The MatchBook Girl

Before that fucked up Foster Home.

I remember a lot of loud beeping. Some nurses rushing past in blurs of white. Gurneys squeaking. And my moms flat lining.

I was seven.

Watching my mother pass with no one else to cling to. No grandma. No uncles. No aunts. My shit father left two years before. I was alone.

I could see my reflection in the metal cabinet next to my moms bed. My face was tear streaked. Red. Puffy. My pig tails my mom had put in only hours before were crooked form pulling on them. I looked down at the little black Mary-Janes on my tiny feet.

Ever since that night I'd hated those shoes.

I wanted to run away from the image of my dying mother. But I was rooted to the ground in those disgusting little Mary-Janes.
I wanted to walk to my mom and hold her hand. But those ugly little, black suede, strapped shoes were glued to the ground.

For once, I didn't actually hate my father  I missed him. I can't remember anything about him now but I have a vague feeling that I remembered at that moment.

The memory of a loud shriek filled my ears. It was my mother. My beautiful mother. Her long golden brown hair stuck to her neck and her checks from the sweat. Her eyes were the mirror of pain that radiated through her body.

At that shriek. I ran. I ran until my lungs hurt. I ran until those disgusting shoes made me slip and fall. I remember bawling like the baby I was. Screaming for my mom. From what I got from the doctors, the second I screamed her name she died.

She died.

She was gone.

I was an orphan.

Later that night I found out I had no more family.

I was the last of my family.

The Foster Care Center told me they'd send me to a home that did be loved. Being the brat that just lost her last family member, I didn't believe it.

Somewhere around my 11th birthday, I fell in love with fire. I carried around my favorite kind of matches; Blue Tigers. The matches my mom used to light the apple candles she made.

Around 13 I stuck them in between my lips as if it were a cigarette. All the foster families I went to tried to ween me from the habit; if I didn't have on in my mouth I was rude, mouthy I tried to take control of myself like I was already an adult. It be came an addiction.

I went through more than a dozen homes, none of them could deal with my matches and the worn out zippo in my pocket. Finally at the ripe old age of 16 I settled with a family in a trailer park. Some how this retched family was able to pass inspection and I was stuck there for years until couple weeks ago. Now I'm sitting in the passenger seat of the car of the person I loved more than fire; Xavier.

Yeah yeah. I bet you wanna know more. But to tell you what we're doing in this old 1980-something mustang, I need to start on Tuesday, October 1st 2022. I'll apologize in advance.

-Addie Jo V.