Cupid

My Past

We don't all get to choose what we want. We don't get to choice who we want to be. Or where we are. If something is chosen, it cannot be undone. The higher power tells all the commands. And we follow. Shame it is. I would of made the world a better place.

 My name is Gillian. My life is not normal. I don't ever remember being normal. I don't ever remember not thinking about love. Every second of everyday I wonder, what life could be like, if I helped people with romantic issues. It bothered me that it wasn't possible.

 When I was a little girl, I use to watch my parents getting into fights. They would yell at each other. Sometimes my father would throw objects at my mother. She wouldn't always dodge. I remember thinking that this isn't what love is about. This is not love. What my older sister, Jess had was love. Jess was three years older than me. She and her boyfriend would be in the backyard, enjoying one another's company, kissing, and saying the three little words that I loved so much. I love you. It was the three little words that kept the planet together, why everyone had hope to carry on with life. I grew up with none of that.

 My parents would destroy our little house. Rip everything apart, and destroy all the furniture. As a child all I did was watch them as they tried to kill each other. I didn't like one bit of it. This carried on for years. Never stopped. Constantly them saying that they hated each other, and that they wanted to kill one another. My sister provided me love. She would sometimes take me out with her, most of the time with her boyfriend. At least I was out of the house.

 Tragedy struck. A week after I had turned thirteen. My sister passed away. She died in a car accident. She died and her boyfriend survived. They were on their way back from a party. The boyfriend was drunk, and crashed into a truck. I didn't even remember his name. It was such a long time ago. All I remember is that my parents hated her boyfriend. Never spoke to him after the funeral. But I would still see him come around to the house and leave some flowers out on our front door step, every monday for about six months. Once he stopped I got sad. Did he forget about Jess? Had he moved on?

 Depression over took me. It over took my life. Everyday I would sit in my bedroom, which once was shared with my sister, and stare out side our window. It was never sunny on our corner of the world. It either rained or is was just gloomy. Everyday I would hear my parents yelling. Still never stopped. They argued about money, about the house, and about me. My mother would always threaten to leave my father. She never would, because of me.

 One day I decided enough was enough. I couldn't stand up to them. So I left. I left my home. I took some money out of my mother's purse, and left the house without a goodbye. Without them knowing. I took a step outside my house, and felt free. Free as a bird. It lifted my spirit up. They didn't even noticed that I had left. I walked left of the street with the endless road of houses. Walking barefoot wasn't easy. I walked never thought about going back. Three days had easily gone by. I was not in my little town anymore. I was in New York. I had taken a train and gone all the way to Brooklyn. A thirteen years old girl, living on her own in Brooklyn? That part scared me the most. What was I going to do? What was going to become of me? How was I going to live? I was on the streets for most part of my life. I walked everyday to somewhere. Life was so colourless now. It was bright and beautiful. I saw everything differently now.

 It was not the end, but the beginning. Everyday I would go to church were they give out food to the homeless. I guess you could say I was homeless. Social services never cared about me. I saw children getting pulled off the streets by adults. But never me. I guess they never cared. As different as it sounds.I turned fifteen, believe it or not but, I made my own little family. There was Gloria, she was a runaway like me. She reminded me of my sister, kind of looked like her too. Blonde hair, green eyes, pretty face. They were even the same age. And there was Barry, he was a little younger than me, about five years. He was like my little brother. He ran away from his foster home. We found a little abandoned basement somewhere in Brooklyn. We settled down there. There were old mattresses, and a lot of tools. There were tools all hung on the walls.

 At night we'd talk about our families. And how we use to live. Gloria's mom was a drug dealer, and men would come over to their house and drink until they passed out. Gloria told me one guy put his hands on her, and her mom didn't stop him. She cried when she told me and Barry. Her father had left her mom and her when she was born. He was also in the drug industry. Barry's life was interesting. He had moved to fifteen foster homes in the last two years. He didn't like any of the foster homes. His mother gave him up, since she was a teenager. He told me about one foster home. The parents were "rising stars" as they called themselves. They were a couple band, and sang terribly. Must of been awful to hear them shrieking every single day. Until this day I feel sorry for him.

 Our family was very close. Gloria went out and looked for jobs that did not require education, and I stayed at home and watched over Barry. Gloria would always come home with a loaf of bread, and we'd eat it together, as a family. We'd talk about our day, what we did, and mainly small talk. But somehow I never told them about my sister. I was very open about my parents, but not with my sister. Everyday we struggled to find enough money, enough food, and enough warmth. Gloria soon became tired. She became tired of having to help us. So one night she didn't come home. Barry and I waited for hours. She didn't come back the next day, or the day after that. I went out in search of her, and took Barry with me. Gloria was nowhere to be found.

 I tried to take care of Barry. It was a real challenge. He was so young, and so was I. I couldn't find  a job. Nobody wanted to hire me since I had no qualification, and I wasn't old enough. Barry became weak, he got ill. I had no money to cure him, or treat him. I turned to what I thought was best in our situation. I turned to social services. I went into their office, and asked for help. I held Barry's hand as he was in fear. He feared ever coming back here. But he was sick. He needed help. They separated us. He went to a nice couple. They seemed nice at least. The mom was a blonde, Ruth I think her name was, she was a artist. She made paintings and had her own galleries. They were beautiful. The father was really tall, dark hair with glasses. He was lawyer. They couldn't have kids so they adopted. They adopted Barry. Our family was broken. I never saw him after that. I was sent to foster home. They didn't care about me. Their home was a mess.

 Since they didn't care about me. I fended for myself. When social services would come to check on us. I would go to their house. Our little basement wasn't too far from the house. So I lived there. My foster parents would give me fifty bucks, for the week. I would by what I need, and get on with my life. I still had to go to school, but I was way behind. School didn't make sense to me anymore. I couldn't concentrate. Last time I went to school was when I was with my real parents. I was fifteen. I was made fun of a lot. School wasn't a nice place. Other kids called me emo, strange, weird. I just didn't fit in.

 I went through two years of that hell. It wasn't nice. I didn't make many friends. I didn't let anybody into my life. Its really sad. I wish I could. But I just can’t.