“Come find me when you’re settled. No rush. Take all the time you need. Bathroom is right there.” She motioned to an open door on the other side of the room.
With that, she turned, heading back down the stairs.At least she wasn’t a hoovering type,I thought, as I made my way to the room.
What I expected to find was dust covering the floors, or a bunch of another man’s treasure, since Dawn seemed like the kind of woman to keep things that I found no appeal in. But instead, I found a full-sized bedwith what smelt almost like clean bedding, a dresser and a small desk off to the side. A huge window with the curtains drawn was in the center of the wall.
This couldn’t be real. It was too much. And I wasn’t talking about the normal cream colored walls that were so different from the rest of the house that I’d seen so far. It was the fact that it was clean, and empty of anything that could be of Dawn’s.
A blank slate.
Tears gathered as I gently closed the door and set my bag on the top of the dresser.
All the foster families had rooms and beds, but nothing like this nice place. I’d have a bunk bed here or there. But the blankets weren’t always the cleanest. There’d be stains on the floor, clutter of other kids' crap on the dressers or on the floor.
What the heck was I to do in a space like this? I wasn’t someone who had things to set up and show off. Heck, I didn’t think my one measly bag would even fill one single drawer in the dresser.
Wiping away the wetness from my cheeks, I sat on the edge of the bed. But that only caused more tears to fall as my body sunk into the most comfortable mattress I’d ever felt.
Why couldn’t Dawn have found me sooner? Why hadn’t she tried to fight for me when I was only six years old?
I’d have loved to grow up here in a place like this. I’d have enjoyed doing whatever a kid would have done with a huge tree out front and so much land to explore.
But, then a small part of me spoke. Maybe Dawn hadn’t known I existed at that age. Or maybe she wasn’t old enough to take in a child. Or maybe, she wanted a life before being tied down with a troubled kid.
Maybe, one day far, far into the future, I could ask those questions. Right now, as I wiped away the tears once again and sniffed, I didn’t need to worry. There was no point.
I am here now. Dawn was fighting for me. That had to count for something, no matter how small it was.
Chapter 8
One day quickly turned into a week, then two.
Dawn was different. The good kind. Some days, I wasn’t sure how to reply, and thankfully she didn’t expect anything from me other than to clean up after myself or to write something down on the shopping list that I wanted or needed.
I had yet to do that, nor would I.
I kept waiting for something to happen though. Surely she’d get fed up with me sooner or later. But so far, she hadn’t cared that my tears didn’t shut off some days. She didn’t care that I only gave yes or no answers.
Dawn talked enough for the both of us, anyways. Which I guess made her great at selling houses.
She worked odd hours, mostly afternoon and into the late evening. But that didn’t stop her from either making dinner or picking something up on the way home after she was in town. I hated to admit it, though. I preferred her cooking over fast food.
Her meals were full of things my body wanted. For so long my food intake had been slim, and after a week of easy healthy meals,my body was gaining energy. Energy I wasn’t sure what to do with.
I helped where I could, wanting to learn everything I possibly could to fend for myself. Making bread was not my strongest suit though. Flour got everywhere, but at least Dawn hadn’t cared how much of a mess I made. All she cared about was the fact that I was trying.
And I was. Trying. Trying to live. Trying to find my feet. Trying to heal and overcome the past.
As the nights came, so did the nightmares. It wasn’t fast, like a snap of the fingers. It was slow. Just little things here or there. But with each night, it was harder and harder to keep the past away from pulling me under.
Either Dawn was a heavy sleeper, or she didn’t want to overstep. I hoped it was the former. I tried to not make a sound at night, even though it was hard to breathe and the tears wouldn’t stop. Last night, I snuck to the porch, sitting in the porch swing that was on the side of the house and let the cool air clear my head.
It sort of helped.
But otherwise, it wasn’t bad living with Dawn in the middle of nowhere. It was quiet, and there was a sort of peacefulness to her place. The few neighbors weren’t a bother,even though they’d stopped by. At those times, I disappeared into the house. I was sure they had been wondering who I was, and all Dawn had said I was her nephew. No other explanation was given.
I kept waiting for her to get tired of me. Tired of my lack of talking or answering her many questions. But all she did was either re-ask a question in a way I could answer, or answer herself with what she knew. She didn’t push me, for the most part.
The times she had to talk me into agreeing was for my own good. Sure, I understood where she was coming from, but I didn’t see the point in any of it. Why did I need to visit more doctors who would want answers I couldn’t give?
