“I’ve only lived with you for two months.”
Don’t get me wrong, I had nothing against her. As far as fake parents went, she wasn’t that bad. At least her husband didn’t try to sneak into my room at night. Had a couple of those. Nothing a loud scream or swift kick to the nuts couldn’t solve.
“It doesn’t take that long to get to know someone. Besides…” She steered the car around a corner and up a hill covered in pine trees. “You’re going to be reunited with your mom. You must be happy about that.”
I shrugged. “I guess.”
Happy wasn’t the word I’d use. My childhood was spent watching Charmaine’s descent into insanity. It started with little things. Locking the door twice and constantly checking over her shoulder.
That escalated into tin foil on the windows and booby traps. She even went so far as to dig through any food we’d ordered at a restaurant.
When I was little, it was kind of fun. Like a game we were playing a secret game. As I got older, I realized that normal people didn’t do these things. CPS got involved when I was eight because she’d locked me in a closet, claimingtheywere coming. Charmaine was taken away, and I began my nine-year trek through the foster care system.
A few months ago, she was deemed no longer a danger to herself or others. Since CPS was all about family reunification, I was being sent to live with her again. Wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I supposed it was better than visiting her in that state-run nuthouse.
Ever been to one of those places?
That shit in horror movies was the plaza in comparison. There were people muttering to themselves, throwing things, and having tantrums in the corner. Some of them weren’t even dressed. And don’t get me started on the smell. I’d never get rid of that stench, or the nightmares it evoked.
No child wants to see their parent in a place like that. Every time I saw that glazed look on Charmaine’s face, my heart broke a little. Just because she needed to be there, didn’t mean I had to like it. She was still my mother.
As far as I was concerned, CPS had lost their minds. I saw Charmaine a week before some doctor declared her cured, and she was still muttering about the infamousthey.
“They found us, Sydney. You have to be astute – they play tricks with your mind.”
Didn’t sound very sane if you asked me.
“I talked to your stepdad today. He seems like a nice man.”
Oh, and there was that.
“Whatever you say,” I muttered.
What kind of person married someone fresh off the crazy train? Not sure about Stacy, but that definitely raised red flags for me. He could be the nicest person in the world, even Mike Brady had a screw loose.
No one was that happy all the time. And what about when Charmaine inevitably fell off the wagon? What happened to me then? Would they throw me back in the system, or leave me in the care of some guy who clearly had issues?
I really should’ve taken time to study custody cases. Guess it was too late now. Not that it would’ve changed anything. According to the law, I didn’t have the right to decide things for myself. At least not for another year and two weeks. Apparently, people weren’t legally in charge of themselves until they were nineteen.
So, I was at the mercy of the courts. Who, in my opinion, had no idea what they were doing. For now, I was stuck in this midwestern town with a strange man in a house that quite possibly might have tin foil on the windows.
Welcome home, Sydney.
Never thought I’d miss Stacy’s quaint little three-bedroom house, with the white picket fence and roses out front. I never thought I’d miss her, either.
“Thank you for bringing me.” I gave Stacy a little smile. “You didn’t have to.”
Normally, it was my social worker, Perry, who did drop offs. Not this time, for some reason.
“Of course, I did.” Stacy smiled back. “We’re going to miss you around the house.”
That was a lie. Then again, that’s all the system was. One big, giant lie. When I first showed up at a new home, everyone would pretend to be nice. Welcoming me with open arms as if they were happy that I was there. When in reality, all I was to them was a paycheck. I’d seen so many fake smiles over the years, I forgot what real ones looked like.
“Here we are.”
“Great,” I grumbled while gearing myself up for the uncomfortable introductions.
I hated this routine. Everyone expected me to smile and make friends, but what was the point? Eventually, I’d have to leave them behind, so why bother with attachments?
