Siblings

Grace

It’s great to get called out of the middle Spanish. To hear that things have just gotten to a sense of ‘normally’ then your parents go and fuck everything up just like they did countless times. With no matter how many times they look you in the eyes and tell you that they messed up and that they're sorry and that it will never happen again, they turn around and do it again. Sixteen years of this endless cycle, and I’m sick of it. Sick of all the lies, abuse, and yelling.
    We go into the conference room and my sibling and I sit on on side of the table, while everyone else sits on the other half. We have been here since Pre-school, they all know the deal with our parents, so I think they are just as shocked as the rest of us that we are called here yet again. None. No surprise at all. On the opposite side of the room is the principle, an officer: who I can’t see the last name of, the counselor, and Mary, our agent for the foster system. Mary is like the mother we never had, but we do have a mother you might say. It's like having a ghost of a mother. Since all the accidents we had ghost for parents that only brought us pain.
    “We have bad news about your parents,” the officer says softly.
    “Shocker,” Nora mumbles, and Leo wraps her in a warm embrace, like a mama bear protecting her cubs. Leo is like the mama bear of the family. I remember the first time dad went to jail Savanna got bullied by some jerk, and Leo beat the living Jesus out of him. Leo was suspended for two weeks, but we failing got a smile out of Savanna. That summer Savanna grew a foot and started working out with Leo and me. No one messed with her since, or messed with the Wilson household for that matter. That was three years ago, and Mom and Dad have gone to jail multiple times since that, and Mom went to jail before that day as well.
    “Your parents have gone to jail,” the officer continued. I yawn. Old news.
    “What did they do this time,” Chase asks.
    “Reckless driving, driving while intoxication, and….” He trails off
    “And…” I gesture my hand
    “Assault,” I want to make a sassy remark about that they have been beating us since we could walk, but I don’t.
    “You will be put into the foster system, but we don’t have a home at this current moment, so you will have to live at the Adoption Center,” we all sigh in unison. The Adoption Center Mary is referring too is a three story house that splits us up, and treats us like we are all lost six year olds. With strict rules, the good part about living at home is that Mom and Dad didn’t care about us so we could leave whenever we wanted, but there we have certain hours and certain places with strict consequences if you didn’t follow the rules.
    “Are we leaving early, we normally do whenever this happens?” I ask,
    “Yes, you guys need to pack up your things and I’ll drive you Adoption Center to pack,” Mary proclaims.