Author's Note: The story will be told in many different points of view. Look under the chapter name to find out who is "telling" the story in a chapter. If no name is listed, is it in 3rd person.

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Finding Fiesel

The Foster Child

-Fiesel-

"Get out of here you dirty rotten runt!" Gayle shouted and she shoved me right out the front door of the house and into the mild rain storm. My foster mother didn't like me to say the very least. To be honest, nobody did. I was nothing but a lonely, parentless, girl who couldn't take care of herself. The dark haired, dark eyed girl who bad luck was attracted to. The girl that didn't know happiness for the longest time, until she was 10 years old.

Gayle was my foster mother, or rather, my slave driver. She didn't like me and I didn't like her. All she did every day was sit on the couch, eat half of her own weight in nacho cheese, and watch the Price is Right for hours upon hours. After being fired from 6 jobs in the same year for laziness, lack of work ethic, and showing up to work drunk too many times, she called it quits. After her most recent job, the cash clerk at Howard Johnson's, she finally gave up all hope of a career and decided to take it upon herself to make my life as absolutely awful as possible. As if being a foster child wasn't bad enough, right? Truthfully, I don't know why Gayle is in the position she is in right now. She knows as well as I do that she could have a great career right now. After all, she graduated as the Salutatorian of her class in high school in 81. She was offered many scholarships to several great colleges, but I after she had her heart broken a boy named Greg, she refused to do anything good with her life anymore.

I pounded my cold, wet fists on the smooth surface of the wooded and trimmed front door. Nobody opened it to let me in. Finally, I kicked the door in frustration and gave up. I stood in the rain and thunder on the ground wearing my skin tight shorts, two- sizes-too-small T-shirt, and torn-apart sandals. I was at about this point I was starting to see how poorly I was being treated with these people. Knowing that I wouldn't get back in the house for now, I started walking down the street, wrapping my arms around myself for warmth, and more importantly, for comfort.

Gayle's husband, Ray, was just about the identical, but male, version herself: Lazy, uncaring, but actually not as mean. Born in Mexico and raised legally in East LA, this guy wasn't exactly the best person to become friends with. He didn't exactly treat me splendidly, but he didn't act as though I was a useless waste of time, as did Gayle. He just didn't want anything to do with me. Ray was a terribly bad smoker and even worse drinker. Every night he could be found at the bar, passed out on the bar stools. It amazes me that this man, this disgusting and very unappealing man, could keep his job as a stock-broker. He must've been doing something right, I suppose.

As for myself, I'm Fiesel Wilson, but with these people, my foster parents, I was Fiesel Rodriguez, and I didn't like it. Although I didn't live with my birth parents anymore, I still lived in my birth town; A hustle-bustle Florida city on the coast. I had never moved out of this town, which I am thankful for because I do really love the city itself. It carries some of my fondest memories of my life, and trust me, there aren't many.

I turned back to see how far away I was from my not-so-humble abode. To my dismay, it was still in clean sight. The little ugly yellow house with most of the paint chipped off in places. It was the only house in the neighborhood that really brought everything down. Not because it was smaller than the rest, just because it was so atrocious. I continued my walk to get away from that place. I didn't know where to go, but I would find somewhere to keep me busy. I continued down the street trying to force my hand into my pockets that were a little bit too small for them to fit into. I was actually kind of surprised that my hands didn't fit into my pockets, however. It is possible that the wetness from the rain could've made a difference, but hopefully not. At my age, I was underweight, shorter than average, and was the only fourth grader who could pass for a first. Maybe I was growing! I sure hoped so.

I passed my school while on route to the park. "Meadowlark Elementary School" was in big bronze letters above the door way inside. While most of my classmates weren't fond of school, I would pick school over home any day. At school you have peers, fun, and you can learn. At my home I don't have any of that. Although my school was the smallest elementary school in the school district, it was probably one of the nicest. It had good teachers and a good curriculum. I liked it. I didn't have tons and tons of friends at this school, but I had one very good one: Jorrie McDowell. Jorrie was a girl my age but was in a grade above me. She was very understanding and very kind to me and most importantly she was the only person at school who knew how much I disliked the situation I was in. Around other people I tried to avoid talking about home life, but I was okay with it when talking to Jorrie. Although Jorrie had never seen the inside of my home, I had seen hers. With her doctor parents and wealthy uncle, she was living the rich life, but she was never stuck up about it or arrogant to others. She treated everybody with the same respect that she treated her parents with. How I wish I could say the same about myself. I was worried about next year because I would be in 5th grade, but Jorrie would move on to middle school and I wouldn't have my closest friend near by. Well, at least it would only be for one year, right?

After another several minutes of trying to dodge rain drops from making contact with my deep freeze cold skin, I finally decided to seek shelter under an awning near Emerson Park. While there, I stumbled upon a man, an elderly man. He had no hair, and wore some funny looking glasses. He sat quietly on a red wooden bench, smoking his cigar. When at last he noticed me standing in front of him, he sheathed his smoking tools immediately and addressed me. "Shouldn't you be in school, kid?" He asked in a friend and warming voice.

I smiled. "No, it's spring break," I replied. The elderly man stopped and thought for a moment.

"Well I tell you, I remember spring break well. Twas the best time of the year for me." I had seen this man here at the park many times before, but never before has he addressed me or have I ever a had a reason to address me. Honestly, it was kind of awkward for me, but I did my best to just get around that. He coughed and old smokers cough, which sounded very similar to Ray's and stood up. He began to leave when we walked up to me and handed me a brown wooly object. "It looks like you need this a bit more than I do," he said as he put it in my hands and walked off to a car parked on the side of the road. I gently unfolded the wooly blob he gave me, and soon discovered it was a sweater with the words "Hamitok Lake" stitched on the front in bright blue letters.. It was far too big for me, but without any duo, I thanked him sincerely and put it on, wrapping it around myself several times to get the most warmth I could. I took another look at the man, probably in his late 70's. For the first time in a while, I was smiling naturally. Knowing that somebody was there for me, for just this one moment, really made my day better. I smiled and looked into the grey sky and then when I looked down, I lost my happiness as quickly as it came. I saw his cigar ashes lying on the ground. Seeing those there made me think of my father, who died from lung cancer.

Although I vaguely remember him and I only have one picture to remember him by, Ray tells me that my dad, my biological dad and his cousin, was a great man. He did all sorts or things and helped all sorts of people. He worked as an actor for plays, musicals, and was trying to work his way into New York. Obviously, this didn't happen. Nobody knows how far he could've gone, but just by asking around about Derek Wilson, somebody was bound to know who you were talking about.

I got up from the red rigged old bench and walked some more once I noticed that the rain was appearing calmer. I went over to the colorful playground that was actually made for small children and toddlers, but still provided me with most of my entertainment that I couldn't get by staying with Gayle and Ray. I was still small enough for most of the things the playground had. Some of my happiest memories were on this blue and green playground. Although I never played with anybody, it was still fun for me. Most of the only fun I could ever find. Quite often, I would climb up the slide and sit at the top of it and just look around at the peaceful park. I was slowly starting to outgrow it, which kind of made me happy to know that I am closer to leaving Gayle behind.

I couldn't swing anymore, because all the swings were infant swings, which I knew perfectly well I could fit into, but because of social embarrassment I never swung on them, except on the rare occasions when I really wanted to swing. I couldn't use the monkey bars because my feet would now touch the ground, which surprised me because I'm only somewhere in the 4 foot area. I would use the teeter-totter, but I didn't have anybody to go with, so most of the time, I just stuck to the slide.

I glanced over through the mild rain and looked at the park, the massive park that was as big as my whole neighborhood. I looked at all the trees, and never before had I noticed how all the trees came together, almost as if like a miniscule forest. I looked at it some more and also spotted, for the first time, a path that led into this mess of tress, shrubs, and bushes. I quickly slid down the slide, ran passed the swings, jumped over a small ditch, and found myself standing in front of this darkened path. I was strongly drawn to this place. Just standing near it, I could feel the majestic mystique the forest presented.

I slowly trotted down the dirt path into more and more trees and bushes. I used my forearm to shove away the branches that seemed to pop out of nowhere or hit me. I went farther and farther in until no longer could I even see the entrance from which I came in. I stopped for a moment to listen. Very near by, I could hear the gentle babble of water flowing. The birds that raced through the sky could be heard high in the treetops. All sorts of things in this place which I never had seen before was there. The dirt path ended as I entered a quite place.

This place was beautiful and great. There were all sorts of flowers blooming in all sorts of places. Blue Bells, Amaryllis and many more that I didn't know. I looked upward at the high canopy of trees above me. In only few place I could see the small beams of sunlight piercing the tops of the trees and illuminating the Earth, almost as if highlighting it. I could also hear the river more distinctly now. I followed the sound it was making and within no time at all, found myself standing over a large river at the very side of the small forest. From here I could see outside the tress and I realized that I was incredibly close to the interstate. I looked around outside to see if I knew where I was. I recognized the gas station near the highway and I knew where it was. I took a minute to think and finally realized that I was really far away from home. And I liked it.

I ventured back in to the natural sanctuary. I found a part of the river that leaked and flowed through the trees and decided to follow it. This part of the river was tiny, and could almost be looked at as a long puddle. I walked along it until I came to a small stone bridge that led across it and a bigger ditch. Carefully walking over the bridge, I could almost see shapes on the bushes. When I got closer, All emotion escaped me and familiarity took its place.

At this dead end, there were bushes aligned with berried on them that seemed almost like cherries. I remember distinctly one picture from my family photo album that was always my favorite. The picture was of me as a baby and my mother sitting on a tree stump feeding me these berry-like things. My face was rosy cheek-to-cheek red, and written on the picture in black sharpie letters was written "Sugarblush".

I looked at the ground and saw a single stump. I again saw the berried on the bushes. Was this where I had my "sugarblush"? Was this the place from my picture? I was too curious to find out. There was a way to see, but I wasn't sure it would work. I gingerly reached my hand out to the bush and picked off one of the berries on it. For fear of poisonous berries, I was hesitant on putting it in my mouth; however, I knew that this was the place from the picture. I decided I might as well try it out. I put the berry in my mouth and flavor exploded inside. A very sweet, natural flavor.

The berry tasted so incredibly sweet, it filled me up with perkiness. The sweetest thing I had ever taster now seemed bitter. The most joyful memory I had now seemed dreary. Everything seemed better, now that I was happier. Although I could not tell for sure, I'm sure my cheeks turned red just like they did before. Now I knew why it was called a "sugarblush I picked some more of this cheery like berried and put them in my tiny pockets for later. This was all great until reality set back in.

I started to think of my mother again. Then that reminded me of my dad. I tried not to think about them, but the more I tried to forget about them, the harder the thoughts and memories returned. I wanted to leave. I worked my way out of the thicket of trees and slowly found myself back at Emerson park. I looked back at the darkened path, knowing that I would come back here again in the near future. I would come back a lot.

I went in the direction of my house now, now that quite a long time had passed up. I couldn't get my mind off of so many things: How my parents were both dead, how my foster parents were horrible, and how much I was beginning to hate my life. I wish something would make it better. No, I wish someone would make it better. I need somebody, but I just don't know who.