Wendy

bluberries and nuts

wenesdee rubin

age: 10

Lunch time passed by and nap time is next in schedule, everything was same as usual. After eating, I washed my plate and walked upstairs to my bed.

Some were prepping for their nap time, which only lasts for an hour. I sat at my bed, while I patiently try my best to close my eyes for rest.

The orphanage didn't have rooms for us to sleep in, instead they used the hallway and filled it with bunk beds and small closets. There was no such thing as privacy if we were about to sleep, which I got used to. We all saw each other sleep since we didn't have walls in between us. We all have the same set in each section, one bed, one closet and one mirror. Nothing else.

Kathy was at my left side, she usually mutters or sleep-talks at her sleep. Rarely drools at her pillow but snores like a grandpa. Good thing I can sleep through it. Erin is at my right side, the boy who requested the most pillows out of all of us, he has three while all of us only have one. He takes his time before he goes into sleep.
Takes a couple of arm stretching, neck-cracking, knuckle-cracking, yawning and of course, yoga. He takes an hour of his time every night, which is hilarious and annoying at the same time. I asked him once on why does he have to do that every night.

I wanna sleep peacefully.

I laughed. What a joke.

But impressively, he does sleep soundly at night. He used to nag everyday for new cushions and pillows because he needed to sleep peacefully. And he does sleep peacefully. No snores, no drooling, no sleep talking. Total opposite of Kathy.

I sit on my bed, looking at everybody who's minding their own business. I begin to slid my hand underneath the cushions and pull out the grey cloth.

It was about eleven inches long. Plain gray with the year "1998" written unto it. I guess it was mom who gave it to me. Or should I say, left it to me because it was dirty.

I hate recalling things about my abandonment. I know I was handed over here when I was literally three weeks old with the same gray cloth and a paper that apparently said "Wendy". I didn't bother knowing who my mother was. Who is she anyways?

Some kids here were abandoned at the age of four or six which makes them harder to adjust in a new environment, since they have memories with their parents while the others doesn't even have any significant memories with them, which makes them totally fine to live in the orphanage. I'm part of the second one.

Sister Anne gave me the gray cloth a few months back. I remember that she was slightly emotional, saying the classic "Your biological mother left this for you" type of shit

I didn't actually made it a big deal, I was seven and had no idea that parents were a thing. I remember staring at the gray knitted cloth and just used it to wipe the crumbs off my lips. Time passed and I'm still feeling the same thing since I was seven or even younger

I never really thought about my mother, or who she was or what she did or why she did it. Why will I think about it anyways? She left me at the orphanage to probably rot and faint. She wouldn't even think about me even once. So why will I think about her too?

Take note that she left me and I think it's fair to leave her out of my life too. Who is she anyways?

A total nobody.

I'd presume that she's a high schooler who accidentally had a baby and had the genius idea to put her in a orphanage. And it was a great idea, the best idea. I also hate it when some kids mention her as a bullying trick for me to get down to my knees and cry. It doesn't work. She does fly around in my head, I do sometimes wonder about them but I never wanna discover who they really are. It'll just mess up my head somehow. Even though I don't have any emotional attachment with my biological parents, I still try and keep the knitted gray cloth just because it does have pretty cool patterns and it's also very cottony.