(Part Six) Cloudy

I was huddled up in my blankets in my bed with one of my counselors sitting in a chair next to me. I had to pee. I got up to go pee.

“Where are you going?”

“Gotta pee.”

The doorbell rang. I’m peeing.

When I was done, I sat down on the toilet and just kind of spaced out. I’ve been laying in bed for like, a week. Mmmmghh. After a little while, I got up to go back to my room, and while I was in the doorway to the bathroom, I saw the social worker. Oh. A surprise visit, huh? He started talking to me, but I didn’t pay attention to what he was saying. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and was looking at it for a few minutes when I started to hear my mother sounding a bit distraught. Her frantic stuttering was interrupted by Mr. Social Worker’s deep voice on the phone.

I heard him mention cocaine.

The police showed up.

My mother had drugs again.

I watched them cuff her and take her out the door. But before they did, I looked at her with the most disgusted face I think I had ever made. She looked so small and pathetic in that moment. The monster that had tortured me most of my life and that had seemed so big and terrifying was just a small, wretched excuse for a human being. I said a final “goodbye” to her very slowly and bitterly. I wouldn’t miss her. Good riddance.

So I was without parents again.

But that wasn’t really anything new. I had never really had a real parent to begin with. This just means that I was probably going to go back to living with my aunt and uncle and cousins again, which will suck really bad, but oh well.

Later, we found out that my aunt didn’t want to take me. That somehow wasn’t surprising, but created another problem: If they won’t let me live with them, then who will? And that, kids, is how I got put into the foster care system.

The social workers were nice to me. That’s just because they had to be though. I waited for them to get done looking for someone who would tolerate me for another two or three years, but my hopes weren’t that high. I didn’t really care anymore. They had people on some sort of list of who was ready to take a kid who needed a place to stay immediately, so that’s how I ended up with two women named Lisa and Sunny.

I arrived to their house in the evening time. Two women greeted me along with the social worker who brought me. First I saw a happy looking lady with shoulder-length blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. She enthusiastically said “hello” and introduced herself. That was Sunny. The second woman appeared while Sunny was greeting us. This person had black hair with blue tips that passed her shoulders. Her eyes were a bit more dull blue than Sunny’s, but they also seemed more understanding and relaxed. That was Lisa. They’re lesbians. I didn’t know lesbians could have foster kids, but I guess they can in some states. I didn’t really know how to feel about that at first, since they were both women. Before you freak out on me, I didn’t feel like this because I was sexist or against homosexuality. I mean, I’m gay, remember? I was just unsure about women sometimes because of that whole, you know, abusive mother thing. Remember that? Yeah.

I wasn’t afraid of women or anything, I just didn’t know how a mother was supposed to really be, so I was nervous. I was hoping that they wouldn’t be like my mother. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.

I sort of had a moment once I moved all my bags into my new room. I guess the reality hit me just then, and I started to feel like total shit. I’m here because no one wants me. Literally no one would take me. Everyone hates my mother, hell, even I hate my mother. You’re not supposed to hate your mother. I’m a failure. What am I even doing here? Why am I still alive? What if these people turn out to be like my mother? I started to cry a little, which was sort of refreshing since I had been too emotionally dead to cry lately. Then I heard a knock on the door.

It was Lisa.

“Hey… you okay in there?” her voice was firm but gentle. It’s like she already understood what I was thinking without opening the door and talking to me. “Will you open up…?” I didn’t want to open up. She should leave me alone. I’ll just do this myself. It’s how I always am. Whatever. “Shaun…?” Sorry lady, but please fuck off. “I’m opening the door now.” I didn’t have the energy to care enough to protest, so I just let her come in. She slowly opened the door and sat next to me on the floor. She didn’t say a single word for the longest moment. She didn’t need to. All she did was sit by me and rest her hand on my shoulder as I sobbed. Sunny peeked around the corner of the open door and came into the room too. She sat on the other side of me and began trying to say reassuring things to me.

“You wanna talk about it?” Sunny asked. No. I never wanna “talk about it.” I’m asked that all the time, by counselors, by teachers, by my mother before she went to prison again… before I ended up here… You know what though? I am here now. These people are bothering to sit down on the floor by me and ask me if I want to talk about it. Talk about what? I have so much to talk about! Let me tell you my whole entire fucking life story, because that’s literally what’s wrong with me! So sit the fuck down kids because it’s motherfucking story time and I’m going to “talk about it” until I die inside all over again.

I let them have it. Through the sobs, I told Lisa and Sunny everything that had happened to me and how dissatisfied I was with it all and how oh-so-full of sorrow I am and how I hate my existence and how I wish I could be dead. I’m worthless.

And you know what? They didn’t seem to mind. Sunny just hugged me tight and Lisa gave me an understanding look and hugged me too. And I cried more. We sat there, the only sounds in the room being me crying and the soft breaths of the two people next to me. And for a minute, it wasn’t too awful.

After a while, Lisa broke the silence.

“You’ve been alone a lot.”

“Besides Dustin… I’ve been alone. But it’s fine.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just dandy isn’t it?” she looked into my eyes, her face not far from my own. I looked down at my crossed legs again. It’s not dandy.

“It sucks,” she said. “But you’re not alone anymore.”

Normally, I would have been all “whatever,” and “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” I’m so emo, blah blah blah. Something about it though… I thought that… I don’t know, it just sort of hit me. Maybe I’m not alone anymore. And the more time I spent with this pair, the more obvious that became.


(Part Six end. To be continued.)


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