Unsuspecting Blessing.

xiii

xiii

Brian left, and the door let in a swift chill from the outside. He was going to see his Mom, Julia knew, and for some reason she felt a waning disquiet in her stomach for him. Julia knew no parents, but she did know the feeling of disappointment with a figure of power through the many poor parental representations she had acquainted with in the foster system. Despite Brian not speaking much of his Mother or home life to her, he did not seem to show unease on his face as he left her apartment—more looking with hopefulness and modest elation.

Julia sat upright on her bed, staring across the room at the faded flowers on her dresser, and waited for Brian's return. She thought about life in the foster homes, and the joy surviving those places brought her. A major problem she faced being stuck in that government industry meant to benefit children was the fact that most foster "parents" did what they did for a check or a decrease in their taxes, not actually giving care or a feeling of wantedness to the children they oversaw. Oversaw. The perfect word to describe what the hosts really did; simply watching children grow instead of guiding them, like a fruit tree planted in a yard and waiting until it bears unearned fruit of inattentive labor. They expected ceaseless paying of tribute for letting the children stay in their house and acutely opening their arms to the young souls in need. But what they did not realize is that children are not gnats and they do not have the mental age of a stillborn baby—they are not fleshy machines made for acquiring resources—and they will not come crawling back with thankfulness if they are treated poorly. Eventually if a bell is rung enough without food, saliva does not secrete. The children were let to stay in the host's home, but not by choice, instead by an apotheotic force that thinks it is aiding the youth of the nation by shoving them into abusive homes that are fronted by warm smiles made of malice. The arms open bore talons and claws that would eventually poke enough holes into the child to bleed them dry of everything but their mind.

The loathing Julia felt for the foster care system came from a family she met; the first and only family. After years in government housing with other children and a warden watched over like a prison or an orphanage for dirt-bag teens, she finally escaped into what child Julia thought of as pure paradise. A house, big and furnished, with two siblings, and two parents. Everything but a dog to make it one aspect short of the American dream. This happened when Julia reached the age of twelve, a tender yet rebellious age though she never had dreamed of being a punk in someone else's home. All felt right with the universe at the time, and she had not taken a single loss by switching from her rabbit-like life with all the other children to living like a Victorian. She would move to another school district and make a fresh start and be swarmed by friends, she thought, and have close bonds with every member of her family; especially the Mother. When little Julia stood outside the door, and it opened, a smell of sweetness came out of the threshold, but was immediately interrupted by the stench of a burning cigarette.

"Thanks for dropping her off," a hoarse voice croaked from the other side of the door. A woman dressed in a pink bathrobe that looked ravaged with holes and stains appeared in front of Julia. The smoke from her cigarette fell downwards and plagued her lungs with carcinogens.

The man who had delivered Julia like a package to the front steps had already descended them and made it half-way to his car by the time the woman grabbed Julia by her arm and made sharp impressions on her skin with the long nails on the manicured hand.

Without a second to breathe, especially not through the smoke, Julia was introduced to the family: George, the Father; Veronica, whom she already formed a negative first impression on, the Mother; George Jr., the son; and Lacy the daughter. Both of the siblings were around Julia's age, and they gave her the only spec of hope for sanctuary in the horror-esque asylum she seemed to be admitted to. Though, the children did not provide her company, nor did they befriend her and grace her with the luxury of social presence at school; instead they berated her and made her a laugh-stock to amplify their own popularity, and the bullying caught on with the rest of Julia's peers. Making fun of her became a sort of sport, like she was a thirty-five point buck roaming through the forest—except the forest was school, and school happened to be purgatory in itself.

Julia denied the fact that she was legally related to the two shitheads, despite riding the bus with them daily and many children vouching for falsehoods. At home, if it could have been called that, Julia worked like an indentured servant. Cleaning, organizing, and taking care of the many plants held in possession by George; which ultimately gave her the same love she has for nature in the future. He composed himself in a Fatherly manner, and became Julia's most enjoyed of the household—however his drinking developed more and more the longer Julia stayed in the house.

It started with a drink or two on the weekdays and eventually spiraled, as alcoholics do, into drinking before work then after work and with dinner and breakfast. Veronica combatted his habits for how quickly it tore through their savings. Julia, along with the other two children watched them fight. She hoped that George would kill Veronica, or disown his two biological children and kick them to the curb alongside Julia. Just so they would all feel how she felt living in that house, dead and left out in the cold; in the dark. But really Julia wished something violent would happen and be reported so she would be removed from the house and brought to another, gambling with her life like a poker game—God would surely have given her better cards the second time around. The cards never changed. The same hand, day in and day out, drove her into progressive madness and real hatred towards her foster family. Julia got a real job at sixteen years old, and by seventeen she had moved out completely with minimal financial help from the government. Unfortunately she had not moved out of the school district, and refused to not graduate high school due to other people—it would be her own choice if she had wanted to, not the pressure of a thousand others.

Another white-turned-brown petal dropped from the stem of the dead snowdrop flowers and Julia returned to her initial train of thought. Regret rose in her, for thinking that Brian's Mother could have been anything like what she experienced...

When Brian came back to the apartment, Julia heard the door open and close and he announced himself like he always did. The gesture brought a singular tear to her eye.

"Are you ready?" he said, as he stepped into her room that had fallen dark with the hours gone by.

"Yes," she replied.

They left thirty minutes before her first physical therapy session.