Memento Vivere

Chapter One: Esperanza

Looking back at the apartment I've spent the past 6 months, 13 days and 2 hours of my life in, I feel nothing. Maybe I should, considering the family was significantly less horrid than the rest, maybe even decent. Hell, they tried to give me $20 bucks before I left- of course I refused it, so they settled on calling a cab for me, which I very well could've done myself. Then again, they may just be eager for me to get out of their hair. That's more likely, I decide.

The 3 story building is somewhere in between middle and lower class, not run down enough to be refused by the system, but certainly not nice enough to be, well, nice. The red brick is tastefully decorated with expletives and various renditions of male genitalia, as are the neighboring apartments.

The fire escape hangs over the stone like a mourning dress, drooping in some places, but I'm pretty sure it's sturdy. I've snuck out many nights via my window and the creaky black steps, and here I am still.

The chilly fall breeze wraps around me, bringing with it the familiar smell of exhaust and rotting leaves. The afternoon sun is hidden from view by a thick veil of stormy, grey clouds. I tuck my cold fingers into the pockets of my baggy sweatshirt and my eyes roam around for a couple of minutes, searching for something that will elicit any type of emotion- fear, sadness, joy, relief, anything. I sigh when nothing comes, though I'm not surprised at all. In a temporary world where you have no stability, no anchor to hold you down, no moon or stars to shed light in the darkness, no compass to guide and orient you, I've learnt that emotions are weapons that can and will be used against you. Attachment leads to separation. Trust leads to betrayal. And love ends in a broken heart.

A honk sounds behind me and I jump. "You coming?" the heavily accented cabbie asks impatiently. My stomach twitches, reality starting to sink in, but I don't turn around.

I'm 18. I've finally leaving. No more tense rides with social workers, the silence so thick you can cut it with a knife. No more awkward introductions, families to telling me to make myself at home when they and I both know that their home will never be mine. No more "Get me a beer", "Make me a sandwich" and "Have you changed the baby's diaper yet?" No more pitying gazes from teachers and parents. No more.

But where to now? I have about $2,000 that I've... collected, and I've already located a cheap car dealership. The owner is the boyfriend of a foster sister of mine who aged out a couple months ago. She said to mention her name and he'd give me a discounted price. It's in a rather seedy neighborhood, but a cheap car is a cheap car.

After that, I have no plans. I have no place to stay, though I assured my current social worker when he questioned me that I had found an apartment that would take me, clean and safe, for only $400 dollars a month! What a deal! I'm not sure if he's really so stupid that he actually believes me, or if he just doesn't want the added trouble of trying to figure something out for me.

"I have a job to do, Woman! Money to make, a family to feed!" the man behind me barks. "Are you getting in, or no?"

I close my eyes and shakily exhale through my nose, gathering my wits, then slowly open my lids and turn around to face the yellow cab. The plump man leans over the center console to peer questioningly out the window. I silently nod, then bend down to grab my small duffle bag holding all my "prized possessions", the cash stored in a side compartment.

I pull the door open, setting my bag on wrapper covered floor, then plop down on the hard leather seats. The inside is the sickly sweet, inescapable and suffocating scent that all cabs seem to have. I wonder if there's one air freshener or perfume they're all required to use. "Eau de paid transportation" or something. Crazier things have happened.