Adopted by the Avengers

Average Life in an Orphanage

I never thought I would find myself saying these words, but here they are; it's hard being thirteen. When most people hear those words, I'm never rewarded with more than a stare of disbelief or a mere chuckle at my whining, followed by the usual comment of how I need to 'just wait until I grow up'. Then I tell them that I've been living at an orphanage for six years. The look of shock and sudden regret of their word choice plastered onto their face both amuses and angers me. Thirteen years of age is a world renowned milestone of inner struggle, self discovery, and personal growth, all mixed in with a sense of helplessness, no direction, and complete and utter confusion. After all, how are you supposed to figure things out when you don't even know yourself?

My day starts off exactly the same as any other mediocre day I've lived since I've been here. Same old room, same old people, same old me. A rare sliver of light streams through my window from between the buildings of Long Island. The orphanage isn't located directly beside New York, but its looming buildings are visible in the distance when the weather is clear. By the creaky floor boards and dusty curtains, it doesn't take Einstein to figure out whether we live in upstate Long Island or not.

The alarm clock on my bedside table decides to interrupt my tranquil moment with its blaring noise, and almost on cue is followed by the shrill voice of a British woman calling me downstairs for breakfast. The voice belongs to Mrs. Tyson, the middle aged lady who runs the orphanage and acts like the foster mom that most of us have never had.

After making my way to the dining table, a murmur of good morning's fills the sleepy atmosphere. There are plenty of kids here at the orphanage, it's just that hardly anyone ever gets adopted since we're not a well known place and we have such a low budget.

Mrs. Tyson's orphanage didn't come into existence until nearly ten years ago, considering she started it after her moderately wealthy husband bit the dust unexpectedly. He had never wanted to have children, a thing which Mrs. Tyson had yearned for but chose her husband over starting a family, therefore when he died, Mrs. Tyson turned the large house she'd been left into an orphanage. Although the setup is sufficient, the budget is so low because we rely on the little money we get from the government, yet Mrs. Tyson keeps the mood cheery on her own nonetheless.

"Alright everyone, I've got some news!" Mrs. Tyson begins and by the excited tone of her voice, it's definitely good news that she's going to share. "We have visitors coming today! I want you all on your best behaviour, to use your manners, and to be nice children, not a bunch of little toe rags. Can you remember that this time, Malcolm?"

She smiles and narrows her eyes jokingly at a small blonde boy, around the age of six, whose grin mirrored hers through his embarrassment. "As soon as you've finished eating, go and get yourselves ready to meet them. Clean your rooms too just in case they want to go upstairs and take a look!"

I finish my breakfast quickly and head back to my room to get ready, contemplating the probability of being adopted. There are thirty-one people at the orphanage hoping to be adopted today including myself, but for the sake of simple math, I normally round it down to thirty. If a visitor is confirmed to adopt one child from Mrs. Tyson's orphanage and there are thirty children, one divided by thirty, then multiplied by one hundred equals just over three percent. My chance of being adopted today is about three percent. Great. I nod to myself and make my bed, ensuring that my math checks out before throwing on the nearest clothes.

Feeling satisfied with my room, I enter the smaller bathroom of the two that we all have to share and see my reflection in the fingerprint covered mirror. My body frame looks hollow in the harsh lighting of the bathroom compared to the rest of the house.

Loud banging suddenly echos through the walls, causing me to jump in surprise and cover my head in instinct. Realizing it's the visitors knocking at the door, I regain my posture and look at myself in the mirror again, my hands shaking by my side.

"It's not real, it's not real, it's not real," I whisper to myself, calming my hands eventually and take a deep breath.

As soon as I reach the bottom of the stairs, I turn to go get Mrs. Tyson, only to find her around the corner already unlocking the door.

"Hello! Please do come on in!" Mrs. Tyson chimes warmly with her trademark motherly smile. "How is everybody? Most of the kids are still getting ready, but as soon as they are I'll send them in one at a time, is that alright?" She continues speaking to the visitors about random things, entertaining them until she gets something sorted out.

I hurry back around the corner, not wanting to be the first to meet the newcomers. Thinking I had gotten away, I manage to get halfway back up the stairs until Mrs. Tyson walks by.

"Oh, Charlotte! I thought you might be ready!" Without time to protest, Ms. Tyson shoos me into the living room with the guests.

~H