When I was 14, we had two foster kids a 9 year old boy, Gale, and 7 year old Isabelle. I knew both of them pretty well, we had fostered them before, but only for a weekend or so. This time they had been living with us for about six months, the longest they have ever stayed with anyone really.
One day my mom had to go to the hospital to go visit her sick brother in law, so she told me the night before she said she would give me $20 if I watched them while she was gone. I said yeah. 20 bucks is a nice amount of money, especially for a 14 year old.
The next morning I woke up early to get games and activities ready for the day. But by the time I got up at 6:30 am, my mom was already gone, and Gale was fixing himself some oatmeal for breakfast. Mind you, Gale was 9 years old at the time, and had a unsettling lust for dangerous things.
"Hey Gale, whatcha doing?" I ask walking into Kitchen. Oatmeal was all over the floor and counters.
"Making breakfast for Belle and me." He was facing away from me, stirring his oatmeal. The burner was set all the way to HI.
"Its okay buddy, I can make breakfast. Go and play or something?" I say reaching up to take the spoon from his hand.
He smacks my hand. "I know how to FUCKING cook!"
WHAT!! Something that you need to know about my family, is that we are VERY Conservative Christians. Cussing is a no no, always has been. I began to panic, was I gonna have to deal with him. I didn't know how to do that!
"What?!" I say, a little taken aback.
"I always cook for me and my sister." He turn back to his oatmeal. Suddenly I smell it. The beautiful aroma of melting plastic. I look to where the microwave is beeping.
"My hot dogs are ready!" He hops off of his step stool racing to the microwave before I can.
"Hot dogs? Gale, its 7 in the morning, we don't eat hot dogs for breakfast." He walks back from the microwave, acting as if a plate of incinerated processed meat and liquid tupperware is a normal thing to encounter on a Wednesday morning.
"Cool." he says putting the whole rotating microwave plate thing on the table.
"No, not cool! You need to throw that away and clean up the mess in the kitchen." I say, trying my best to sound like my dad.
He glares at me. "You cant make me, you're not Miss Kate or Mr. Rob. So I don't have to listen to you." Then, he smiles, and points his little sausage like finger over my shoulder towards the stove.
"Are you gonna get that?" he says with a laugh.
My heart drops as I see the stove top up in flames. I rush over and put it out with the fire extinguisher. At the bottom of the pot was a clump of chard oats, no water, just oats.
"What is wrong with you?" i say turning back to him, but the hes gone, along with his melted hot dog bowl.
