Story #31: Pain

Pain

     There’s no greater pain in the world than losing a family member and then having to

live on without them. The closer they were to you, the more it hurts. One year ago

today, I lost my parents right in front of my eyes.

     It was a chilly October day, and I had been waiting for my parents to get home from

grocery shopping. I didn’t go because I didn’t like grocery shopping, but now I wish I

had gone. An hour and a half had gone by and they should have been home by then.

     A knock on the front door startled me, and when I looked around the corner, I found a

police officer on the other side.

     “Hello,” I said to him politely.

     “Are you Miss Marie Sentry?”

     “Yes, I am. Can I help you?”

     His face darkened, “I think we should do this inside.”

     “Oh, yes, of course. You must be cold. Can I get you anything, coffee or tea?”

     “No, thank you. You better have a seat,” The officer told me. Once I was seated, he

continued. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, and I wish I weren’t the one to have to

tell you but your parents’ car was hit by a deer. They swerved off the road and hit a

telephone pole.

     My breathing became ragged, but he went on, “The impact from both the deer and

the pole was too much. They were . . . declared dead on the way to the hospital.”

After he said that, I started bawling and couldn’t breath. I felt a hand push against

my back, “Put your head in between your legs and breath. Is there any family you can

stay with?”

     “No. I have no one. I’m all alone. I only had my parents.”

     “You are going to have to come with me down to the station then,” I nodded and we

got into the car. It was odd to sit in the back of the police car like I was a criminal being

punished for my loss. The entire ride to the station my heart felt like it was being ripped

in two. My gut was aching with the pain of loss. Tears wouldn’t stop flowing from my

eyes and my shirt sleeves were soaked.

     A lady from social services had to come get me since I was only sixteen, “Please,

can’t I stay at home? Don’t take me from what I have left of my family,” I pleaded.

     Sad-stricken she replied, “You can go home and pack a bag for the rest of the week,

but after that you are going to have to stay in a foster home full time.”

     “Why? Why can’t I stay at home full time?”

     “You are a minor. It’s against the law.” “What’s going to happen to all of my

parents’ stuff, my house, my car?”

     “It will all stay exactly where it is until you turn eighteen,” The social worker said

firmly. At my house, I packed my suitcase and grabbed my laptop. The ride to the first

foster home was short and neither of us spoke until we got there.

     The social services lady knocked on the door and a woman came to the door, “Yes?”

the woman asked.

     “Hi I’m Mrs. White. We talked on the phone.”

     “Of course. Come on in. I’m Mrs. Scott. This must be Marie.”

     She gestured to me and Mrs.White nudged my arm, “Oh. Hi. Where will I be staying

while I am here?”

     Mrs. White gasped, “Marie, don’t be rude!”

     “She’s fine. Most of the kids that come through here basically ask the same thing.

Come with me and I will show you where.” We followed her through the house to a

bedroom with three beds in it. “You are going to have to share with two other girls.”

I sat down on the empty bed and got out my laptop. Mrs. Scott quickly chimed in,

“There’s no electronics in the bedrooms.”

     “I don’t care. It’s to look at pictures of my parents. Are you really going to take that

away from me?”

     She paused for a second and then left the room. Finally alone, I pulled up the

pictures from my family’s trip to Chicago the month before. We all looked so happy that

I started to cry. Pushing my laptop aside, I grabbed my pillow and sobbed.

Later Mrs. White came in, “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to call.”

     “Just leave me alone.”

     That night when the other girls came home they tried talking to me but I just tuned

them out and continued to cry into my pillow until I finally fell asleep. I stayed in that

foster house until the day of my parents funeral. Mrs. Scott wanted to come with me for

support but I told her I didn’t want her anywhere near me that day.

     I was sent to a different foster home that night and for the past year I have spent my

time going from foster home to foster home. I have gone to six different schools within

the past year so being the new girl was something I got sick of fast. I was coping fairly

well until the day that one of the other girls in one of the homes was going through the

pictures on my computer and making fun of them. That scene almost turned into a fist

fight and I was transferred again. At the next home I began cutting my wrists because I

still missed my parents terribly and the others kids wouldn’t respect that.

     The pain from the knife helped to take away the pain that I gained in place of my

parents. Some of the kids were okay but they weren’t enough. I needed family so I was

quick to dismiss them and retreat into my own world, where my parents were still alive.

My past foster parents didn’t understand why, so I was always transferred to a new

home.

     The home I am at now is nice, but it’s just like all the others. It’s a place to stay until I

am eighteen and can move back home. In this home, I share a room with two other

girls both my age and they are always taking my stuff. That doesn’t bother me, though.

The thing that bothers me most about this home is that the parents are clueless as to

what goes on in the house.

     They don’t realize that the kids are terrible. Well all but one of them are. The only

other good one is Oliver. He, like me, was there because he had lost his parents

somehow. We didn’t talk about that. We talked about other stuff, like what we wanted

to do with our lives and where we wanted to go. The two of us were friends until, one

day, he took it to another level.

     It was around the time that I would normally be transferred to a new foster home.

We were outside sitting on the roof that extended to overhang the porch below. Just

like every other night we were talking about our day and enjoying the peace and quiet,

when he leaned over and kissed me. It was light and soft at first but then it got more

insistent.

     By the time that we leaned away from each other, we were both breathing hard and

red in the face. I came to my senses first, “We can’t do this.”

     “All we did was kiss.”

     “I know, but either of us could be gone before we know it, and I can’t handle that

hurt ever again.”

     He kissed me once more and we both agreed to never let it happen again and

things between us went back to the way it was. That was, until Oliver saw another guy

kiss me. I came into the house, not realizing he was home. Once I closed the front

door and put my stuff down, he came into the room. He seemed calm at first, then he

slammed me into the wall.

     Pain shot through my side and my head started throbbing. He did it again, and black

spots formed at the far corners of my vision and they started to tear up. “Why?” I asked

him.

     “If I can’t have you no one can.”

     “Nobody gets me. I can’t be taken. Especially by you now. You are dead to me!”

     “You shouldn’t have said that,” He punched me in the side and let me drop to the

ground. I landed on my elbow and heard something crack, sending pain through me.

Oliver was a lot stronger than I thought.

     I screamed, but he grabbed my throat, hauling me up, “If you know what’s good for

you, you’ll shut up.”

     His hand began to squeeze, cutting off my breathing. I clawed at his hand hard

enough to draw blood, but he was unfazed by it. At first I was trying to get away from

him, so I tried a new approach. This time I went towards him and kissed him. It took

him a minute to come to his senses, and when he did he kneed me in the stomach.

Oliver left the room with me laying on the floor gasping for air. After getting used to

someone being there for me again, the feeling of being alone was twice as bad. Just

as I was starting to get up, he came back in. His foot connected with my back and

again I screamed. “Please! Please, stop! I will be yours,” I cried tears streaming down

my face.

     He came around to the front of me. "I don't believe you. You are lying little witch that

just wants attention since her mommy and daddy can't give it to her,” he said with an

evil look in his eyes.

     "How can you say that? You know just as well as I do that losing someone is an

awful feeling. You know from our nights of talking alone that I don't like attention."

     This time he pulled me up by my hair. My face was right by his, "Don't talk to me like

that. I remember our talks, but the thing is, all of them were lies. Did you ever wonder

why the foster parents here don't care about what I do? That's right, I'm their son."

     "Why? Why did you lie to me when you knew what kind of emotional state I was in?"

     "I wanted to get to know you. To date you. But when you said that we couldn't, I

decided that no one could date you," He turned around and then looked at me again.

"No more talking."

     I hadn't realized that he put a ring on and when he slapped me it cut open my cheek.

Knowing there was no reasoning with him, I quit resisting. The blows came from all

angles, hitting me in the back, the stomach, and the head. Tears streamed down my

face mixing with the blood as is flowed from various cuts. He had stepped on my leg,

and I am sure that he broke it because I could hear something snap. That was the last

time that I screamed because he punched me in the throat, yelling at me to shut up.

     I don't even know how long his beating lasted. The last thing I remember was his

mom walking in the room and screaming. He kicked me in the head one last time and I

finally slipped into the sweet release of unconsciousness.

     Even though I hoped that I was dead, I woke up in the hospital with Mrs. White by

my bedside. She looked up and sighed, "I only see one solution to this problem, and

that's for me to just adopt you."

     My throat was raspy when I answered, “Are you serious?”

     “Well, you never seem to be able to stay in one foster home for long, but you are

clearly a good kid. You are going to be eighteen soon, so yeah, I am.”

     “That is the best thing anyone has said to me since my parents died.”

     After I left the hospital, I testified against Oliver in court and he was put in jail. I

never had to see him again. Mrs. White got the adoption finalized and I finally found

someone to trust. The one person who had truly been there for me since my parents

died. Finally, my pain was relieved.