Hours later, we arrived at a dilapidated building. The lawyer led me inside. The room was brightly lit, with elegant white floors and a beautiful shade of red painted on the walls. Furniture lined the walls, from corner tables to polished wooden chairs. After a few more glances around the room, I realized this was a foster care agency. "Foster care?" I whispered to the lawyer.
"How'd you know?" he whispered back, surprised.
"The sign saying 'Brighter Futures Foster Care' gave it away," I whisper-replied. He laughed softly as he approached the help desk.
The lady sitting behind the desk wore sharp green glasses. They fell down her nose as she bent her head down to look at me. She narrowed her eyes before meeting her gaze with the lawyer. "Name?" she drawled. I could easily tell she had an opposite personality of the one she expressed. A natural talent of mine, I have been able to tell who has what personality since I took my first breath. One result of this talent was a horrid time my mother had, picking out a babysitter I would behave for.
"Finn Narswigger," the lawyer replied. At his last name, a snicker escaped me. Neither of them noticed.
"I meant the child's name, Mr. Finn."
Now. I am many things, but a child is not one of them. "Aha, I was joking with you there, Melinda. This is Trish." The lawyer then nodded smartly.
"Where are my parents?" The words left my mouth before I could think. The lawyer – no, Finn – gave me a questioning glance. I knew the answer to my question, I just couldn't accept it.
"Trish, hon, they're dead. Remember?" Melinda said slowly. The problem was, I did remember. I watched their final moments. Melinda cleared her throat when I didn't respond and got up from her seat. "Mr. Finn, you are free to leave. We have her information recorded already, we just need your signature."
Mr. Finn leaned over the desk, quickly scrawling a loopy signature on the paper she had slid over. He patted my shoulder before saying a quick good-bye. "Your belongings will be delivered soon," he told me before leaving. The room held an absence after his departure.
"Although this is an agency, we do have two units for new foster kids. The unit you will be put on has nine kids and six bedrooms. We try to keep two per bedroom, so a few bedrooms are locked down from shortage of children. The odd one out, I guess you could say, as nine is an odd number, will be your roommate. Come along." Her directness took me off guard as I quickly followed her out of the room and into another. This room was a long hallway, one that seems to never end. She walked me down the thick carpeting, passing several doors before stopping. She took out a pair of keys and unlocked the door. She opened it, turned towards me, and stepped out of the way. "This will be your room. During the day, bedrooms are locked. Some foster kids can earn their own keys to their room if they display signs of maturity and trustworthiness. I suspect you'll be here for a month or two to prepare you for your new life.
"Your roommate," she continued as we both stepped inside. "Her name is Aliyah." I took in the colors and shapes, seeing one neatly made and worn-in bed, and a plain white one. The room was not physically marked, but it was notably split in half. "She has a few emotional problems, and might need a few days to get used to you, but she is a perfect angel once you get to know her."
Great. I have an unstable roommate. Lucky me. "Um. Is she mental?" I inquired.
"She is no different than you. She is just wary of newcomers." I questioned their decision to room me with this person. "She was abused and physically bullied by others, which is why she is here. Her parents lacked the care she needed. You can either stay in this room," she began, changing the subject, "or follow me to the Day room."
"I think I will stay here. The white bed is mine, right?" At her nod, I made my way over to said bed and sat down on it. Melinda waited a few beats before walking out of the room. After a few seconds of looking around the room, I noticed a plain gray door that I figured was a bathroom. I got up and walked towards it, turning the lock-less knob slowly, as if a monster would pop out at me. Except nothing popped out. In words, I popped in.
A scream escaped my lips as I was surrounded by momentary darkness. All sounds but one were deaf to my ears. The one sound I heard sounded like a far away whisper. I could tell there were words, but I could not make them out. The darkness quickly dissipated and I was met by the view of my old home. I let out a cry of joy, seeing my parents in the window. They were alive! I could see mother cooking in the kitchen, with father napping in one of the kitchen chairs.. A grin spread over my lips and I ran to the door. A quick thought ran across my mind: Why don't I surprise them? I slyly moved over to the kitchen window and peeked in. My eyes widened in horror as my mother let out an ear-piercing shriek. I saw my father waking up and moving into action: jumping from his chair, lunging for a broom, fiercely trying to be rid the house of flames. The oven was on fire. "MOTHER!" I yelped. My fists bounced off the windows as they repeatedly hit the clear glass. Suddenly, lights flared and I instinctively ducked, just in time to hear a firetruck siren and a loud boom. My ears rang, unable to pick up the voices of the firemen flooding out of the firetruck. In a daze, I slowly moved to my feet as a young fireman came to my side. My eyes fell on the unsightly view in front of me: My house in flames, the aftermath of an explosion shedding its evidence all over the walls and floor.
Before the shock was over, I was back in the home. I covered my mouth as a sob escaped. Hot tears streamed down my face as I slid down the door leading to the "bathroom".
"Are you crazy?" a girl entering the room asked. She leaned against the door frame. "Do you want them to come barging in here and demand what's going on?" She sighed in exasperation. "Ugh. Duh. You're new. I'm guessing you're my new roomie?" Before I could answer she flopped on the other bed and stared at me. "Why are you crying?"
I sniffed and wiped my eyes. "My parents died," I blurted out, knowing I sounded and looked a wreck.
She didn't blink. This news was obviously the norm to her. "A shame, really. People shouldn't have to die." Both of our attention fixed on the door, where Melinda entered carrying a bag.
"Oh, Trish, you poor dear," Melinda cooed. She dropped the bag on the floor and hurried towards me. "Aliyah what did you do?" she scolded, turning her gaze on the other girl.
"I did nothing!" she protested, holding her hands up.
Melinda looked at me skeptically. "Alright. Here are your things. They just arrived." She bent down to pick up the bag and tossed it on my bed. "It has a few of your clothes, a book, hairbrush, toothbrush, and a blanket. I'm afraid nothing else survived the fire. We had to get you a new toiletries." She looked at me apologetically and I nodded.
"Aliyah, help Trish unpack and settle in. I am dreadfully busy." With that, she gave a parting wave and strolled out, almost casually.
I glanced at the girl; Aliyah.
She met my gaze, disbelief settling in her face before she walked over and opened my bag. "Let's do this." I gave a tiny smile as we dumped out my few articles of clothing and everything else Melinda had named.
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