It’s peaceful.
This is actually the best kind of death that could come for me. But I have a feeling that’s not the case.
What could I expect, when I fell in love with a murderer six years ago and never got over him.
Kasien
Age 9
We sit on our bunk beds, my sister rocking on the spring mattress from side to side. She can’t stay in place for a moment. She’s excited.
I sit still, scanning the white door to our room, patiently waiting to hear the signature click of our caregiver’s heels.
We’ve been here for exactly twenty-two days, and I can already recognize the gait of all four caregivers who take turns.
The main lady, old and blonde, has slow, soft steps, usually wearing black low heels. She’s the nicest. Natalya likes her too.
Everyone likes Natalya, because she’s so hyperactive. They apparently like that here.
But this old lady likes me too. She always appreciates it when I sort all the toys in the game room by color and by height.
I finally hear her footsteps, and I look at the clock. It’s noon. They should be here by now. The white door creaks open, and the lady smiles immediately when she spots us sitting on the bed, all our stuff packed and ready by the door.
“My little ravens, look at you. You packed so nicely!”
Her old raspy voice is so gentle it sounds like it could break at any moment. She sounds like a grandma. Natalya says that’s how a grandma should sound. I guess she’s right.
Natalya squeals and jumps off the bed, running to the door, eager. I remain still, watching my younger sister be hyperactive again and make the old lady smile.
“I see you’re excited,” the lady says, smiling at us, and takes one of Natalya’s black braids, her eyebrows raising toward her hairline as her wrinkled face forms a funny smile while she checks the braid.
Natalya made me braid her hair, but I don’t know how to do that. I guess not like this. I don’t really care.
“Your new family is almost here. They can’t wait to see you again.”
Natalya squeals and mumbles something, as the old lady continues.
“Let me just have a quick chat with them, and then they’re all yours, my little ravens.” She winks at us and leaves.
Natalya runs to her suitcase and opens it.
“Don’t open it. I already packed it,” I tell her as she rolls her eyes.
“I just need to check if we didn’t forget something,” she mumbles as she runs her little fingers through all the clothes and some of her diaries.
None of it is actually ours. We came here with empty hands. The lady said that the soldier who sent us here took one of Natalya’s stuffed toys, but Natalya said it wasn’t hers. I know it actually is, but I didn’t insist on it. She probably doesn’t want it anymore.
She closes the suitcase and runs to the window.
“They’re here. I remember their car from the last time they visited,” she yells at me while she jumps in front of it.
She’s really clever for a seven-year-old. Also pretty annoying.
“Stay here,” I tell her as I get up and slip into the other room connected to ours, where other kids used to be until someone adopted them last week. I close the door behind me and sit on the floor behind the main door. They lead right into the main living room, and I can hear all the conversations with theparents who come in. I learned a lot about the kids here, because I always listen to everything.
I finally hear muffled voices coming from the entrance of the house, and then they all sit in the living room right behind the door I pressed my ear to.
“Mrs. Varner, Mr. Varner, it’s so nice to see you again,” the old lady says in her warm, raspy voice.
