Nice use of the name Carla there. I warm to my baby sister even more. “She’s not allowed to do that.” I look behind me at the social worker who’s suddenly not paying attention. I repeat myself louder. “Carla’s meant to allow access to her relatives.”
The word sounds cold and meaningless. What I mean is just because Carla and her husband want to extract me from Sierra’s life like I’m a rotted tooth that can only cause pain, the system that’s overseen our welfare for the past nine years is meant to ensure we remain in contact. It’s one of my few rights with her and damned if they’re going to get away with pushing me out of her life.
“Access doesn’t mean a mobile phone,” the woman says in a bored voice as though reading it from one of their dusty pamphlets.
The frown on Sierra’s face is a mirror to mine as we glare at her in tandem. When I catch her eye, she cracks up, and from then on, it’s easier as we fill in our movements since the last time we met.
“Can we go for a walk?” I ask the worker as the oppressive room stifles our fledgling conversation. “Just around the park?”
The meeting place has a small park next door for more relaxed family interactions. Once again, the setup is geared towards younger children, but the fresh breeze outside is better than anything indoors.
To my delight, she agrees.
Outside, the wind blows the clouded thoughts out of my mind, and I can think clearly again. There aren’t any more solutions than I had yesterday, but at least I feel more confident that I’ve sifted through everything I can.
Taking a seat on a swing, I wait for Sierra to take the one next to me. From here, I can see the shape of Carla’s head inside the car as she waits for her daughter to be returned.
Two hours, once a fortnight. That’s the access I have to my sister. The only flesh and blood that I know of.
I understand why. Understand it’s my own fault for choosing drugs over access, even if the choice wasn’t laid out in that stark way at the time.
But still, it rankles that even on our restricted timetable, under supervision, Carla won’t drive away to let us visit in peace.
“Something wrong?”
“I’m a fuckup,” I say before thinking to censor my words. “Sorry.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, because that’s the worst thing anybody’s ever said to me.” Her giggle is the happiest she’s sounded so far. “What particular thing are you fucking up?”
“Oh, don’t.” My eyes jerk across to Carla, then farther to the social worker who’s watching us from a bench at the edge of the park. “They’ll write me up for delinquency of a minor.”
“Fuck, shit, cunt—”
“Sierra!” But she’s laughing with such delight I can’t help but join in.
“Just proving that someone else ruined me first.”
My giggles taper off into a sigh. “Things are hard right now. I’m not sure I’m cut out for adulthood.”
And a boy tortures me at school and treats me like a queen at home, and I’m bonded to him because I did something unforgiveable when I was so drenched in grief that I couldn’t think of another way.
But I can’t say that to her. I can’t say that toanybody.
“It’s hard to juggle work and school,” I say instead, since that’s something a normal person would say. “Without both, I’ll lost my place in the flat.”
“What happens if you lose the flat?” she asks, smoothing her hair back into place.
“Then I’ll have to find more expensive accommodation and give up school to work full time in order to afford it.”
“That’s some bullshit.”
“Yeah, it is.” I close my eyes for a second, twisting the swing around so the chains overlap, then lifting my feet and letting it revert into position. “It’ll mean putting off university for a while. Everything will get kicked down the track.”
“That’s not so bad, is it? I’d love to have a couple of years off school.”
At her age, I skipped out of class often enough to add up to that. It’s a price I’m still paying back, along with being six months to a year older than most of my classmates.
“Every time I screw something up, it threatens my visitation.”
