Out of the corner of my eye, I see August swatting a falling tear as she continues smiling at me. Maybe she didn’t know how much I’ve wanted this or how important it is to me, but if she was guessing before, she knows for sure now.
When the excitement dies down, August pulls her stool over a little closer. “I knew this meant a lot to you, but now I see who you truly are, Chance,” she whispers in my ear.
While I’ve been trying to keep myself in check these last few days, this hour brings back my memories of the last time I felt this way.
After running away from the last foster home and getting caught, I was off to another group home. I figured it would be worse than where I had come. However, hardly a week passed before the social worker at the group home told me to join her in the office for a discussion.
“Chance,” the woman began. I don’t remember a lot about her except for a head of red, tight curls that looked like she just got a tight perm and a bad dye job. “This rarely happens, but we have a couple who would like to adopt an older child, and they chose you, Chance.”
In all the years I had been shuttled around, tossed back and forth to houses, I had never shed a tear. Not one, but hearing the words, ‘they chose you,’ ... changed my entire life.
I cried hard tears for a straight hour. I kept asking why. I couldn’t understand why someone finally wanted me. They did, though. God, they wanted me so badly. When they came to pick me up, they both stood there with smiles as I had never seen. They had tears in their eyes too. They looked like they already loved me.
I couldn’t understand why they wanted to hug me, but they stood there with their arms wide open like I had been theirs all along, and they missed me after being gone for a long time.
After that first hug, I called them Mom and Dad, and I never looked back. They gave me a life I would never have had if it weren’t for them.
Even at eleven years old, I knew that someday, I would do whatever I could to make a child feel the same way I felt that day because everyone deserves to feel wanted. I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to make that happen, even offering to take an older child.
After I'm through reminiscing, I glance over at August, catching her gazing off into the distance. It isn’t until I follow her gaze that I realize she’s staring at a bottle of whiskey on the back wall. “What’s going on?” I ask her.
She shakes her head as if trying to lose track of whatever she was thinking. “Oh, nothing at all. I was thinking about how excited I am for you.”
“While looking at a bottle of whiskey?” I ask, trying to add humor to the conversation.
“I want a drink,” she says.
“Why?” It’s a simple question that should come with a loaded answer.
“I honestly don’t know. I don’t like the taste. I hate the way it burns my throat.”
“It numbs your pain,” I tell her.
“I’m not even feeling pain right now. I don’t miss him, Chance. I really don’t.”
“Pain goes deeper than just losing a person,” I tell her. “Your life is changing. You were forced to make a change, and that can mess you up.”
“You seem to have your life planned out,” she says. “I think I’m jealous.”
“Man, if you’re jealous of my life, we have a problem, Auggie. Come on now. You don’t mean that.”
“You’re in control,” she says.
“So are you,” I remind her.
“I want a future,” she continues.
“Then start your future right now,” I tell her. “But, leave the whiskey here.”
“The whiskey is like Keegan,” she tells me. “It’ll do nothing good for me, so why did I spend so much time thinking it was the right thing?”
I take August’s chin in my hand and look her in the eyes. “Because you haven’t experienced the best yet, but you’re going to. That’s what you deserve. Whiskey will make you weaker, it will tie you down, and make you think you need it, but you don’t.”
“Just like Keegan,” she adds in. “I need to leave the whiskey so the whiskey will go away too.”
“Let’s get our food to go, darlin’. We can go eat it on the benches over at the lake.”
“Chance, I’m not good for you right now. You should be happy and free, planning out the rest of your life. I’ll end up bringing you down, and I don’t want to do that.” August stands up and walks out of the bar as if she doesn’t plan to see me again.
