Part Three: Chapter One
September 24, 1985
Sara gathered up the last of her books and clothes and placed them roughly into her duffel bag, something she had hoped she wouldn't have to use ever again. After the very last book and the very last sock were shoved angrily into the bag, Sara lay down on the bed, arms and legs spread out over the covers. She took in several deep, satisfying breaths in hopes of gathering the scent of the house she called home forever.
"Sara?" came a small whisper from the doorway.
Sara let out a sigh and mumbled, "Hello Meg."
She heard the door close and small footsteps draw near to the neatly made bed she lay on.
"Are you done packing?" Meg asked quietly, her gray eyes peeking over the edge of the bed. Sara turned on her side and placed her hands under her head with another sigh.
"Yeah, I am."
"Are you really going?"
Sara sighed again, closing her eyes for a brief moment before opening them once more.
"Yeah, I'm really going."
Then, quite unexpectedly (and quite out of her nature), Meg let out a loud wail, climbed onto the bed and gave Sara a tight squeeze. Sara lay frozen as Meg howled her protests about her departure.
"They can't do it! They can't! I don't want you to go! I don't want you to go!"
"Meg…"
"They can't! I won't let them! I don't want you to go!"
"Meg."
"You're not going! I'll make sure of it! You can't go!"
"Meg!" Sara shouted, sitting upright suddenly so that Meg rolled down to the edge of the bed. She sat up then sniffled quietly as Sara calmed down.
"I can't help going, and nothing you do is going to stop me from leaving. I have to."
Meg sniffed loudly then asked, "Will you come visit? Sometimes?"
"I'll try, I really will."
She sniffed once more then crawled up to Sara and hugged her again, gentler this time.
"I still don't want you to go."
Sara patted her tenderly on the back.
"I don't want to either."
"Bye Sara!" called Mike, Taylor, and Meg in unison as the van with Sara and Frankie inside began rolling away down the street. Mike and Taylor suddenly broke out in a run and dashed as fast as their eight-year-old legs would carry them, Meg soon joining the race. Sara craned her neck to watch them try to keep up with the van, but as it turned a corner, her three siblings disappeared from sight.
She turned her head to the front window and stared out it in silence. She could feel Frankie throwing glances at her as he drove down the sunlit street.
"You all right?" he asked after a few minutes of uneasy silence.
Sara nodded.
"Are you sure?"
Sara nodded again.
"It's okay to not be all right you know."
She nodded once more.
Frankie went silent for several more minutes.
"So what do you know about these relatives of yours?" he asked quietly, clearing his throat mid-sentence.
"Auntie Em is quiet and thin and submissive, Uncle Leroy is big and fat and bossy. Auntie Em spends all her time trying to clean and Uncle Leroy spends all his time trying to make it as difficult for her to do so."
Frankie went silent again.
"You're not going to like it there much are you?"
"No, not really."
"This is it," Frankie declared unnecessarily, pulling up alongside a one-story building with a front lawn growing steadily more decrepit and brown. Sara could have recognized it anywhere without Frankie's help. The van suddenly stopped rumbling as Frankie turned it off.
"You ready to go in?"
Sara nodded curtly.
Frankie then opened his door, walked over to Sara's side of the vehicle, and opened her door for her. Sara stepped out tenderly, placing her foot upon the curb. Frankie reached in for her duffel bag and backpack, handing it to her seconds later. Sara took them with a quiet 'Thank you,' and began walking slowly up to the front steps. As she and Frankie neared, a thin wispy, bathrobe covered figure appeared in the doorway: Auntie Em.
She was tall and thin underneath her sheets of robes. Her frizzy brown hair was pulled into a sloppy bun at the back of her head, the stray gray hairs flying out in every which direction. She had weary looking gray eyes, like Meg's, but Meg's were more lively and happy looking.
"Auntie Em…" Sara mumbled quietly.
"Don't speak to me with that tone young lady. You should be mighty glad we're offering to take you in instead of sending you off to another barrage of foster homes." Her voice was twitchy and unpleasant. Sara felt the extreme urge to mutter something along the lines of 'I'd rather take the foster homes,' but held her tongue, no matter how hard it pained her.
"You must be Mr. Nelson." Em continued, looking Frankie up and down with her somnolent eyes.
"Hello there," he muttered uneasily, glancing down at Sara with her head hanging, eyes staring fixedly on the ground. He held out his large hand for a shake but Em retreated to staring him in the eye.
"I dare say there's no more need for you here. You can leave, before I call the police."
Frankie's mouth hung open in astonishment.
"Uh…Sara, be a good girl all right?" He bent down slightly and gave her a hug. Sara returned it quietly.
"All right, inside now Sara. I've got to show you around."
Sara broke out of the hug first, giving Frankie's hand a squeeze, which he returned, before walking away into the house under Auntie Em's ushering. The door was slammed behind her as the horrid stench of cigars, alcohol, and a just plain dirty home reached Sara's nose. She wrinkled her nose at the smell, only to suddenly receive a smack on the back of the head.
"Ow!" she exclaimed, flinching and placing a hand where she was hit a moment before.
"Don't you dare act snobbish in this house. It's not like we don't try to keep it clean." Em snapped. Sara had never seen her raise her voice to anybody before, more so her hand. Maybe it was because Auntie Em felt she could overpower Sara, since she was younger. After all, the household was run on dominance.
"Your bedroom is down this way," Em snapped, walking down a hallway to the right. Sara followed quickly, still furiously rubbing the spot she had been hit.
Em opened the door at the very end of the hallway, revealing a musky room with ugly brown carpeting and a mattress on the floor. A small box of baby toys sat in one corner of the room, an empty bookcase in the other, and a small closet in the final one.
"This is your room. I want you out in the kitchen at 5:00 to help me make dinner."
"Where's Uncle Leroy?" Sara asked, looking towards her aunt.
"He's at work."
"He works?"
"Go on!" She hit Sara on the back of the head again, causing Sara to exclaim in pain for a second time, stumbling forward into the room.
"Hey!"
"5:00! Don't forget!" and she left, slamming the door roughly behind her.
Sara rubbed her head again. She was definitely going to feel that in the morning. She proceeded to hanging her clothes up in the closet and placing her books neatly in the bookcase. After the round of organizing, she gazed down at the insulting box of baby toys, later ensuing to dump them in a garbage can. When she was done, she set the alarm clock by her bed…mattress…to five o' clock and went to sleep, the eminent bruise on the back of her head leaving her to feel quite uncomfortable.
