The obnoxious sound of my alarm clock was ringing in my ears. Dread filled my body. I did not want to leave my only escape from my foster home, my dreams.
Opening my eyes, I shut off the alarm. It was 5:00 am. I listened to the breathing that filled the tiny room in Mrs. Carol's apartment. I am not sure how Mrs. Carol managed to fit five of us in the small, square shaped room, but she did. I am the oldest, fifteen, so I do not share a bed with the other foster kids. Across from me there are two bunk beds. One of the bottom bunks was holding Clarice, the oldest of the four who was ten. Clarice was tall for her age and was very strong willed. Her long, dark brown hair was lying delicately around her pillow as she dreamed, hopefully of places better than this. Next to her is May, a small petite five year old with short blond hair. She was clutching her beat up Raggedy Anne doll and whimpering in her sleep. The poor little girl always had nightmares. Most nights she woke up screaming and would crawl into bed with either me or Clarice while we told her a story. Above May was Drew. Drew was a 9 year old boy. He was hateful, always getting into trouble, and ungrateful for the little things that we had. Not that I blame him. Living the life that he has lived drove him into the dark cloud that he lives under. His twin sister, who is in the top bunk next to him, was named Lucille. She never talked, only to her brother. She never left his side. She had her brothers auburn hair and freckles, though her hair was long and ran down her back, while his hair came just above his eyes.
I could hear Mrs. Carol moving around in the room across from ours. I quickly dragged myself out of bed. I tried to get myself and the kids to school before she came out of her dingy disgusting room. Mrs. Carol was an alcoholic and could be violent at times. She never worked so we barley got by. We lived off the money she got from fostering us. Even that money wasn't enough, so I had to work late at night at the market across the street.
I bend down next to Clarice's bed. "Clare, it's time to get up." I nudge her shoulder. Slowly, she opens her eyes and gets out of bed without a word and throws a pillow at Drew's head, then walks to the corner of the room to grab the bucket that was lying in the corner of the room. She knew the drill. Every morning Clarice and I take turns cleaning the foul mess Mrs. Carol makes in the bathroom every night after drinking, so that we are able use it.
Drew yawned and reached over to nudge Lucille. They both crawled down, off their bunks and left to get the paper and other groceries from the market across from our apartment building for Mrs. Carol. I woke May up quietly. She opened her eyes, which looked sad and frightened and it broke my heart. Four year old girls should not go through the things May had to go through. Life at the orphanage may be hell, but Mays life before it was much worse.
I picked May up and carried her into the kitchen. While I started to make breakfast, or the tiny bit of oatmeal that we had in the cabinet, May lays out plates and spoons on the small circular table. As I am putting small helpings of oatmeal onto the plates, Clarice comes in and sets down quietly. And begins eating. We don't do much talking in the morning. Not that Mrs. Carol would hear us of we did because of how hungover she is.
When Clarice, May and I finish eating, Drew and Lucille come in and set the groceries on the counter and begin to eat. I do the dishes while Clarice puts the small amount of groceries away. We take turns washing up in the bathroom. By then it is 6:30 and we leave to walk to school. Our school has a daycare next door. It is cheep enough so that I can pay to keep May in it with some if the money I make at work. She enjoys it and I can't leave her at the foster home alone.
This was basically our routine every day. It's how we survived and we did it together. Drew may be ungrateful but he helped out when he needed to. Mostly for Lucille. We were family, even if it wasn't by choice. We needed each other.
