Madison's Journey

Part 3: Madison's POV

"Wh-what d-do y-you me-mean? I-I can't-t g-go t-to camp f-for a f-few week-ks, but-t I-I can move t-to Port-tland?" I ask through the phone a little louder than I probably should have.

"I'm sorry, but it's out of my hands."

"It-t al-always is."

"Come on Madison, this has come down from my bosses."

"D-d-do you at-tleast-t kn-know anyth-thing a-about-t th-th f-f-family?"

"No, I'm sorry. I'll be by in a few hours to pick you up and bring you to the airport, so start packing your stuff."

I huff into the phone before hanging up.

Getting up from bed I could barely breathe because of my ribs. It's been a few days since my last match and my ribs are still bruised from the beating they took from my foster father. The welts have died down and are now just a dull throb throughout my entire body. After he had brought me down to the basement and beat me, he left me hanging there for the rest of the night.

'Come on Madi, if you're not ready by the time David gets here he'll give you hell. I put all of my school stuff in my backpack along with my soccer gear. I grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen and stuff in all of my clothes.

After making sure I have everything I bring my bags downstairs. I head to the door and my foster father steps in my path.

He grabs my face, making me look at him before saying, "You say anything about what happened in this house and I will kill you."

I nod quickly knowing that he isn't joking. I have gotten this threat from many different foster parents in my fifteen years of being alive.

In order to escape any more torment from my foster father I head out to the front porch and sit down to wait for David to show up. When he arrives, an hour later, I get straight into the car throwing my two bags into the back seat. I'm never going to let him forget how mad I am at him for this, even though I know it's not his fault. I just need someone to blame, and as a foster kid, he is the only consistent enough person in my life I have to blame when something goes wrong.

"I know you're not happy about this situation, but it may turn out for the best, you never know." He sighs when I don't respond. "Well I'm sure you've figured this out but you've been assigned a new social worker in Portland, and this will probably be the last time I see you."

'I know, it's part of the reason it's easier to stay mad at you.'

The rest of the ride is quiet as David drove me to the airport where I will be getting on a flight alone. It was a 6-hour flight to Portland. 'Why do I have to fly? It's the worst way to travel.'

David leads me through security and to my waiting area. He promptly drops me off with the random person who is in charge of kids who fly alone.

I sit down in one of the chairs, "Ok kid. This is where I leave you. Be good for your new social worker. Be good for your new foster parents."

He turns to leave me but he only makes it a few steps before turning to me again, "Make good choices, ok? And and," He sighs, "Have a nice life kid." Then with one last goodbye, that I do not return, he leaves to go take care of another one of his cases.

I sit there waiting for almost two hours before they start boarding my flight. I'm seated at the front of the plane where the flight attendants can easily keep an eye on me throughout the flight.

Since I have a flip phone I am unable to listen to my music to distract myself from the flight so I have to settle on closing my eyes and pretending I'm somewhere, anywhere else. It works for a few hours until we hit some turbulence.

We hit a storm and the fasten seatbelt light turns on, not that I've taken mine off. I grab onto my seat as the plane drops in altitude. One of the flight attendants hits the roof of the plane and the drink cart, which she had been trying to secure, flies backward right into me.

I cry out in pain as the hot drinks burn my skin and the cart digs into my body. My prior injuries only aiding the pain that I'm feeling.

A few minutes later the plane becomes steady as we make it out of the storm and people fly out of their seats to check on the flight attendant and me.

A few people pull the cart off of me while others find towels and start drying the drinks. I can only sit there and try not to cry out in pain.

Much to some peoples' protest the plane continues on its scheduled flight to Portland, and there are no medical personnel waiting for us as we get off the plane. I get off the plane where I'm met by a social worker that is supposed to bring me to my new foster home. 'The real question is, is she my new permanent social worker?'

The lady waiting for me is extremely impatient and is mad at me that the plane is late as if it's my fault. When we make it to her car I try to ask her about the new home I am going to, but she won't give me any answers. 'Probably doesn't know anything anyway.'

I eventually stop trying as I see her become more and more annoyed.

Once we arrive I'm stunned at how nice the home is. It has a large front yard and is not around a whole lot of other houses. I know that whoever lives here makes good money.

I grab my school/soccer bag as well as the trash bag out of the back and stand looking at the house feeling extremely out of place.

The social worker drags me to the door gripping the back of my neck like I'm going to run away or something and rang the doorbell. 'It's not like I have anywhere to go.'

The door opens and I'm not expecting who answers it.