time, I was cat sitting for a few weeks for a friend. And kind of between jobs. Which means I was unemployed. Doing nothing. Except trying to figure out the whole life thing. I mean, I had just turned 30 a year or so before. What was I doing? I felt like I was missing something. Thus, the proposed trek out to Vegas. Maybe I'd find a great job and Jenna and I would get married by some Elvis impersonator. It could happen.

My dad arrives and I take off for my aunt's house in New Jersey. I get there and dad is out there. Still the same stoic man as ever. Unaffected by his surroundings. He's around 70 or so now. Old age had kicked in big time. He kept calling me by my brother's name, Bobby. Which I fucking hate. He was very hard of hearing as well. Yet, he still found time to dye the shit out of his hair and keep it jet black. And you wonder where I get my ego from. I decided that I was going to drill him about Marsha. Everything he could remember. I wanted to know. It had been some time since last we spoke about it, so I was more aware and calm about it. I could rationally interrogate him. We sat at the same table in my aunt's dining room that we had when he first broke the news about having a sister. This time, I started in with the talking.

"Okay. I need to find Marsha. I have had no luck over the years. You said her full name is Marsha Jean Rose, born July 2nd, 1976 and last lived in Norfolk, Virginia, right?"

He nodded in agreement. I continued.

"Well, I couldn't find any Marsha Jean Rose. Is it spelled differently?"

He seemed confused by this question.

"Rose. Her last name. Is it spelled differently? You know, like the flower. A rose! R-O-S-E?!"

Ah. A light bulb turned on. He seemed to know something. His guttural speech finally uttered.

"No, not ROSE. ROLLS."

Which, with his thick accent sounded like this.

"No, not ROSE. ROSE."

Naturally, I was confused.

"That's what I said. ROSE! LIKE THE FLOWER!"

He tried to explain.

"No. Not the flower. ROLLS."

I insist.

"That is the flower!"

Suddenly, I realize. Hold on. I might not be understanding him through his accent.

"Wait...spell her last name for me."

He does so.

"R-O-L-L-S. Rolls."

Are you fucking kidding me? I had the wrong last name for 5 years! Enunciate! Buy a vowel! Conjugate a verb! Find a dangling participle! Learn how to speak! I had left all of these messages all over these family tree and genealogy sites. No wonder no one ever heard of Marsha Jean Rose. Probably because she didn't exist! And if she did, she certainly wasn't around to express it! Exasperated by this fucked up foreign version of Who's on First?, I keep with the questions.

"That is fucked up beyond all belief. THE WRONG LAST NAME?! Okay, fine. Now I have the right one. What else do you remember? Anything?"

He thinks for a moment.

"No."

No? No what, asshole? Quite simply and succinctly, he meant that he couldn't remember anything else. How to get a hold of her mother, Valerie. Their last place of residence. Nothing. (He had mentioned Valerie in the first exchange, 5 years previous.) I finally let it go and decided to take the knowledge I had and find a way to use it. I head back into the city and get to my friend's apartment where I was staying.

There's my laptop. I think to myself. "Go ahead. What are you waiting for? It's 2001. You have the right last name. Someone must have heard of her. Give it a shot. Now's your chance!"

I boot up the computer and sign on. For some reason, I didn't think of going straight to Google. I had just joined that Classmates.com site about 6 months before. Seems like it was pretty popular. If you are unfamiliar with that site, then you don't have a computer. They advertise EVERYWHERE! But, for those that don't belong. Basically, you sign up for membership and you can find old....uh...classmates! Or friends. Or in this case, family members? And, the way the site works. If you see someone you want to contact, then you send an email in care of that person to the site. The site sends it off to them and it's up to that person on whether they want to reply. Keeps the stalkers away!

Now, I figured there could be hundreds of Marsha Rolls in the directory. Or at least 10. But, I was willing to write every single one of them if that was the case. I wasn't sure how popular or common a last name like Rolls was, but I braced for the worst. I sign into the site and click on "search." I type in:

Marsha Rolls

It took a minute or so for the page to load since I was on dial-up. Yeah, 2001. Try to remember kiddies. Dial-up? No? Well, it's like the days before cell phones. Sorry to bring up the caveman era. During this minute plus, so many thoughts raced through my head. Would her name appear? If it did, would there be a lot of them? What would I say? How do I relate to her? What would I....

Page done loading.

I look up and expect to see 50+ Marsha Rolls on the screen.

Nope.

Wait...

Marsha Rolls does appear on the screen. Except not 50+. Just one. Graduating from a high school in Norfolk, Virginia in '94. Which would make her born around '76-'77.

HOLY SHIT! Can this be her? It seemed way too easy. Well, if you call finding out 5 years before, having the wrong last name, not having a computer, not knowing how to look, wondering, and finally getting there too easy, that is! This has to be her. It's karma. Kismet. Serendipity. Fate. Meant to be.

You get the idea. As I sat and stared at the screen, I came to the conclusion that I had no clue what to email her. Hours passed as I wrote draft after draft. Should I keep it simple? Something like this?

"Dear Marsha

Hey! It's Jimmy Aquino. Your brother! Call me."

Or something really long and involved. Should I stay serious or add some of the funny? And what if this wasn't her and it was all for naught anyway? I pulled myself together. Gathered my thoughts. And started typing.

...to be continued.

Comments

[mike.]

Dude, this could totally be a commercial for classmates.com! That is, if they needed another commercial.... They could certainly use more ideas. How many variations of the same old I-can't-believe-that-nerdy-girl-with-the-thick-glasses-and-Hammil-Camel-married-the-jock-looking-guy-with-the-vaguely-Flock-of-Seagulls-haircut-and-had-10-kids-together can there possibly be?

[ZiggyNJ]

Every couple of years I will get an email from someone I went to school with through Classmates. It always turns out to be a person I hated in school. I never reply. Does that make me a bad person?

[Priscilla]

Wow. I look forward to seeing what happened next! And I second Mike's suggestion: this could totally be an ad for Classmates.com!