A Glimpse

 
As I ride off in the van with a stranger, I am quiet. I sit in the front with her by my side. She is a stranger, but I find comfort in her kind words and start to open up. I am going to a group home. My mom has had enough of my rebellious behavior and has been threatening to put me in foster care for as long as I can remember. I also remember her screaming at me, "You’re just like your dad!" Or "You're just like your aunt!" Or "You're just like your crazy Grandma!" That was the total list. My dad is the main one though, because he is so bad and I am just like him. My mom finally got her way and now I’m telling some stranger how I believe children should be treated and kept busy, and about how being a poor kid in school can make life tough and make it hard to fit in with the other kids. Instead of the usual words adults give me, she listens and agrees. I sit there staring at the school, with a moment of peace, and much sadness in my heart. Then the little girl we are at the school waiting for finally gets into the back; it’s the lady’s daughter. The nice lady drives off and we head to a home where five other children are waiting to figure out where they will place next.   

There is an unusual dinner for these children, not much is said. I have a feeling of uneasiness surrounding me. As I go to bed, the girl in the bed across from me draws a pretty picture of an eye. There are many swirls around this pen-drawn eye. It was so well put together! She tells me a story about how she was staying at a friend’s house - as a warning to me to be careful, to never overstay my welcome with anyone - because she was run off by her friend. She kept her story brief, not much information was given, and I didn't ask her any questions.  
 
As soon as I wake up the next day, I feel the usual emotions; emptiness and fear, except worse today. I have scrounged clothes, except the ones I stole as an attempt to look halfway decent and fit in. I have red hair that I don’t know how to fix up, and no one bothers to help me or show me how so it never looks how I want it to. I don’t like to get my feelings hurt and I take everything personally. I am an emotional child and I am set off by small things. I am upset about something when one of the ladies, trying to bring my attention away from myself, pointed out the girl in the bed across from me and said she is the one the lady is worried about. Her family is going to pick her up the next day and they are all going to sit together and talk before she goes home with them. I wonder if she will be safe, if life will work out for her now. Her grandpa had abused her and he is also in the meeting. I feel bad for her and a bit more grateful for my circumstance.  
 
I just feel frozen in time with all my worries. You can only stay in a group home for a certain amount of time, and I thought for sure my mom would have me picked up by the end of the week, because she had sent me here. But as soon as it is time to go, an older man and middle aged woman come to pick me up. I’m not going home today, but to a foster home. I am an awkward teenager, so I decide to read them a poem my friend Mary Ann had written about stars. Mary Ann is a teenage rebel like me. I wonder if one day I could write poetry like she does, her words come out so effortlessly. The lady brings me into a white house and another lady, probably in her late 40’s, greets the person who brings me in. She says little to me as I sit there wondering what she expects of me. I am so uncomfortable sitting on the kitchen stool doing nothing, it makes me feel stupid. I voice my feelings to her and she leads me to the TV. The TV is on but I cannot concentrate. As she twists a popsicle in her mouth, she asks me if I wanted one. I say, "No, thank you." I really don't even feel like eating. As she sucks on her popsicle, she says, "If you want to keep your man, you need to keep him happy." I just stare at her; her words would probably remain in my head forever, unless I get dementia.  
 
The next day, a little girl gets dropped off. She is probably the age of 5 and extremely overweight. She sits on the couch picking at her skin like a crack head would. The foster lady explains to me they are trying to move her into a foster home closer to her mom, so she would be leaving soon. We all go to the park and the little girl and I swing side by side, not saying a word. The foster lady comes to me and tells me how she herself grew up in the foster system. "Explains her coldness,” I think. We come back to my temporary home, where I’m approached by one of the foster lady's daughters. We chit-chat for a few minutes and she tells me that the last girl that was here thought she was going home, but ended up just going to another foster home. I realize that this might end up being my fate. As I walk around with the older daughter, she talks about what her sister is going through. She recently had a baby and adopted it out, but the adopted family stopped sending her letters or pictures. The girl said her family never spoke of it. A whole ten days go by, and this time just the old man comes and picks me up.  
 
This time he drives me home. What seemed like an eternity for me, and really is an eternity for some children, only lasted 10 days. I walk into my home, and there is my step dad. We don’t talk about any of my experiences, we just say a few words. Some people think I deserved to be there because I am a difficult child, I say I am a product of how I am being raised. The most emotionally honest child is sometimes the one who acts up. As I’m sitting there with my step dad, I have a lot of anger towards my mom for sending me to that place, but I made the decision to forgive her. It was the hardest thing I have ever forgiven. It's almost likes ripping something out of you. I feel a huge relief letting this go. It no longer has any power over me, and it never will. I hope that one day I can have a foster home for children, to adopt them and give them a healthy home to live in; something that should have been provided to them when they where born into this world.