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Coming Face to Face With Me

Part One

By Lizz DeBowPublished 7 years ago 1 min read
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part one
I still remember the day I met you. I was the bratty little sister of one of your friends. You were playing basketball at the fair grounds.My brother was so mad that mom made him bring me along. As I sit there watching you guys play while pretending to read my book, one of the two I brought with me. I finally started to get into one of them when you came up to me. Taking a seat next to me.“What are you reading?” taking a drink from your water bottle.I had no idea what to say, it was the first time you never talked to me. I just kept my head down. I didn’t even look up when you placed your thumb on the page I was reading to mark my place as you turned to read the title.Out Stealing Horses,” you flipped the book back to the page I was on. “Sounds interesting.”We sat there for what seemed like forever. I wished that you would just leave, being around you made my head spin. The way you smelled made it so hard to catch my breath. I was so happy when my brother called you to come finish the game. You stood and winked as you ran off to rejoin the game. I knew that whatever just happened, was well I don’t know if you started hanging out with my brother more or I started noticing you more, but it was like every where I went you were there.My mind kept going to you sitting there in class, I would day dream about you. Thinking if you were thinking about me too. The age difference didn’t bother me at all. But back then I didn’t know you lied about that too.There were a lot of lies told. I still don’t know what I was to you. I think that is what bothers me the most. Was I just another mark? A score to settle with my foster family for not keeping you? There are so many questions I have and no one will give me the answers. That's another thing that bothers me, they say that they want to protect me from what is going to happen now. That I should not have to relive the nightmare. That’s not the case, every time I close my eyes I see you. I see all the good things that has happened between us. Even though there were more bad times than good, it's the good times that stay with me. It’s at night that the bad memories come.It has been six years since it has ended, and now I sit here wondering what is going on. From the next room, the only good thing that has happened between us is playing tea party with her stuffed animals. I know she hears me cry at night. She asks me why I am sad. I can’t tell her its because of you. She doesn’t know about you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. It’s still to fresh in my mind to relive.But maybe it is time. To reach out to you at least. Maybe it will help me get over you and move on so I can start living again.

That was the last thing written in my mother's diary, it was the only thing that was left for me from her. I don’t know how many times I have read it over and over again. But the most important thing was not the words that she wrote, but the date in the corner of the page.

It was dated two weeks before the memories of my mother coming home smelling like booze and something that I could not put my finger on. Even though I was six, I still have the memory of that purple polka dot cup that never seemed to leave her hand.

The first memory of that cup, has stayed with me ever since. For me, it was the time in my life that showed me that I was the only one who I could count on. I was the one who made sure there was something to eat, that I made it to school every day. And I was the one who came up with the reasons why you never picked me up after school. Or even called into your boss saying why you couldn’t make it to work most days.

I was eight when they finally figured out what was going on. That all the time I walked home after school alone. That there was something wrong at home. By the time I got home from school, they were waiting for me, and you? I still don’t know where you were, before I left for school that day I called your work to say you were sick and couldn’t come in.

That was they day I entered the foster care system. For the next eight years, I was in the system.

foster
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