A/N: The Gina in this story in named after Georgiana in Jane Eyre. I changed the name because I didn't like Georgiana.
As Mrs. Pearson returned from her trip to Central Park, she announced that she was able to contact social service and that they should be available by a week before Christmas Eve. Fear was barely concealed through the thin layer of my brave facade, for it was already the end of November. Yet, as I saw that my aunt didn't notice, I said in one of my dark moods, "I'm glad to be leaving you for good. I never want to see you again because you're a cruel, selfish bitch. That is exactly what I'll tell people when they ask how you treat me. I hope to God that you rot in hell because that's what you deserve."
Mrs. Pearson did not fly into a rage about how selfish and ungrateful I am, nor did she lunge towards me, intending to knock out my lights as I expected. Instead, she remained deathly calm with ice water running through her veins. "Are you finished?" she asked coldly. I stood there surprised, wondering if perhaps she wasn't provoked because she was glad to be rid of me or because I showed the rebel side of me that I always managed to conceal. Nevertheless, I managed to reply.
"You bet your life I am." I replied insolently before I retreated to my room without waiting for her to answer.
Christmas preparation started the next day, but as usual, I was deliberately excluded from it, even though I was required to help with chores. All over again, Bessie was chiding me about being lazy when I'm tired, sullen when I'm quiet, impudent when I answer, and insolent when I don't. Each days that passed brought me a greater sense of foreboding, desolation, and loneliness. I wasn't so wild about having my entire future determined by a handful of adults who was supposed to be taking care of me. More and more often, I can't help thinking how much better it would be if Mr. Pearson and my parents was all alive.
The day John headed to the Winter Formal at his high school and Jane went to the 8th grade semiformal (some 8th grade guy asked her out), Mrs. Pearson, who had been cold shouldering me since I had insulted her, summoned me to the parlor. With her was a pretty brunette lady who should be a model, but was, instead, who I guessed to be from social service. "So this is the Allison you told me about?" she asked.
"Yes she is," was the reply. "You must be careful about placing her. She is naughty and deceitful and must be with a family who could be strict with her."
"That's bull!" I exploded before anyone else could speak. "No other family could possibly treat me more like dirt than yours!"
"My point exactly," said Mrs. Pearson smugly. The lady, who introduced herself as Miss Temple proceeded to ask me how they mistreated me. I didn't hesitate to recite the gist of my life the last ten years and especially emphasized on the guest bedroom and cousin John wantonly striking me without any reproval.
When Miss Temple appeared to believe me, Mrs. Pearson interjected, "The child's full of imaginations." She didn't seem to buy it though and declared that I must definitely be removed from the Pearson residence. And so goes my last day here.
XxXxXxXxXx
My first home was upstate at Syracuse with the Parker family who had several other foster children as well as 5 of their own. The foster kids were treated as 2nd class citizens. For instance, we were to use separate plates and silverware from Ms. Parker's biological family. We did most of the chores while "the family" gets to luxuriate in whatever they happen to be up to. They were easily critical of us and won't hesitate to use thier fist when they feel like it. However, after we got everything done, we had complete freedom to do whatever. We were left to fend for ourselves.
On my first day in the small, cramped bedroom, an older girl with fiery red hair introduced herself to me and talked a mile a minute. "I'm Carrie," she said as soon as I was in the room, and then a blue streak more. Within the first 5 minutes, I found out she was 12 and about this being the 3rd place she's been to ever since they removed her from her home in Albany when she was 5 after they saw signs of abuse. I, however, was only half listening because I was too preoccupied with my own sorrow and wasn't receptive to other people's problems.
Yet, by the next morning, before we were to be roused to make anyone breakfast, we had a heart to heart because I had no one else. "You said there are several of you," I spoke barely above whisper. "Do you know who else lived here?" There turned out to be 5 of us. Besides Carrie and me, there was Eliza, 11; Gina, 9; and Adele, 13 who was here for similiar reasons. They were sharing a small bedroom right now.
"Remember, Allison," Carrie concluded, eyes watering. "We're all what they call the f-child. Everybody shuns us so we got to stick together. It's us against the whole world."
"It can't be that bad," I replied, although I knew it was the worst thing in the world.
"It's horrible. They show us the door when we turn 18 and then we're on our own," she cried. "I'm scared. I got only 6 more years." And then it hit me like flying daggers, threatening to tear me apart. I got only 8 more years. I thought that something must be terribly wrong with me, that I'm irrepairably full of shortcomings. I had yet to figure out in years to come that bad things happen to good people through no fault of their own. It doesn't sound fair, but truth is it isn't, but it happens all the time. And I felt lost, like I don't have control over anything and my entire future is wrapped around everyone else's little finger. But at least I had 1 person to shoulder the burden with me. It used to be just me against the whole world. Now it's us.
When the alarm rang at 5 am, the 5 of us was up quck as lightening, including me, tired as I was. "The Family" merely went back to sleep. They had at least another hour and a half, according to Carrie. Nobody spoke as we went through a series of chores, including a week's worth of laundry, vacuuming, cleaning the bathroom and elsewhere, etc. Even while I was subjected to torture in my aunt's family, I hadn'd been forced into this much work since we had Bessie, and by the time we were to make breakfast for 7 people, I was exceedingly exhausted.
As soon as we were finished, we gathered back in out bedrooms. Sleeping was out of the question because there was still 5 minuted before "The Family" was to rise. Instead, I used the 5 minuted to get acquainted. Adele was reading something to pass the time and I asked to see it. It was The Catcher in the Rye. Nothing special or interesting, but pretty dull. "How long have you been here?" I asked.
"I been here for almost a year," said Adele. "They're supposed to move me soon but I don't know where I'll end up or if it will be as bad as this."
"How many f-homes have you been through?" I lent a sympathetic ear.
"Twelve," was the reply as if that part of her life was her tender point. "Nobody could tolerate me for long. This is the longest I stayed in any place." I could tell her eyes kept traveling back to her book. However, I kept pressing to know more about her.
"How did you end up in the system in the first place?" I grew more and more curious as I went along.
I could see her face grow red as she replied testily, "My mother used to bring men home in the middle of the night and they hit me when she's passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of vodka next to her."
"How old were you when you were removed?"
She threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "You ask too many questions. I got to return to my book." I decided this time to respect that.
As I got on the bus to the nearby elementary school, I was enveloped with a sudden wave of sorrow, especially when I sit right in front of one of the Parker's biological child who immediately started telling everyone I was the f-child. Indeed, my shabby clothes and my solemn demeanor was enough to give me away, but the merciless teasing started after Diana Parker, also 10, started spreading lies. Little did I know that the worst was yet to come as I was smoldering with rage in midst of people's mocking faces and derogatory comments. Even the bus driver gave me a demeaning look as I got on. All I wanted at that time was to crawl into a hole and hide forever.
I was glad when we reached the front of the school as I headed towards (reading off schedule) Mrs. Klein's homeroom, but my gladness was transient because Diana was in that room too. I braced myself as I prepared to spend the rest of the year in hell, perhaps even longer. My mind wandered a million miles away as the morning announcement droned on and everyone else talked amongst themselves. Before I knew it though, first period started as Mrs. Klein told us to turn to page 356 in our social studies textbook. I half-heartedly turned as I wondered, for the first time despite my previous sufferings, if me being born was a mistake after all.