Sparrow's Story

Chapter 3

My alarm went off. Waking me up for yet another day that was sure to be hellish. I shut it off and pulled myself up to a sitting position on the side of my bed. The house was quiet. Too quiet. I had a brief moment of panic before yesterday hit me. Right, my foster mom was in jail right now.

I sent up a silent prayer to keep her safe. I didn't want to live by myself for long. If she couldn't prove that the cocaine found in her car wasn't hers, she would be in jail for a long time. And I would have to go back to the home. Foster care. Yeah right. Foster Care moves you from home to home. It was more like an adoption house that loaned you out to people who wanted to take are of you. When you weren't in a house,  you were in the warehouse.

The sudden realization that I could go back there any day hit me hard. I was suddenly out of breath. Memories were flooding through my head. None of them pleasant. Beatings. Pranks. Long nights with no sleep. I didn't want to go back there. Sure, there were kids there that needed me. The little ones. But, I couldn't be there for them through their whole lives. Their tear streaked faces flashed through my mind. That hurt more than anything. I never wanted to see any of them hurt. But, it was inevitable.

I didn't know I was getting up to get ready for school but soon I was out the door. It was a cloudy day. Warm for early morning but I could tell, it would be raining by the time school got out. And I would have to walk home. Fun. Gloomy day for sure.

I looked at my arm on the way to school. The red lines had gotten worse. They were longer. More visible. People would start to notice them soon. And one of the cheery “everything is wonderful” girls would be sure to blab to one of the counselors. Then I would be in sessions. Again.

The counselors just didn't get it. They didn't get why I acted the way I did. Why I took the beatings without talking about it later. They expected everything to be fixed by talking. But its not like that. Nothing can be fixed with just words. And since I didn't have the guts to take action, I just shut up and took whatever I had coming.

Art was my first hour. I was Mr. Smith's best student. Art was the way I could express myself without involving physical pain. And I was good at it. I could draw anything anyone could possibly dream up. But, I wouldn't ever let anyone know that. Art was my thing. I didn't want to share my art. It was too personal.

Mr. Smith was an older guy. Late 50's. But he was an amazing art teacher. He always had a way to say things to newbies so they would get how to do the technique he was explaining. He had white hair, kind eyes. About 5'11”. He had the strangest color eyes. They were a golden amber. I had never seen any eye color that distinct before.

The hour passed by fast. Honors English next. Mrs. Gemina was a young teacher. Kind. Absolutely gorgeous. Long blonde hair. Sky blue eyes. The classic pretty. She was about 2 inches taller than me. Her make up was always perfect. Not too over powering. But you could tell that she wore some. She had a high pitched voice. But not the pitch that was annoying. It was soothing. I could focus in her class. Probably why I wrote so well.

I finished my paper that she had assigned about 20 minutes before everyone else. So I just sat and drew. I didn't realize it until I was done, but I had drew my foster mom. I stared at it for a bit. I was already starting to miss her. She was a great person. Someone who would give you the shirt off her back. A kind person. She had been kind to me from day one. Even when I gave her the cold shoulder. Eventually, she won me over. I wanted to say I loved her. But, you don't get attached in foster care. Nothing lasts forever.

At least I would be out of foster care in 2 years. I was 16 now. I only had 2 more years of relocating. “Hopefully I won't have to.” I thought. I liked living with Amy. She always made sure I had something to eat. Clothes to wear. Things for school. I was taken care of. And it was one of the few places I had lived where I was happy.