I was really stuck for a title on this one..Ah well... This part is only a three parter. It's not going to be really dramatic or anything...maybe a little weird...meh... The second part will be up on friday. Maybe thursday. Thanks for reading xxx


I hated the eighties; the fashion, the music, the politics, the philosophies. It felt naff and dated even then.

After my time in the asylum I was sent to a middle school. Well, a finishing school that was dressed up as an academy for young, intelligent girls. A perfect ruse. I thought it was a place for tomorrow's leaders, not their wives. Too much independence frightened them. They were traditionalists.

When I asked how it was being paid for, as my own mother could not have afforded to pay for tuition, the only answer I got was, "A benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous."

I stayed there until I was fourteen. I had grown sick of changing for them. I knew I would always be the daughter of a violent man and a murderer and the sister to a drug user and runaway and no amount of speech, poise and allocution lessons would change that.

On the third of April, 1987, I was placed in my final foster home and I stayed there for just over a year. It was shitty, conventional town that was surrounded by a dull and rural landscape. It was about a three-hour journey away from San Francisco.

I was labelled an outcast and a freak at high school. I kept my head down and melted in to the classroom scene. But for some reason, I still seemed to stand out. I spent my breaks in the library, pouring over books about weakly interactive massive particles and the superstring theory whilst eating sandwiches deprived of their crusts; my carer couldn't understand that I was a teenager and treated me like a child. Or perhaps she treated me like a normal teenager and I was too old for my age.

After school, I worked in a café.

Today was my sixteenth birthday. It wasn't anything special, except that I had got older.

I walked in to the staff room. It was a dull room with ochre walls and lima bean green plastic tiles for the floor. It had a dishevelled plant that was deprived of flowers, water and sunlight, a floral sofa and a couple of cabinets, an array of lockers, a coffee maker, a faded silver sink and several polka dot mugs.

"Hi Gwen."

Gwen was sat on the mouldy sofa, lacing up her white sports shoes. She looked up at me, her pink lips stretching on her face. She always cheered me up immensely and most days I needed cheering up. She had neat red hair that was always twisted up. She wore gold earrings that belonged to her grandmother. She was the head waitress at 'Joe's Café.' I never knew why it was called 'Joe's' because there was no one there called Joe and the person that owned the café was called Larry. I was a waitress and I worked there on weekends and after school. I wore a faded white uniform.

"Hi, Sugar. Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," I brushed it of casually as I opened my locker. I kept a mirror in there. My new hair made my look like a moonchild gazing out of a mass of mascara.

I had recently cut my brown hair off; the guy who sat behind me in physics kept calling me brownie-locks and pulling my hair. Now bottom of my bleach blond hair just managed to reach the top of my shoulders. I had a hacked half of it off with a pair of rust covered scissors but then my carer shoved her way through the bathroom door, breaking the lock. She probably thought I was slashing away at my skin but looked hilariously horrified at the sight of my locks on the floor.

I tucked my hair behind my ears and the thirty-two thin and multi-coloured bangles on my right arm slipped down to my elbow.

"You coming off shift?" I already knew the answer but I was being polite.

"Yeah, I gotta get home to my pig of a husband and my little girls."

I kept insisting that she just packed up her bags and take her girls far, far away. He was a lazy, pot-smoking alcoholic who about once a month got a kick out of giving Gwen a smack across the face; a hard smack that left a mark on her face for about a week.

"How is your Ma doin'?"

Gwen was referring to Mrs Alison Raine, my most recent foster mother. Alison Raine was married to Thomas Raine and since they couldn't have their own children, they fostered. Alison had dull black hair that was always carelessly brushed back, longish and often looked so dry you would have thought it was a wig. She had sharp colourless eyes and a heavy mouth. There were several pathetic freckles on her skin that was so delicate that the faintest touches left pink marks.

However, I had seen my own mother the previous weekend. I was allowed to see her once every two weeks with my social worker present. My mother had developed a reputation for being fearsome and spiky but recently I had seen her grow in confidence to let her guard down. She had felt that her docile and gentile softness had been her weakness, the reason she had been beaten down and so she shielded her it with a frosty hauteur. She has become quite a still person, self-composed. Her blonde curly hair is worn pushed away from her make-up free face that is constantly pale and pretty but not as striking as she used to be.

"She's fine."

"And your brothers? Are they staying outta trouble?"

Gwen was referring to the boys currently staying at the Foster Home; Jimmy, Frank and Eric. I was the only girl there.

My own brothers, Adam and Nick were not staying out of trouble.

Adam, now twenty-six, had been placed in a mental institution for certain unsavoury reasons. He had to either commit himself for at least twelve months or be placed in prison for another eighteen months. He was certified insane and had all sort of tests done, tried to escape countless times, assaulted male doctors and male nurses, he hated the male nurses and threatened all of them with legal action and assignation.

He eventually quietened down and no longer tried to escape. However, at the time, I was sure he was trying to lull his keepers in to a strong and false sense of security.

It was whilst he was in the institution that I got my first phone call from him and since then he called me every two days.

It annoyed me that Adam went crazy.

I hadn't seen him since I was a child but I had a vision of him in my head. Actually I have two visions of him. Both visions were of him being tall and slim, though slightly stooped. His face delicate and slightly androgynous and his eyes were dark. But that's where the similarities end. One version had Adam finding his way in the world with all his intelligence and brightness and sensitivity still behind him. I remember him telling me once that he wanted to be an artist and share his creativity with the world.

I know that his brightness is still in him but in vision number two, the path that was chosen for him destroyed him. The years of abuse and neglect in his family home and foster care made him turn to small oval shaped pills and sharp, sliver needles, which eventually consumed him. It had changed him in to quiet a different person. I loved him, despite the alteration though and there was still a feeling of wanting to protect him.

Nick, almost twenty, was living in Oxnard and had married to a sweet girl called Bonnie Cleavers. A squealing, pink baby would be wriggling in their arms in about a month. I didn't really have much contact with him but my mother would bring him in to our conversations from time to time.


I only had a few hours until I came of shift. It wasn't a busy night. There was a withered old man in one booth that had only ordered a bowl of soup and several cups of coffee and a couple of teenagers swapping saliva. I sighed and I walked up to the booth that held the teenagers.

"What can I get you?"

"I'll have a cola," the girl said. Her fashion was clearly inspired by Madonna. She had gloves made of black net, black bracelets and black and white beaded necklaces.

"Richie what are you having?"

'Richie' reached in to his pocket and he dumped some change onto the table. It was mostly pennies, a few nickels and dimes, no quarters.

"What can I get with this?"

"Some pie. I think there's some peach pie. I can't there guarantee will be any peach in it." I smiled weakly and realised the girl was staring at me. I thought I recognised her from somewhere. I bet if I wiped away all the make-up, it could have been someone from high school.

"Hey, do I know you from somewhere?" she asked.

"I don't think so," I mumbled quietly.

"Okay, 'Tracy.'" I briefly looked at my nametag pinned to my top. My boss had bothered to make me a nametag so I had to use one that belonged to a former employee.

"I'll go get your pie."


It was nine o'clock and I was being followed.

"Tracy?"

I was being followed the girl from the diner. I had tried to lose her several times. I didn't want to be bothered.

"Tracy?" she called louder. I just walked faster, pretending not to hear. I just wanted to be alone.

"Sara?"

I stopped, illuminated by the streetlight and she stood in front of me.

"I knew it was you. Underneath that horrid hair and all the make-up. Look at you. Sara's all grown up."

"Mary?"

"Yes, you feckin' eejit."

We stood for a moment, both of us looking sad, tired and dishevelled. For a long moment we just looked at each other without saying a word. Then we step slowly hugged each other close for a long, tight embrace.

"Hey, do you have any money?" Mary said, and we pulled apart and I gave her a surprise look.

"I didn't mean that like... Well, I just mean... I know this place with this guy. We could go. I mean… I could show you if you had... 'Cause I'm broke."

"I am in foster care."

"Oh. Well, that's cool. I'll see you then." And she walked away, clattering in her high heels.


"Hey, I'm home," I shouted. I turned to Mary and whispered, "Go up the stairs, second door on the right."

I walked in to the kitchen. Thomas and Jimmy were sat at the kitchen table playing a card game. Eric was already in bed and since Frank isolated himself from the world after eight, he would be up in the bedroom he shared with Jimmy.

"Hey guys."

"Hello, Sara. How was school?" Thomas asked. Jimmy sat in silence, ignoring me.

"Sucked, but thank you for asking. Can I get some food?" I leaned against the green kitchen cabinet. Thomas peered over his round spectacles.

"You can get whatever you want. You live here too."

I walked to the fridge and grabbed several items, stuffing them in to my school bag.

"Where's Alison?" I asked.

"She probably fell asleep in the living room."

"Okay."

"Goodnight then."

"Goodnight Sara."


Dull rain spattered against the window. The rain was not a bi-product of a dramatic thunderstorm, but a relentless torpor of dismal weather. Mary and I were on my bed. She was stretched lazily across it whilst I sat with my legs crossed. There was a dreadful and painful silence of unspoken emotions that weighed heavily. We stared around the room as if we were looking at sluggish goldfish in an aquarium.

Mary had wiped off all her make-up and removed her mass of beads and plastic jewels. Her ebony hair was tucked behind her ears. Mary hadn't changed at all, physically anyway.

She was in awe of my room. It wasn't that brilliant. I had my clothes hanging up around the room. My dressing table was covered in empty glass perfume bottles and snow domes and several sets of nesting dolls that were carefully painted and lined up in descending order. I had an electric blue and silver duvet cover. I had several candles glowing and they smelled musky and sweet.

We mutely decided to leave our joint history alone for the night and we were in the middle of a conversation of music when Thomas knocked on my door. Mary stuffed her slim body under my bed before I told Thomas he could enter.

"Sara, you have a phone call."

"Okay, I'll pick it up here. Thank you."

Thomas smiled and left.

I plugged in my beautiful, plastic turquoise phone.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Sara! Sara! It's me. Me! Hello there! Hello!"

I recognised his voice.

"Is there an echo or are you just repeating everything." I said. Mary wriggled out from underneath my bed like a snake.

"Both," and he laughed manically.

I wouldn't make him angry tonight. I wouldn't want him to wreak another piece of public property.

"Hello Adam."

Mary gave me a confused look. She didn't know who Adam was.

He had been released a week ago and I had received no contact from him.

"Hello Sara."

"Where are you?" I asked.

"I am here. Where are you?"

"Here."

"If we are both here then why are we bothering with the phone?"

"Tell me where you are before your money runs out."

"But if you are here you must know. Don't you know where you are?" He started to giggle.

I said calmly, "Stop being silly, Adam."

"I'm not telling you were I am. Your owner is probably still on the other line. And she will notify the police and then they will have me sent off back to the fucking hospital."

"Don't use four-letter words. You know I don't like them."

" 'Fucking' is not a four-letter word. It is a seven letter-word. How are you anyway?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"Mad of course," he said indignantly and I had to smile.

"Are you going to see Mom? If you are, please don't burn any dogs."

Mary's mouth contorted in to a large oval shape, the corners of her eyes creasing slightly.

"What are you talking about? It's me. Adam. I don't burn dogs!" He started to shout, gasping and spluttering.

"I don't burn fucking dogs! What do you think I am? Don't accuse me of burning dogs. You little bastard! Bastard!"

"All right, Adam. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I said as quickly as I could. "I just want you to be okay and careful. People are sensitive, not like us. So don't antagonise them."

I heard him mutter something. I just listened to him breathing.

"I am only coming back for a short while." His voice had softened. "I am coming to find you."
"I am looking forward to seeing you."

There was a pause.

"Well I'll hang up now. See you. Take care."

"You take care."

"What's to worry about? I'll be all right. What can happen to me?"

"Just don't do anything to annoy people. They get angry…about pets especially. I mean…I'm not-."

"What? What? What was that about pets?" he shouted.

"Nothing! I was just saying-."

"You little shit!" he screamed. "You are accusing me of burning dogs again, aren't you? And I suppose I stick worms and maggots in to kids mouths and piss on them, too, eh?"

"Well," I said carefully as my fingers toyed with the flex. "Now you mention it-."

"Bitch. You little shit. I'll kill you. You-."

His voice disappeared as his money ran out and I put the phone back in its cradle.

"Dogs!" Mary exclaimed. " Burning dogs!"

"Yeah," I said and laughed nervously.