I sat there staring at the door, their entrance and exit out of my life. I didn't want them to go, too much has changed, I wanted something-anything-to ground me to Earth. Taking a breath, steadying myself, I reminded myself what Myra- the closest thing I had to a mother had said, "Control yourself, emotions are a weakness, crying is for sissies". Still…no one would see me, the room was completely empty, before I could turn back, I opened the bag.
Taffies, caramels, and chocolates- my favourites. I stifled a sob as I remembered how it was like back then, in a foster home. I closed my eyes-remembering, savoring the scene from a few years ago. I had just gotten back from school, with puffy eyes and a bruised jaw that was turning an interesting combination of black, green, and blue. Walking into the sitting room, I settled in my favourite arm chair, the one that embraced you like a hug and smelled like the scent of sweet leather. I sat there sniffling and bawling, wanting comfort, but no one was there. When Myra arrived, I was already tearstained and hoarse from yelling. She took one look at me, then without taking off her heels or jumper, she turned to me, "Love, what happened?" She curled her arms around me, pressing her body on me- covering me in warmth.
I gasped, trying to speak through a hoarse voice. All I could manage was a frog voice.
Myra frowned, "Wait just a moment". She dashed outside, returning 5 minutes later with a bag from the corner store. She went straight into the kitchen, returning with a hot mug of tea. Nudging the tea towards me, she said, "Drink this". Myra returned to her position on the armchair, allowing me to take a few sips of the tea, before questioning me again, "So…what happened?"
I didn't want to answer, I just wanted to cry and collapse in her arms, falling asleep there. As I had this thought, she began to gingerly hold an ice pack to my jaw.
I fell into her, her warmth gave me strength, "It's hard, not academically, but socially. They don't like me-the kids.", I frowned pausing, "they tease me, they punch me, kick me-say I'm a mutt, a stray". I collapse, crying, "Why?", I turn- looking at Myra shouting, "Why?!"
She looks at me gently, "Don't listen to them. They're being prats", she crosses her eyes and sticks her thumb to her nose- wiggling her four remaining fingers singing, "Jim…Lucy, Carolyn, John. They're little gits, they're annoying prats." She draws out the last word. Turning serious, she lifts my chin so I look into her eyes. I stare into those sky-blue eyes that remind me of all those perfect sunny days I spent with her. I look at her for a moment willing those days to never end. Myra speaks quite sternly this time, "Don't give them anything…not even your fear or tears. And hey, control yourself, emotions are a weakness, crying's for sissies", she pauses smiling mischievously, "Next time, don't stand there, fight-give them all you've got-make them pay!. I'll teach you, but now we have to work on these". She pulls out a bag of candy-taffies, gummy works, chocolates, the works. As the sun had set and woven its golden threads into our hair. We laughed into the night with sugar coated on our tongues.
I opened my eyes and look down at the bag. Maybe that was how it was like to have parents, but she left me like the others a tiny voice says. I ignore the voice, saying to myself frantically, collapsing into tears, "She didn't leave me! She can't have left me, she loves me, she wouldn't have left me alone, she promised to teach me how to fight!" I yell into the pillow, then out loud, "Argh! I want her back, I want that life, those feelings back.", pulling at my hair I kicked the pillows of my bed, "I need someone who knows me, who can talk to me". I am standing on the bed in a hospital gown, my hair awry when the door bangs open again, I turn my line of vision towards the person-ugh John again. He looks at me, "Will you calm the heck down? Stop yelling", he looks at me with disgust, "Now obviously I don't want to be here but it is deemed fit that you should attend the high school-Einstein Prep.
I regard him with contempt, "I will not go to high school! I want a mother…parents, Myra!", quieting down I glared, "Who made that decision? Why am I going to a stupid prep school, if I'll be out of here in a few days?"
John looked at me coldly, "I don't believe it is necessary to provide you with that information. Now I must be going, so if you leave me".
I look at him venomously for once glad that there was a door in which people like him could leave.