Storytelling. I've always loved it. How with a few words you can weave a tale of love, misery, or sadness. Like an artist painting a picture. And I was fascinated with this art. Yes, I call it an art. People always said that I had a gift with it.
I lost that gift. It's still there, of course. I've lost the way of conveying my stories. I can't speak. You can't know why, not yet anyway. My past is a roiling pot of turmoil. Nothing will ever change that. Ever. Doesn't mean I can't hide it though. But as all of us know, secrets can't be kept forever.
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I wake up to a bright yellow room. Today's the day. I watch as the sun slowly rises, changing the sky from night to it's lighter counterpart, daytime. Like people, light and dark. But people switch faster than a blink of an eye.
I dress in my usual jeans, t-shirt, and vans. I put my hair into a braid down my back. I pack my clothes, books, notepad, whiteboard, and flash cards into a backpack. I pull on a jacket and quietly walk downstairs. After considering it for a few moments, I take some crackers, granola bars, and a bottle of water. I slowly open the front door and shut it softly but firmly behind me.
I figured out a long time ago that when I'm trapped I'll do whatever it takes to be free again.
I set out for what feels like the millionth time away from a foster parent. I begin my short walk to the town nearby. It's really only half a mile away. I quickly make my way to the bus stop, catching the earliest one. This bus goes to the next town over, about 18 miles away.
I settle down in a seat for the short journey. I pull out a map showing the different bus stops. I had the good fortune to find it at the stop. I look it over, memorizing the bus numbers I had to take in order to get to the city. I checked my emergency money. Over $900. Don't worry, a 15 year old can get a job if she wants to.
I leaned my head against the window, watching the scenery flash by. Soon I would be in New York. I want a new start. You are the author of your life. If you're sick of the same old story, change it. Well, that's what I was doing.
Someone from the front of the bus gets up and starts moving down the aisle. I think nothing of it until they sit down next to me.
"Hi! I'm Jess!" Said the very excited and friendly girl. She was skinny, and had pretty dirty blonde hair like me, but hers was darker. She also had blue eyes, but they didn't compare to my large green ones. She could've been around my age too.
"What's your name?" She asked. Oh, you just had to ask.
I take out my whiteboard and write "Sam" in small handwriting. She looks surprised, obviously.
"If you don't mind me asking.." She begins, but I know what's coming.
*Can't talk. It's my vocal chords*
"Oh that makes sense. Sorry, I had to ask. So where are you going? I'm going to New York!"
I point to myself to show that I was going there too.
"Wow!" Jess said, "That's so cool! Here, have some chocolate." She pulls out a chocolate bar and we split it. In the ride there, we learn more and more about each other. Even though there's a communication problem, I feel we got around it. It almost seemed as if Jess knew what I was thinking. I have a friend. She's sweet, she's nice. She doesn't care that I'm different.
I feel like I can be myself.
