© 2021 Phylicia Joannis
I stepped out of my foster home and shivered. The sun drooped behind a high rise, casting shadows as people walked down the street. The door swung open behind me.
“Hey. You forgot your jacket.” Wally looked up and down the street with nervous eyes as he extended my jean jacket towards me. He’d been surprisingly docile after my ordeal, but I knew that wouldn’t last forever. The mark on my neck was no longer visible, but the scars remained.
I hadn’t told my social worker what happened. There’s no way she’d leave me with Wally if she knew what he’d done. But after all the media attention, and with a class action suit pending, the last thing I wanted was to be placed in the care of someone who thought I’d be their meal ticket. Picturing the fake smiles and plastic emotions as a new family happily welcomed me into their home was enough to make me sick to my stomach. Better the devil I knew. At least for now.
The sooner I found my mother, the better. I needed to know who my father was. If it was possible that at least one of them wanted me, it was worth the trouble.
“You want the jacket, or no?” Wally stared at me, gaze tense. Red splotches colored the bottom of his neck as I quietly freed my jacket from his grip.
“You’re gonna keep quiet, right?” he asked suddenly. “It was an accident.”
Against my will, my hand reached for the side of my neck. I touched the skin lightly, as though the area were still tender.
I’d taken money off of the coffee table. Betty had left it there for me to get some snacks while I was out. She always did. Wally hadn’t known that, though. He saw me take it and thought I’d stolen it. He’d yelled at me before, his temper was short, but when I ignored him and ran up the stairs to my room, he’d followed. We got into a screaming match, and when I tried to go into my room, he grabbed me by the neck and flung me into the wall.
The rest happened so fast. Betty came home and tried to smooth things over, but Wally wouldn’t listen. He raged on like a storm, tearing pictures from the walls, tossing books from the shelves. The next thing I remembered was him grabbing a fistful of my hair. Betty tried to pull me free, but he shoved her away. He didn’t let me go until he heard her whimpering from the bottom of the stairs. That’s when I hightailed it out of there and headed for the subway.
“You need help, Wally,” I heard myself tell him.
Wally nodded. “Everyone makes mistakes, you know. It’s not easy, dealing with you foster kids. You’re all misfits, and you take advantage of people like my wife with your sad stories. The minute we let our guard down, you take from us what little we have.”
“I never stole from you,” I spat.
“I let your social worker know things aren’t working out here, and we won’t be available to foster anymore. She’ll find you a replacement soon.”
There was no mistaking the bitterness in his tone. Wally returned to the house and slammed the door in my face. I stared for a few moments, stunned. I should have expected it. It was for the best. That’s what I told myself, but it didn’t stop the ache. Being kicked out hurt. It always hurt. Didn’t matter if I saw it coming.
Maybe that’s why I was so anxious to see my mother. I shook myself from my stupor and called Marcos. He agreed to pick me up and take me uptown. Maybe if I’d taken time to think things through, I would have been more careful.
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