Starting Over… Again

Shane's Point of View

I woke up in a strange, unfamiliar room. The walls were painted an almost blinding white and I could hear a beeping coming from just a few feet to my left. Some doctors were talking and I could just make out what they were saying if I listened really hard.

"Any idea what his name is yet?" one said in a hushed voice.

"Actually, I found this page in his pocket. It says 'property of Shane.' The rest is burned off," another one whispered.

"Any idea on what his last name is?"

"Not a clue," he said. The curtains of my room fluttered and I saw someone peek in for a second before he disappeared behind the curtains again.

"He's awake," someone said. The door opened and someone walked in.

"Good, you're awake. Do you know where you are?" he asked. I shook my head. "Do you know who you are?" I shook my head again and he looked disappointed.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Well, you where in a car accident and you hit your head. You were the only survivor," he said as he took some notes on his clipboard. "If no one claims you in 48 hours, I'm afraid we'll have to place you in foster care."

My eyes flew open and it took me a second to take in my surroundings and realize I wasn't in the hospital. I was in my new foster home. I was transferred just yesterday and I start my new school today. The unfortunate thing was that it was the middle of January and I would have to be starting all over in a new school halfway through the year. This was the first time I had been as far east as New York. In fact, this was the first time I had been out of California since I woke up in the hospital four years ago. I was now 14 years old and was still in foster care. Social Services moved me every 6 months or so. Whenever I got too attached to someone, it seemed, I was moved, always to a new town and school, usually in California, but not this time. No foster families in California had room any more so they transferred me to here. I never had friends longer than a few months. In the last 4 years, I've been to eight different schools.

When I woke up in the hospital six years ago, the doctors told me I had total amnesia and, since they had no clue who I was or where I came from, they said that there was little to no chance that I would remember. The police had my picture put on the wall of every police station in California, but no one showed up to claim me. They even ran DNA tests for every family on the West Coast and still nothing. Even though I didn't know who I was, I still remembered how to play guitar and sing, things I enjoyed a lot. The only clue I had about who I am was a small, burnt page found in my pocket.

"Shane, you're going to be late," my new foster sister called. In my new home, there were 2 other foster kids. They were twins, one boy and one girl. Both were 17 and hated foster care. They also hated me because they had thought they just found home and I had arrived and interrupted their lives. The boy, Tom, loved violence and threatened me the moment I walked into the door. The girl, Rebecca, usually ignored me, which I was fine with. When she did pay attention to me, she acted like she was in charge of me. They were turning eighteen in a few months and then they would leave and head off to college.

When I got downstairs, Rebecca was sitting in a chair, eating, and Tom must have already left for school. She looked up and glared at me. I didn't go to the same school because one of the amazing music schools here had offered me a full scholarship to attend. Rebecca and Tom had no musical talent at all and the school thought that I was a great guitar player and singer.

I grabbed my backpack from its place by the door and walked out; dreading the first day of school, as usual.