“Scarlette, are you even listening to me?”
I nod. The shock of learning that I have to join yet another family is still lingering within me. I hate this feeling, the anxiety of not knowing how the family will react to me. Will they like me? I know I am not a chid anymore, but that fear never leaves you. The constant feeling that you are not good enough and that at any moment they can get rid of you. I move from foster home to foster home, always drifting along. I don’t have a permanent place in this world and it looks like that will never change.
“I’ll go and grab my backpack,” I say.
Going up to my old and ratty room, I think of how long I’ve been here. Since the last family kicked me out I guess. Honestly, the only reason they got rid of me was because I can’t be happy all day long. Not everyone can plaster a bright fake smile onto their perfect face. So goodbye to me.
Grabbing the olive coloured backpack that was given to me when I first entered foster care, I put in everything that I claim as my own. I stuff in my extra clothes which consist of a well-worn-three-sizes-too-big gray sweater, and a pair of jeans that have far surpassed their expiry date. I take the journal in which I write everything, and tuck it safely into my backpack. I don’t ever leave without it. Not only is it a journal, but it’s my lifeline as well. It gives me motivation, a constant reminder of what I’m trying to achieve; perfection. I don’t have a photo of my family, because I don’t have one anyways. My “family” consist of the people whose house I stay in for a couple of weeks. They, much like myself, are temporary.
Making our way down to Lynn’s car, an old green Honda civic which has seen better days like 30 years ago, she continues on her old ways and lectures me about my attitude. Same old same old, can’t she come up with something new a bit more original?
“I’ll try harder this time,” I say. “I promise.”
She nods briskly and then the discussion is over. My answer was acceptable and so it’s time for silence. Many don’t understand the importance of comfortable silence, they believe it’s awkward. But sometimes a person just needs to be left with their thoughts, a void emptiness that washes over a person’s mind when they don’t have to struggle with thought of good conversation starters. It’s easy just to drift off into your own head and not worry about anything for just a second or two. It’s the only quiet a person truly ever gets.
It leaves time for me to think about all the “what ifs” of my life. What if my parents had never abandoned me? What if I had been that “perfect” girl everybody expects me to be? Would I have been adopted by now or would I still be in a similar situation as I am in now? I guess I will never know.
That’s the stupid thing about this world. You can’t go back to see the different outcomes that could have happened if situations were different. Before choosing a path, you can’t see which will bring you the most happiness, the least grief. You have to make the decision yourself, all alone, with no help from anybody. Some choices can destroy you, but you’ll never know until you have reached the very end and see the outcome. And by then it’s usually too late to alter your paths. You have new choices to make, new path’s to follow. You can’t dwell on the past. You have to move on until you can’t live any longer, until it’s too unbearable to continue living.
Some die trying to find their way to happiness, some eventually achieve it.
We will never know the “what ifs”. Because in life, there are no “what ifs”, you choose a path and you follow it until it comes up with a new set of trails or comes to a dead end. That’s the uncertainty of it. The only way to see who will survive is by continuing on a daily basis, until you can no longer go on.
Before long, we pull up onto a long perfectly smooth driveway the length of a football field. In the back sits a massive two story white brick house with black shutters framing its perfectness. A little wooden door, probably original with the house greets the entry to the house and the windows are symmetrically aligned in all directions for the most amount of sunlight to enter the inside. A fence encloses the back, allowing my imagination to run wild about all that is further beyond my line of vision. Rich people. I was about to enter a house, and live with rich people. Me, a poor little seventeen year old girl who didn’t have a family or a single cent, living with millionaires.
“Come on, close your mouth and get out of the car,” I am instructed.
Making our way to the front entry, my eyes never stray from the gigantic structure that stands before. Quickly, Lynn takes the stairs two at a time as if she is in a hurry to get rid of me and send the next kid to some sort of hell.
She reaches out to ring the doorbell but before her fingers touch the little plastic button, I stop her. “Is this the right place?” I ask her.
“Yes, Scarlette. This is it. Now let me ring this doorbell, and try to at least make yourself look somewhat presentable.”
She reaches out again to ring the doorbell, and this time I don’t stop her. She pushes down on the button and seconds later I hear loud barking coming from behind the door. A couple more seconds go by until I hear the sounds of footsteps. I hear the turning click of the lock opening. And then, the door opens.
