Help

one

F L O R E N C E

I stand at the door of a home I used to know. I remember it being lively, it held laughing children, a garden with the freshest vegetables and the purest flowers. I remember the smell of the morning dew and the taste of lemonade in my sippy cup.

The sun is no longer shining down on the dull house. The sky holds an overcast and the small rumbles of thunder rolling in really set the tone. The house that was once bright, the one that looked lively even when the curtains were drawn, now looks empty and forgotten.

This house isn't the same house I remember. This one is sad, dull, lifeless.

Yet the familiarity makes me itch with anticipation. Finally, finally I am back home. The place I spent the first five years of my life. The place where all my childhood memories come from.

After ten years of living with Mom and ten years away from my brothers, here I stand on the steps of my childhood home. My social worker alongside me.

She wears a very elegant light blue pant suit with closed toe high heels that make her appear much taller than she actually is. Her hair is gray and cropped right above her shoulders. The glasses on her face add to the older woman's look of an uptight businesswoman. I think her name is Meredith. She introduced herself five or so hours ago at the districts police station. That was when I was informed of my big move. Now I stand on the steps of my old home.

I look so informal next to the woman. My hair is probably matted, my eyes most definitely have bags underneath them, and my lips are chapped. I wear a royal purple long sleeve shirt with a pair of cotton black leggings. I found them in the donation bin outside the bank down the street from Moms home. I have ratty old converse covering my feet. They look like they've been around longer than I have been alive.

My attire clashes not only with Merediths outfit but also the mansion that I stand in front of.

What if they judge me for the way I am dressed? I wouldn't blame them. This mansion is probably bigger than my elementary school and yet here I stand in ratty torn clothes. I wouldn't be surprised if they hate me.

After standing at the houses front doors for a solid five minutes the door swings open. A man is revealed who looks to familiar to be true. He has flowy blonde hair and striking blue eyes. The same blue eyes that I have. He looks tense. Like something is bothering him.

"Come in." His voice is gruff and cold. He steps aside, directing me and Meredith in. He stares at me. Looks me up and down. His face is distant, like he's placed an unbreakable wall in-front of it.

"Mr. Young, it's nice to meet you. I am Meredith, your sisters social worker." She shakes his hand as he leads us into the house. "If you don't mind what is your name?" She asks him. I have four brothers meaning there are four Mr. Young's.

"Massimo." He grunts, his eyes dead set on me making me uncomfortable. I remember Massimo. He was my fun older brother. He would pretend to make me fly and read me bedtime stories.

This isn't my Massy, but then again I'm no longer his Flo. Ten years is a long time.

"Beautiful!" She chirps as he leads us to the dining room. The house looks dull just like the outside. "So to have little Florence here under your guardianship you will need to sign these papers."