Unwanted Child

Real v. Biological

Ms. Iris came weekly to pick me up for a visit with my biological mother, Annette. Part of me wanted to see her; the other part wanted to pretend she didn't exist. I was angry and hurt. Every time she said "I love you," I wanted to slap her. How could you leave someone you love?

I looked at this woman who called herself my mother. I wanted her to love me desperately. "You'll be back home with me in six months," she told me for the billionth time. I had been hearing this for over a year by now. I was beginning to doubt I'd ever live with her again. Where will I end up? Is anyone ever going to love me? Is there something wrong with me? I felt unlovable around her.

***

Being with my foster parents, I began to feel part of a family. Mr. James spent time with me when he could. He would take me for rides in his white Chevy pickup. This truck was loud and older than I was, but I looked forward to those trips. Whether we were going to the store or just for a ride down the road, I felt like I was on top of the world.

Amy time he went to his workshop, I'd go with him. He gave me my first hammer, a short wooden handled one just the right size for me. He also gave me some nails and scraps of wood. "I better not hear any crying if you hit your finger," he told me with a grin.

Of course, I hit my index finger one day while trying to nail two boards together. Mr. James looked at me. I bit my lip as I fought back tears. Mr. James walked over to me. "Let me see," he said, holding out his hand. I placed my hand in his. "Can you bend it?"  I tried to bend it. It hurt, but I could move it. I nodded. "You'll be okay," he reassured me as he patted my back.

On Friday nights, while Mr. James was at work, I would cuddle with Mrs. Edina and watch movies. I enjoyed this one-on-one time.

During the summer, we went on vacations together. RV camping in North Georgia with one of Mrs. Edina's brothers, and driving cross-country to visit Mr. James's parents in Southern California were my favorites.

Riding in the back of their Dodge Caravan, I looked out the window to see a vast desert. "Welcome to Arizona," a huge sign read as we drove by. We were heading to the Grand Canyon.

As we arrived, I jumped out of the van, anxious to see this canyon. I walked up to the edge of the canyon, peered over the edge of the banister, and turned to Mr. James. "Where's the canyon?" I  asked, thinking I was looking at the mountains.

"It's right in front of you," he chuckled. I blushed, feeling stupid. He patted my back, letting me know it was alright.

***

I was excelling at school; I even enjoyed it. I also began to participate in extracurricular activities. I tried t-ball when I was six and seven but became bored with it.

My favorite activity was art. I loved to draw, paint, and create. Mrs. Edina even enrolled and paid for me to take an after-school art class. I looked forward to this and was actually pretty good at it. I was beginning to find ways to express myself without using words.

Despite all the fun and good memories I was creating, I still had a fear of being taken away. The nightmares changed but never ended. I had no idea where my brothers were; I only knew they had been privately adopted. They had a permanent family; I did not. I was still just a foster child.

Many times, I'd talk to Mrs. Edina about my brothers. "I miss them and don't know where they are. I want to see them, to make sure they're happy." I would say.

She would always listen and hold me while I cried. "I'm sure they're just fine. They were adopted and live with new families. I know you miss them. Once they turned 18, you can look for them."

Her words were comforting, but I was still lonely.

***

I sat alone in the corner. He was hurting her again. My cousin, my friend, crying. But I couldn't save her. He was supposed to take care of us. Why did he force us to take off our clothes? Why did he pin us down on the bed with his naked body? Why couldn't he just be our grandfather?

I woke up, trying to catch my breath. My sheets were soaked with sweat yet again. Why was I having dreams of being raped by my grandfather? I remembered Ms. Iris telling me that my grandparents' house wasn't safe anymore, but she never told me why. What really happened? Were these dreams suppressed memories?

I tried to relax, but couldn't stop crying. I finally cried myself back to sleep. The next day, I asked Mrs. Edina why I was moved from my grandparents' house. She told me that my cousin had made allegations against my grandfather, saying he had raped her. I asked if he had done anything to me. She said no, that I would remember it if he had.

"But I had a dream about it," I told her.

"You must have overheard someone talking about it. You have a very active imagination," she said as she walked away.

I didn't understand why she wouldn't listen. Maybe I was making it up. Then why are my dreams so vivid, so detailed?

That night was the same. "If you tell anyone, they won't believe you. You're just a stupid child." His voice rang in my mind. "Just do as you're told. Be a good girl for Papa." He grabbed me and pulled up my dress. He never entered me, he just touched me as he pleasured himself.

I woke up in tears. No one believed me because there was no physical evidence on my body. I had invisible scars, and I hated him for it.

I decided to never talk about it again. I was getting too close to Mrs. Edina. I just knew that she would leave and betray me like everyone else; I was a mistake, a waste of time and space. Why would anyone love someone with so much baggage? I had to pretend like everything was fine. I had to be the perfect child without getting too attached. I could be forced to move at any time. I couldn't afford to get comfortable. So I built an emotional wall.