Drowning

I. Going Through The Motions

I wake before my alarm. To my surprise, it's 5 in the morning, 3 hours earlier than usual. My eyes catch the sun and I wince in the sight of it like a vampire exposed to daylight.

The house is quiet, as it has been everyday since my adoption 2 months ago. I still can't pin-point exactly why the Watson's chose me out of all those fearful eyes. To begin, I was the oldest. Apparently, 17 was a record high for The Helping Hands community. Not to mention out of them all, I was the dingiest and physically most disturbing one to look at. The orphanage counselor, although, was very convincing. Maybe they chose me out of pity. Either or, I'm here to stay, so Mrs. Watson says.

Slowly, I sit up and view my palace. Dirty boots, over-washed flannels, and shredded jeans stain my newly washed carpet. Karen always offered to take my shopping. I might take her up on that. I head to the bathroom feeling groggy. My hangover is skull-poundingly painful and I start to regret drinking last night. Wait-regret drinking? What are these people doing to me?

Looking at myself in the mirror unnerves me. I look so foreign with my messier than usual hair, flushed skin, and bloodshot eyes. This is a look I famously call, a drug-mug. My shower is speedy and picking out an outfit is slightly slower. Because everything is dirty, finding something clean is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I walk away from my closet with vintage mom jeans, a white fitted t-shirt, my white cut-out jelly sandals, and a flannel that lazily hangs off my hips. My hair falls just below my breast and is in dire need of some tlc. I manage to brush it down and I shrug at myself in the mirror. This will have to do.

I stumble down the stairs to find Karen sitting in the living room reading the newspaper. She looks up at me and her eyes are warm. My body starts to relax. I didn't even know I was tense.

As if on cue, she says "You're up early. Have trouble sleeping?"

After a moment, all I can murmur is "Something like that," and I drift into the kitchen.

I don't want her worrying about my drinking. She already worries about more than she needs to, especially since she and David have a 7 year old son named Tyson. They didn't tell me about him until we got home and the little rat screamed at me and called me "a hobo". Can't lie, that one hurt.

The refrigerator could just about be empty. Sensing my dissatisfaction, Karen let out a "I'm going grocery shopping today". What really surprises me is the "Would you like to go with me?" she adds at the end.

I remember the shopping trips she promised. I hope this wasn't what she meant.

"Uh, yeah, sure, I guess," as if "yeah" wasn't enough.

I take a stem of grapes and plop down on the couch beside her. She glances at me, amused, and I can't help but smile.

Even though their son is a terror, they have been really good to me, so far that is. But I get this uneasy feeling that things will get better. My optimism is gone as soon as I come to reality that I have to go to the Depression Session.

It's a group that Karen signed me up for. Although it's getting better, I'm still struggling to be positive. Happy times don't last long in my world, and Karen specifically chose this group because their motto is "Making Your Child's World a Happier & Better Place Since '93". So the Depression Session is appropriately named because that's what it is; a session to help battle depression.

A sympathetic "hey" brings me to light. When I look up, Karen is staring at me, concern etches her face and for a moment I feel sorry for everyone but myself. Before I know it, I'm bawling in her arms. It's all setting in on me, and whatever it is, it's heavy.

I admire this woman for what she's doing to help me. The feeling of hope isn't something that comes everyday. Today is the day that things may change for me, and in a good way. I wipe the tears from my face and nonchalantly pop a grape in my mouth.