Saturday

My mother used to tell me if I ever wanted to do anything I had to be willing to put in the work needed for success. She was a prime example of that, coming from nowhere and appearing somewhere with an accomplishment that was tenuous to others, but the world to me. I had known her for twelve years of my seventeen years of life, yet in a quick and clandestine manner she was slipping right through my fingertips. I could no longer recall half the good times I had experienced with my mother. Everyday, the thought of her diminishing to a distant memory.

I had one person to blame for that.

And I hoped that maybe if she was still alive I wouldn't feel so disheartened by the circumstances that overwhelmed me. I had been in foster homes for five years and had to cooperate with the other troubled children who hated the system they were stuck in.

"Cammie get out the shower! You had fifteen minutes now get out!" Nora yelled out as she banged on the door. Nora was about a year and a half younger but in her head inherited the role of older sister in the home. She came in louder than life complaining that she was afraid of speaking out when she lived under her stepfather and assured everyone in the home that she would no longer be silenced. I often disregarded her naggy behavior often making her even more upset at the pure idea that I didn't speak to her.

There were about a dozen copies of her I had met through my experience with foster homes no girl more annoying than they next, but always more ridiculous than the one before. For example, this one girl had an obsession with cleaning and making sure the group home was spotless. Some would say this was a benefit if they hadn't experienced her rant about a clean house when someone left their bed unmade.

"Cammie you better-" I finally opened the door pushing past her while I presumably shook off sprinkles of water on her. "Fuck you."

There was a total of five children in the home I was currently in, which was heaven compared to my first experience in a orphanage. It was run by a Catholic Church with almost everything strictly religious and once I told them I wasn't particularly into religion they shoved it down my throat viciously. After a month of enduring their arranged procedures I ran to my social worker Angela and pleaded with her to place me somewhere else even threatening to fake a demon attack in front of the nuns.

Being in a foster home I had to adjust to the kids in the home who confided that they believed their parents were coming back and just needed time to get themselves back together. And when they asked me where my parents were, I calmly told them one was dead and the other a dead beat. After that they usually backed off. I really didn't socialize with anyone at school or home the only person that I talked to being Angela. I mean I'd rather not share my thoughts with other people, they're pretty disturbing. Though the thoughts aren't just thoughts they're my personality. I can't switch it off no matter how hard I try so I'm left with solution of suppressing it.

"Maury wants to talk to you," My roommate Ariana told me, her eyes drilled to her cracked t-mobile phone. Ariana was about two years younger than me always wearing her hair in afro. We didn't talk much to each other as she stayed on the top bunk with me on the bottom bunk only speaking when it was absolutely necessary.

"What did he say he wanted?"

"To talk to you?" She squinted back at me like I was a idiot.

"Thanks," I mumbled while putting my clothes on and walked downstairs to see Maury on the couch like usual watching another episode of Law and Order. Samuel was next to him with a bowl of sunflower with another bowl next to him full of regurgitated seeds. He was the youngest of the house at thirteen often by accompanied by Maury, one of the caretakers of the house. Maury was pretty mild never picking a fight with the kids even if they were cherry picking for one and though he was probably the one I preferred to be around he wasn't much of a help. Seeing that he had to talk to me was as weird as you're teacher asking you to teach them a lesson in class they never learned. "Maury, you wanted to talk?"

"Yeah," He gazed at the tv for a few more seconds before ripping his gaze away from the television. "Your teachers all emailed about your grades."

"Ok?" I gave him a suspicious tone to urge him to continue.

"Ok and they said they were bad."

I tried to control my face expression closing my fists and stuffing them into my old and very worn sweatpants. Maury honestly didn't care much about my grades and most likely my life, but he definitely had to fake his job and act like he cared. Like right now, he was trying to get me to teach myself a lesson.

"I know they are bad," I folded my arms as he gave me a blank look as if he wanted me to add more. "And I'll do better."

"Alright good," Maury dismissed me. I guess that was a que I could go back to my room.

School wasn't really my priority. In fact, the only reason I had an A in Psychology was because I was actually interested in human behavior. I was educating myself down a variant path that might confuse others.

I took my backpack and headed back downstairs stopping at the door to lace my shoes. "Maury I'm leaving."

"Be back before nine," He didn't even turn his head.

"Got it," I closed the door behind me.

Currently I lived fifteen minutes away from the nearest city a solution that could be solved with a quick walk to the trolley. It wasn't a rare that I would see people from the home taking or selling drugs.

A great sight, really.

The sight in the city was probably better though it depended on how much money you had. With heavy pockets you had a view of everything. A struggling mom had a view of homeless junkies while they slowly metamorphosed into the final stage of unbearable death. But I mean it's still nice in a way.

Yet I wasn't there for the view, the perspective. Broad City had the biggest library in the state with a deep and strong grip onto it's roots. I could find everything I needed and more. The best benefit could be that a sprinkle of people cared about to building allowing me to embrace the silence and seclusive nature of a library I never got at home. I would grab a good six or seven books sit at a table and scan for records that could possibly be important.

Today was different

Today I got hit by a car-or what many romantics call, fate.