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Take Me Home
Written by H. R. Connelly
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CHAPTER ONE...
Ten years have passed since I appeared on the steps of Charity House, and I am turning 18 today. I still have that small book, though now it is worn and old. The inscription on the cover is almost to light to read now, but the words are engraved on my heart. Someone loved me once. I still keep the odd money in my purse, but now I have my own money in there as well.
Charity House is on the edge of town, but Springfield isn't a very large town. Charity House rivals the mayor's home in size, and only two buildings are bigger than it, the courthouse, and the bank. Its size is disguised by the many tall green trees that grow along the outside of the backyard wall. I measured my life by these trees. Ten years ago they were skinny and sickly, just as I was when I arrived from out of nowhere. Now they are tall and verdant, having adapted to their surroundings as I did. To earn money, I mowed lawns, planted gardens, trimmed hedges, and helped clean houses. Two years ago I got a job at the grocery store, and work there every weekend and some days after school. I have been saving up for a long time, and now I have enough money to leave. I am thinking of going to college part-time; finding a job and a small apartment somewhere, far away from here. Maybe I can loose myself in Boston. Though I grew accustomed to my new home, the only one I've known,
I can't spend my entire life longing for what I can't touch, so... I am going to go look for it.
The home discharges kids once they turn 18, and are finished with school. By that time they have an education, but no money for anything, especially for college. They are forced to survive on a job at some fast food restaurant; most come to horrible fates, I'd imagine. It is impossible for me to think of having nothing better to do with my life than wait on people! That's why I've saved up my money. I don't want to die in a world that only wants me to cook their burgers medium-rare.
I must admit that Mrs. Cranton did her best supporting about 40 of us during any given year, getting us through school, illness, and clothing and feeding us, all on community support, and private donations, but she couldn't possibly afford to help anyone with college.
My best friend had to leave two years ago. She has written me, and on numerous occasions, her letters were full of despair and hopelessness. It filled me with a dread that I would end up the same way as her. Recently, her situation has been getting better. She has finally found a steady, well paying job, and is saving up for an education later on. Meredith is lucky. She has survived the harsh real world.
More and more, as I grow older, and see what is happening in this world around me, I feel like I don't belong here. I know it is only a dream, but I can't help wishing that my family were out there somewhere, that my father is still waiting and hoping that his 'little butterfly' will show up. But then the reality of my situation hits me like a blow to the stomach, and I wonder how anyone could harm and then abandon their child on the steps of an orphanage. Some day I *will* find my parents, and ask them all my questions, but that will never happen unless I leave this place.
I lay on my bed in my small cramped closet that Mrs. Cranton calls a room, still deep in thought, having let my mind wander back to a few brief, long forgotten memories of a large, very white bedroom, and a woman's voice singing me to sleep, steady hands tucking me into bed, when the bell for dinner rang. Annoyed I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling not wanting the memory to leave me, but my thoughts were distracted by the thundering footsteps of the little kids running down to dinner. I closed my eyes, and reached out with my mind for the lost memory once more, grasping as wispy strands of times past, before I sighed and gave up. I stood up, stretched, and started downstairs, born by a sea of small children, and younger teenagers eager to get to the food.
I tried to put on a smile as I sat down in my usual spot, between two seven-year-old girls, of whom at meals it was my duty to keep an eye on. These long forgotten memories had been surfacing more and more as of late, and anytime I was distracted from one it put me in a very foul mood. Today was no exception, and my mood turned even stormier when Kristen and Marie would not behave.
We had birthday cake for dessert that night, and everyone sang to me. Mrs. Cranton presented her customary birthday card, I had billions of cards stowed away --one for each special occasion in our unfortunate lives. Thankfully dinner was soon over, and because it was my birthday I could leave early, and not have to help with clean up.
On my way out I was detained numerous times, and wished a happy birthday. A few crude but lovingly-made gifts from the small ones were shyly pushed into my hands, and Mrs. McKinnely, the cook gave me a large hug and a nice book by my favorite author, Madeleine L'Engle. We had formed a special bond, when I had a few extra minutes I would make a trip to the kitchen and receive cooking lessons and her companionship.
Up in my room again I sighed thankfully and set about all my last minute preparations for my departure the next day. All my worldly goods were packed in my large backpack I used for school.
I changed into my nightclothes, and set my alarm for 1 AM. That would give me five hours of sleep, and about five and a half hours to get as far away from Charity House as possible. I didn't think anyone would be extremely worried about a missing orphan anyways, especially since I'd be forced to leave soon anyways.
I settled into bed comfortably, my last night in a home I didn't love.
Take Me Home
Written by H. R. Connelly
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
CHAPTER ONE...
Ten years have passed since I appeared on the steps of Charity House, and I am turning 18 today. I still have that small book, though now it is worn and old. The inscription on the cover is almost to light to read now, but the words are engraved on my heart. Someone loved me once. I still keep the odd money in my purse, but now I have my own money in there as well.
Charity House is on the edge of town, but Springfield isn't a very large town. Charity House rivals the mayor's home in size, and only two buildings are bigger than it, the courthouse, and the bank. Its size is disguised by the many tall green trees that grow along the outside of the backyard wall. I measured my life by these trees. Ten years ago they were skinny and sickly, just as I was when I arrived from out of nowhere. Now they are tall and verdant, having adapted to their surroundings as I did. To earn money, I mowed lawns, planted gardens, trimmed hedges, and helped clean houses. Two years ago I got a job at the grocery store, and work there every weekend and some days after school. I have been saving up for a long time, and now I have enough money to leave. I am thinking of going to college part-time; finding a job and a small apartment somewhere, far away from here. Maybe I can loose myself in Boston. Though I grew accustomed to my new home, the only one I've known,
I can't spend my entire life longing for what I can't touch, so... I am going to go look for it.
The home discharges kids once they turn 18, and are finished with school. By that time they have an education, but no money for anything, especially for college. They are forced to survive on a job at some fast food restaurant; most come to horrible fates, I'd imagine. It is impossible for me to think of having nothing better to do with my life than wait on people! That's why I've saved up my money. I don't want to die in a world that only wants me to cook their burgers medium-rare.
I must admit that Mrs. Cranton did her best supporting about 40 of us during any given year, getting us through school, illness, and clothing and feeding us, all on community support, and private donations, but she couldn't possibly afford to help anyone with college.
My best friend had to leave two years ago. She has written me, and on numerous occasions, her letters were full of despair and hopelessness. It filled me with a dread that I would end up the same way as her. Recently, her situation has been getting better. She has finally found a steady, well paying job, and is saving up for an education later on. Meredith is lucky. She has survived the harsh real world.
More and more, as I grow older, and see what is happening in this world around me, I feel like I don't belong here. I know it is only a dream, but I can't help wishing that my family were out there somewhere, that my father is still waiting and hoping that his 'little butterfly' will show up. But then the reality of my situation hits me like a blow to the stomach, and I wonder how anyone could harm and then abandon their child on the steps of an orphanage. Some day I *will* find my parents, and ask them all my questions, but that will never happen unless I leave this place.
I lay on my bed in my small cramped closet that Mrs. Cranton calls a room, still deep in thought, having let my mind wander back to a few brief, long forgotten memories of a large, very white bedroom, and a woman's voice singing me to sleep, steady hands tucking me into bed, when the bell for dinner rang. Annoyed I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling not wanting the memory to leave me, but my thoughts were distracted by the thundering footsteps of the little kids running down to dinner. I closed my eyes, and reached out with my mind for the lost memory once more, grasping as wispy strands of times past, before I sighed and gave up. I stood up, stretched, and started downstairs, born by a sea of small children, and younger teenagers eager to get to the food.
I tried to put on a smile as I sat down in my usual spot, between two seven-year-old girls, of whom at meals it was my duty to keep an eye on. These long forgotten memories had been surfacing more and more as of late, and anytime I was distracted from one it put me in a very foul mood. Today was no exception, and my mood turned even stormier when Kristen and Marie would not behave.
We had birthday cake for dessert that night, and everyone sang to me. Mrs. Cranton presented her customary birthday card, I had billions of cards stowed away --one for each special occasion in our unfortunate lives. Thankfully dinner was soon over, and because it was my birthday I could leave early, and not have to help with clean up.
On my way out I was detained numerous times, and wished a happy birthday. A few crude but lovingly-made gifts from the small ones were shyly pushed into my hands, and Mrs. McKinnely, the cook gave me a large hug and a nice book by my favorite author, Madeleine L'Engle. We had formed a special bond, when I had a few extra minutes I would make a trip to the kitchen and receive cooking lessons and her companionship.
Up in my room again I sighed thankfully and set about all my last minute preparations for my departure the next day. All my worldly goods were packed in my large backpack I used for school.
I changed into my nightclothes, and set my alarm for 1 AM. That would give me five hours of sleep, and about five and a half hours to get as far away from Charity House as possible. I didn't think anyone would be extremely worried about a missing orphan anyways, especially since I'd be forced to leave soon anyways.
I settled into bed comfortably, my last night in a home I didn't love.