The School Bus

Middle of August... mid 1990s... Gray sky... a slow gust of wind carrying a cloud of leaves... they rise and dance and run away...

He looked up again and saw a flight of birds cutting the sky. He did not want to go. He did not want to stay. It was just past 7 A.M. He shifted his feet, looking up and down the road waiting for the vessel that would bring him down the street and towards the new place of learning.

See, he had wanted to go to the local school. Just a mile away. It wasn't up to him. He remembered what had happened at the place before. He remembered just how dark it had become. He had played with fire before. The anger was catching up. As a child, he didn't think it could be so complicated. That was supposed to come later. There was a lot to prove. 

Fire was a release. Oh he liked to see it burn. The light brought him comfort. The warmth was so soothing. Sometimes, he would get with friends and they would steal some liquor. Never really thought to drink it. But boy did it burn. He liked to go down by the little creek in the woods... see what he could burn.

He heard the beast coming. The diesel engine roared and the loud whine of the brakes cried out when the beast would turn. Shuddered to a stop right there with a hydraulic burst as the doors came open, engine rattling away.

The old place of learning had many memories. It had stood down on that state road, back behind the fast food and right across from the old mall. They had renamed it after integration. In the scramble to rearrange the education system, a black high school had been rechristened and converted to a middle school. It had stood down in Nickeltown. Off state highway 291. Pleasantburg Drive. 

The city had been built around that river. All those years ago, back before the Revolution, it had been born as a summer retreat for the folks up from the port of Charleston. You see, South Carolina started in a union with North Carolina, both states named after one of the King Charles. Charleston was founded as Charles Town, the first major city and remains to this day the largest (by most measures). It gets rather hot, and the settlers were prone to sickness from the swampy water and the storms. So they picked up, traveled Northwest, across the midlands (where at that time there was mostly swampy lands, forests and some fields), straight up into the foothills. There, in the Cherokee hunting grounds they found that river. Not a particularly large one. They took to building some mills. A main street. They build this street called Church Street. Deadended into a Church. Eventually some carriage factories and some more mills. The cotton from the lower parts of the state could be made into textiles, and the city boomed on that industry eventually. But initially the mills were mostly for grinding grain. By the 1990s it was the 3rd largest city in the state and had served as state capital for about a month when the Union burned Columbia. Charleston had ceased being the state capital long ago. 

They had called it Pleasantburg. Hence the road name. Where the new name came from was... well, see it had been a resort of bits, and very forested and natural. Very Green. Then roundabout the Revolution, the Swamp Fox did the country justice, so they decided that he was the inspiration, though they dropped the extra e and put up a statue right on Main. The textile mills disappeared in the 70s. Downtown was boarded up. It became dangerous. So they decided they needed a change. The economy diversified, and downtown was remade. In the 90s it became safe and popular. 

So Nickeltown had a school. Right near the old city dump, which closed sometime in the 70s. It had a concrete courtyard in the front. The High School had featured a Swimming pool, which had been left to nature and become a green pond. But he could remember that concrete courtyard oh so well. Not the safest place in the world. The bomb threats, people throwing things at others, the fights, gang type behavior. He had been compelled to defend himself physically a time or two. By the time he left, he had been gone in his mind so far away that it's amazing anything came out at all. 

That was when he met the hospital. Seemed a safe place at the time. They said he had the depression. They say he couldn't think so clear. Yet by the time he left that school he was thinking of the end. The darkness of the mind was powerful, and he was in the grip. Took to writing dark things.

Under the overpass and by the river... past the water treatment plant and up that hill... Across the state road... Past Augusta... by the furniture store and down into the neighborhood by the interstate... then the last turn taking it up that hill by the woods, turning right into the big lot. 

Interesting place. walking from that lot into the school, if you turned to the right and went into those woods, you could find a grave or two. The school seemed like a fortress. So he built himself up strong to survive. 

Disconnect

  The voice on the phone was familiar to him and still talking, but he had stopped listening several minutes ago. She obviously didn't realize this because the cadence did not change. He was far away, floating somewhere far above where he lay sprawled on the floor, his tense hand still clutching the cold receiver in some sort of karate death grip. His breaths were slow and shallow, his body motionless, and from the vacant look in his eye, one might mistake him for dead and gone. But Eddie was very much alive on a physical level, even if emotionally he was numb. He could still hear her words in the distance. He didn't really need to hear them. He knew what the message was. In some sense he had seen this coming. He never acknowledged it, of course, but the gnawing dread, the feeling of falling, had been there in the background for quite some time. The words themselves were unimportant and expected, words like "time", "space", and "different". Yet somehow he couldn't believe that the voice saying these words belonged to her, the one person he thought would be different, the one voice he thought that finally understood him after all those years, the voice that belonged to the sweetest, most beautiful girl that had ever entered his life. He wanted to buy into the idea that this was temporary, that this didn't mean she was gone. But deep inside he knew it was inevitable. She was no longer a part of his life. 

His thoughts drifted and in his mind's eye he could see it all over again, the cold winter day. He could hear the rattle of the engine in his ears, could feel the firmness of the brake underfoot as the bus slowed and stopped. His favorite song was playing on the radio and he was chatting up one of his regulars in the seats behind him. He was relaxed and wearing his usual infectious smile that made the regulars at home and the strangers at ease. Eddie was a people person. Always had been. The door made a hissing sound as it whooshed open. And there she was, sitting on the chipped concrete bench under the protection of the glass bus stop housing. The drizzle was making a soft tapping sound on the glass. She was petite, about 5'4" with milk chocolate skin and finely defined features. She gathered two brown grocery bags and, clutching them tightly, rose and stepped towards the open door. Then she suddenly looked up and directly at him, focusing a pair of soft brown eyes on his face. There was a quality of innocence that hit him hard. Eddie was not a romantic. He didn't believe in that shit. But he remembered that moment clearly. It lasted one long second and she stepped onto the bus, her worn but fashionable boots clicking on the metal steps. Their eyes met again as she scanned her pass, and she smiled for an instant. 

Amazingly when Eddie came back to the present the voice was still chattering. He wasn't sure how long he had been lying on the floor with the phone. Suddenly the voice paused and he realized she had asked him a question. He considered saying something. He wanted to say something, anything. Then he realized he wanted to say everything. That is when the receiver slipped from his fingers, falling gently to the floor. He could hear her calling out hesitantly, sounding slightly confused and alarmed. But he was too busy stumbling, or dragging himself through the dim light until he collapsed on an old sofa a few feet away. He blinked slowly a couple of times and his eyes gradually came closed as he escaped into the comfort of sleep, away from the world of duties and responsibilities and into something much different… release. 

The games no longer amused him. The problem was, there was very little that amused him anymore. He was now the manager of the whole store, which didn't translate into a lot of income, but he got by. His workers came and went, but they were all the same. Teenagers without much interest in the job, collecting a paycheck and then moving on to something else. He didn't blame them. After all, this was Nickeltown. Not exactly a beacon of hope and opportunity. 

He walked home to save money. He had found a room in a deadbeat place not far from the corner of cleveland and 291. He always made sure to stop by the liquor store in the bilo shopping center. Sometimes he would go to bilo, but he always went to the liquor store. 

When he got home the first thing he did was pull whatever liquor was still in the freezer out and put the new liquor in. He never stopped to check his messages, though the light was always blinking. He had plenty of friends, he could get a quick lay if he needed one. He rarely heard from most of his family, but his mother called nearly every day. He wasn't sure why, because he only called back about once a week. 

        He knew something had to change. But where to start?

©️ 2024, Accountec, LLC

Henderson Road

July was fading into August and the growing detachment inside of her was something she still didn’t understand. All she knew was, the farther away from home she got, the less she felt, and if she didn’t stop moving soon she’d feel nothing at all. She was searching for somewhere She had been in the game long enough to know the rules. She had bounced from one foster home to another and yet the only home she truly knew was the one place they wouldn’t take her. After they took her away, for about the first 6 months or more she didn’t get it. She just was the same little Annie she had always been… waiting to be taken back home to her family. Then reality caught up. She realized not just that she was never going back, but that these homes that they took her to were not interested in little Annie. No, they all had their own expectations and motives. So she finally began to pretend. She would pretend to be what they wanted in the hope that they would leave her alone. She surprised herself at how quickly she learned the game, learned how to pretend. But even so, eventually something would happen and she would be back on the road again, waiting for her next “family”.

It was clear to her that the Ford Focus was being pushed to the limit of its useful life. The paint was faded and the tires threadbare. It was clean, but sterile. The caseworker, Morgan was her name (as if it 286497mattered), behind the wheel had a similar appearance. Anne had known her for years, but knew virtually nothing about her. She wore her usual cheap suit and strained expression, perhaps somewhat related to the time on a Friday evening. 

“Are you ready for this, Anne?” Morgan asked, keeping her eyes on the road.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Anne replied as she gazed out the window. The usual pre-launch discussion.

Morgan sighed. “Look, I know you better then you think. You’ve been through a lot. No one denies that. But this is a big opportunity for you, Anne. I’m serious. This family, they are very excited about meeting you. It’s a very stable home, and they can provide for you. And I know you’re tired of trying, but you need to try this one last time.”

“And how many last times have we done?” The words came out before Anne could think to stop them.

Morgan stifled a response and returned her eyes to the road, and Anne turned her eyes back out the window.

Anne knew the system too well. She knew the caseworker too well. There was always something they weren’t telling you. But Anne wasn’t completely innocent either. There were some things she regretted, and more that she probably should have regretted, even though she didn’t.

The news from the South Carolina Department of Social Services had come in just 2 days earlier. Anne had been in the system for years now, since she was 8, D.S.S. moving her from one temporary home to another. This time, they said, it would be permanent. After all this time, the word “permanent” sounded so foreign. When they gave her the news, she said nothing. It had been too long and she had seen too much. She had no illusions of a fairy tale ending, but still… permanent? The traces of a smile flickered across her face, then quickly faded.

They drove through quiet streets in a wooded area with proud, well kept houses. Her meager possessions had been hastily stuffed into a duffel bag in the rear seat… a few changes of clothes and some spiral notebooks. After more then 15 years of life, it was the only evidence of her existence. There had been other possessions along the way, some lost, some discarded. She couldn’t help but wonder what all this said about her. She peered out the window with pensive but steady blue eyes. Her father had taught her to be brave. The system had taught her to be strong. It looked so peaceful here and, if she allowed it, the scene would easily carry me off to visions of fairy tales of princes and princesses, heroic struggles and happy endings. But she was not naive. She kept her fantasies on a very short leash, otherwise they would turn and bite you. These trees were only trees. Beautiful, tall green trees with birds singing from their branches, but still trees. However, the sky was a clear blue and the sun was strong. They were well within the city of Greenville, driving down a slope on a road called Cleveland Street. The area was quiet, the only evidence of human activity being some kids riding bicycles. They were younger then me, but they looked so happy and she smiled at them as they passed. It was a forced, perfunctory smile, but it seemed required. This one time Cherokee hunting ground was not urban. The houses sat on plots of land of less then one acre. But the lawns were neat and flourishing and the houses modest two story structures and she wondered what kind of people lived here. Not the kind that lived paycheck to paycheck. For a moment she remembered her old childhood home, her father smiling as he cut the grass, her mother sketching at her easel. They had always struggled to make ends meet, as had many of the foster homes, and she had learned to be resourceful. But the roads were smoother here, the houses larger, the property in better repair. At the bottom of the slope the road came to a T and the social worker turned left on an upward sloping road labeled “Henderson”. 

A mere fifty yards down, the car slowed and turned into a downward sloping driveway. She could feel her heart accelerate as they came to a stop in front of a wood sided, recessed house. The clapboards were painted blue and it stood two stories high, with the driveway wrapping around the back. The social worker turned off the engine and looked at me, her hand sneaking into mine and squeezing it. Though this woman had been in the system for a while and knew better then to be falsely, overly nice, the system had not managed to kill her empathy. She knew what this situation was, and Anne thought the woman had a pretty good idea of what Anne was feeling. She might not be telling Anne everything, but this woman was her ally. Her only ally. This part was never easy, no matter how many times you did it.

Her other hand instinctively ran to the small prism pendant hanging from a simple string around her neck. When it caught the light it wouldn’t sparkle, but it would refract the light, producing rainbows, bright with the colors that life sucked out of the world.

For just an instant her father was there, his proud, sad smile on her. Take me home! She wanted to cry out. She never wanted to be here. She didn’t understand why she had to be. She didn’t want to meet these people who were trying to replace him but never could. The social workers face blurred as Anne tried to blink back the tears. She tried to shut him out, but she missed him so much. I miss you too, ‘Bow, always will.

Suddenly Anne became aware of someone gently shaking her, and she was back in the car again, the social worker’s voice dragging her back from where she belonged. Once.

“Are you ready, Anne?” her eyes spoke compassion, but her expression betrayed impatience. You should have let me stay.

But it was years too late for those words, and they didn’t listen then so there was no reason for them to listen now. And before She could put my thoughts into words She saw movement in the corner of my eye. They both turned towards the house. The door had flown open and a woman came bouncing out, trailed behind by a more much subdued man.

Anne furiously swiped at her tears and steeled herself for the usual presentation. She had no makeup to adjust, no fancy clothes to arrange. One of the suits had pushed her to wear a dress, but Anne had refused. She did not like dresses, and she resented the presentation ritual. She was no longer a feisty, unruly little girl. She had learned form and function. Her manners were irreproachable. But she was still her mother’s child, her father’s daughter, and Anne Marie would not be paraded around for the pleasure of others. If they did not understand that now, then they would learn. 

Her eyes reverted to the woman. “I’m ready.”

The suit nodded and climbed out. Anne lingered just a moment, then followed.

A tall wisp of a woman with sharp features was approaching them. She was dressed in a well cut and fashionable black dress, her makeup perfectly applied, her hair pulled back and pinned up. She looked like a doll. She walked with energy, however, her hands moving to adjust her dress and jewelry. Anne would have marked her for a museum curator or lawyer, if not for the anxious energy that characterized her. Her smile was surprisingly genuine looking. In fact, in her eyes Anne saw a little girl who just got the big birthday present she had been asking for for months. She burst forward and engaged the surprised suit in an embrace.

“We’re so excited!” she exclaimed as the caseworker awkwardly disentangled herself. The suit opened her mouth to respond, but the woman was too quick for her.

“You must be Anne!” The woman giggled as she threw her arms around Anne. At first her body tensed up, then she reluctantly returned the hug.

“Yes, Ma’am.” she struggled to force a smile.

“Aren’t you precious! I’m Janet Cardinal, but you can call me mom!” Then to the man “Andy, say something!”

The man who lumbered up behind her was a sharp contrast. His button down shirt and slacks were neat and clean, but not fashionable, in fact, they didn’t even match. He walked slowly and deliberately, and did not smile nor speak. He simply nodded at the social worker and glanced at Anne, acknowledging Anne with a grunt and a nod. He seemed to take an odd interest in the Focus, as if sizing it up for auction. 

“Anne, this is Andy, your new dad!” Janet squeaked.

“Hi”

Andy looked at Anne for a second, then addressed the social worker “Have any problems?” 

Anne looked at Mrs. Cardinal, who laughed and pulled her aside, half whispering to her “That’s your dad! Always a man of few words.”

Andy pretended not to hear her and continued speaking to the social worker as Janet drew Anne towards the house.

“Come, dear, I’ll show you your new room.”

As an afterthought she called over her shoulder to Andy “You can finish up here, right?”

“Yeah, ok.” He replied to her back as Janet led Anne into the house. 

Janet gave me a whirlwind tour, then brought me up the stairs and down a hall to a solitary room. My own room. I even had my own bathroom just down the hall. By that time Mr. Cardinal had come in and dropped my faded duffel by the door. Janet wanted to linger and chat, but her husband drew her away.

Left alone in the room, I let the situation wash over her. The first thing I did was close the door and lock it. I wrapped my arms around myself and took a deep breath. She shouldn’t have hugged me. She did not know me. I didn’t like to be touched… I still don’t. Even when I make love, I keep guys at a distance. I don’t like to cuddle. But I knew I could not afford to offend the woman. And the man… he was polite. He didn’t seem cold or unkind. But he seemed rather disinterested. The two of them had an odd dynamic. I had the strange feeling that I was viewed more as a pet then a person in his eyes. Except… that one moment when the social worker was speaking and Janet was completely absorbed in her instructions, I couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes seemed to dart in my direction, but not to my face, rather, running down my body for a mere instant, so quickly that by the time I thought to look back his eyes had returned to the social worker, nodding along to the details. My heart beat faster, and I closed my eyes and breathed again. When they opened they were calmer, and I released my self embrace. But the first thing I did was double check the lock. My life was not a fairy tale, hadn’t been for a long time. There was no one here to rescue me if something went wrong, and at the end of the day I would always remember the one truth of my world: I was often amongst others, but I ALWAYS stood alone. I moved my bag away from the door, but did not move to unpack it. Instead I looked to the window slipped over to the it and opened the glass. It was dusk now. The window opened on a sloping back yard that vanished into a thicket of trees. In the distance I could hear the sound of a burbling brook, and crickets began their nightly song. For a moment I could see a man there on the grass below smiling up at me, his features honest, his eyes sad. I blinked him away and the image blurred as I felt the disconnect again. Still the crickets sang their chorus and I remembered the song of another time, a children’s rhyme, part French, part English. The voice was gone, and gone it would stay. The crickets now would be that voice, and I left the window open. I needed the sound to ground me. I glanced over my new quarters. I could not help but smile at the quilt on the bed, an illustration of popular fairy tales stitched together. I pulled off my shabby sneakers and laid down upon the bed, wrapping the quilt tight around me. And there, armored in my tales of yore, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the crickets song, blocking out my thoughts as best I could. Slowly, reluctantly, I slipped into anxious slumber.

©️ 2017, Accountec, LLC

Waking

Hope in God. If you have good hope and faith in Him, you shall be delivered from your enemies.

Diamond opened her eyes to darkness. The dream I had been chasing was a soft one, of a past that never was. Sweet, the flickers of something warm and heartening. I dreamt of the life I thought was mine, until my nemesis opened my eyes. Sometimes I can feel him whispering into my thoughts, and like a warrior in mortal combat I rage against him with all my strength, and yet I cannot expel him. He is insidious. He is everywhere. But He will not defeat me.

The dream was so vivid, and for a few moments I hold fiercely to the fading images. If only I could dream whilst awake, I would never let that vision pass. But my eyes began to adjust, bringing me back to a place familiar and comforting in the strange way that prison walls are comforting to someone too long behind locked doors. The room is small and dark, and sparsely furnished. There are no pictures on the walls, no knickknacks. The sheets of my bed are clean, but rough, and institutional white. I have been here so many times before, that I recognize this place, as if I belong here. And I do. And I do not. This is not my home, though I know it just as well as any home I have ever known. I stare at the ceiling, wondering if I might see the feathers of that dream again. I chase the last wisps of subconscious desperately. I know my efforts are futile, but still I try. I have to try, because I will not surrender. The dreams were full of color and as alive as any reality. More so even then this place, though I know it is not a dream. In this place, most everything that isn’t brown is white, and every line is straight. I don’t know if that’s supposed to be orderly, or simply dull. It withers the senses to be here and that is intentional. Hear my words and you will understand, as I unfortunately do. I push the sheets away and swing my legs down onto the plain brown carpet. I have a chill from the night. No matter the season, this place is always cold. Like a colony on a far away world, the environment is entirely controlled and completely separate from its surroundings. Only history tells me I am still on Earth. Plain white walls. Bland fresh scent. I am, in a way, home. I both acknowledge and rage against that thought.

There’s a small window that looks out on some shrubs and walkways. Even the outside doesn’t seem real. Too orderly. Too bland. The bushes could as easily be plastic as alive. I honestly don’t know for sure. 

Back within, and over at the small wood desk, is my companion, Candy, shamelessly reading my journal. She’s not the kind to ask, and besides, I can keep no secrets from her anyways. That is one thing I have accepted, and long ago. For better or for worse, she is my constant companion.

I hit the light switch, and the glow decimates any flicker of dreams and summons me fully back to reality. The fluorescent glow is harsh and cold, reminding me that I am not welcome here, no matter what pretensions are made to deceive me. And even the pretensions are few here.

I pull the sheets up and tuck them in. If Candy has noticed my awakening she doesn’t show it. My left hand finds my rosary on the small night table as my right smooths out the blanket. This rosary was a gift to me since before I appreciated it, since before I learned the value of faith. Those times seem as though they belong to another life, a life someone else lived and that she simply witnessed. But it was given to her by her mother. Whether her mother could have forseen the importance she would eventually recognize upon it, she couldn’t say. But she held it closely to her bosom with both her hands as she said her rosary prayers slowly one by one, her mind closed to thought and her soul uplifted to God. She could feel His presence more and more as she made her way through the prayers. Then she crossed herself and kissed the crucifix gently. She could never start her day without this ritual. Without it she felt distracted and lost. She placed it carefully back on the nightstand and headed into the very small bathroom.

As she was brushing her teeth she could hear Candy softly humming in the room, and soon she joined Diamond, leaning in the doorway. Candy was a lot of things Diamond was not, and she loved to tease her about that. Diamond had known her for about eight years now, and she knew the girl better then anyone. She was a collection of jarring contradictions. Her bright pink hair fell down to her shoulders, perfectly straight and smooth, almost silky. Her eyes were an impish green, full of humor and biting sarcasm. She never took anything seriously, whereas Diamond was serious about everything. Candy was fair skinned, but not as pale as her companion, and stood only 5’2” but was full of energy, though you’d never see her eat. She always wore multiple earrings on both ears and a tattoo of a phoenix on her belly. She was flashy and ostentatious to the max and always dressed the same, no matter the weather or occasion: cutoff jeans and a tank top, her nails always perfectly trimmed and painted something neonish. And, consistently, she had a mouth that never knew when to shut up. Though she liked to get under Diamond’s skin, her loyalty was bone deep.

The bathroom was just a dull as the rest of her quarters. It was floored in faded lime green tiles that crept halfway up the walls. She wondered if she was supposed to think she was at the ocean. If so, the designers had failed in that.

She rinsed and paused to accost her reflection. It was nothing like Candy’s. She had lost weight. Her hair was thick but coarse, and it took her some time to brush it into order, but once she did she had a serious look to her. It was somehow a regal bearing that sometimes caught people off guard. She looked like someone important. She only wished she felt that way. There were faint shadows beneath her cutting gray blue eyes. Her complexion was otherwise smooth (the acne of adolescence long behind her), but she was almost ghostly pale. There was a ferocity to those eyes though, an almost indomitable will shining through.

Who are you? She wanted to ask. What did you do with Sarah? When did that little girl become… this? 

That’s when she caught Candy giving her the look. She always tried not to because she knew that Diamond hated seeing it as much as Candy hated giving it, but sometimes Candy slipped. It was the same look of pity and regret. Candy immediately looked away, and the moment is gone. Diamond turned and twisted the shower knob roughly to the hottest setting, as if the steam could cleanse her of her thoughts. She stepped into the spray and closed her eyes, absorbing the sensation of all the little drops of scalding water hitting her skin. The intensity of the heat lured her mind away and for a few moments there was nothing… and it was a beautiful nothing, a nothing that was so much better then all the somethings that she almost smiled.

Her given name was and would always be Sarah Albrecht, but she had been going by the name of Diamond ever since... since then. She was 25 years old and a paranoid schizophrenic, pleased to meet you and how do you do, of course. In case you didn’t realize, Candy’s existence was limited to the extent of Diamond’s tortured imagination. She was a hallucination, nothing more, but that was something that at times slipped Diamond’s mind. After all, she had been with her companion ever since the day that she referred to, perhaps overly dramatically, as the day that Sarah died. For Diamond, it was as serious as cancer, and something that she was constantly aware of, even in the most carefree moments that her existence could contrive. Sarah was so many things Diamond was not and would never be. And no matter how many times people pushed her to release her fierce grip on her bitterness, it would always shine through… through and through.

She smiled as she pictured it again, smiled with fury. The day she discovered the truth about her mind replayed in her consciousness almost every single day. Well, it wasn’t that sudden for her, it was only sudden for the people that surrounded her, those who claimed to love and to KNOW her. And they learned that they did not really know her, not anymore. The day that the people around her discovered the truth about her mind was a crystal clear memory. She had been just a girl, just a normal girl, but by the time they found out she had been hiding it for… weeks? Longer? She was 13 years old when it all started. Sarah was popular, smart, and ambitious. She had a strong, loving family consisting of a doting father, a nurturing mother, and a big brother whose every accomplishment she insisted on doing even better. Her father was a manager at an engineering firm and earned good money. They had everything they needed, and they were happy. The future was not a question of whether good things would come, but, rather, which good things. In those days, the sky was the limit for her. She was an overachiever, envied -ENVIED - by her friends. 

The changes came slowly, quietly, at first. She didn’t know what was happening to her, nor what to do. For the first time in her life she was dealing with something she couldn’t control. And for Sarah, control was everything. 

It started quietly enough. Mere suggestions of thought.  Gentle at first. And then… not. Suddenly she felt paranoid, convinced that her friends were talking about her behind her back constantly. She would get angry and snap at people and accuse them. And then there was the voices, haunting her. 

It was three weeks after the voices started that she came home from school exhausted. Trying to pretend everything was ok was almost impossible and took all the energy she had, and even then it was easy to see that she wasn’t really fooling anybody. She had been sleeping a lot more and doing a lot less. She felt like a ghost, as if she had died and what remained was just a passing glimmer of who she had been. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all just a bad dream. She couldn’t make sense of it, and so it had to be a dream. She used to hate to dream. They were confusing and often frightening. But now in some twisted way she suddenly preferred my dreams to this reality.

She opened the door and almost jumped when she saw her mother sitting there waiting for her. She had this look on her face, a tired look of sadness. 

“Your school called today.” She sipped at a cup of coffee anxiously.

Sarah said nothing. It was obvious by her mother’s expression that something bad had happened. She thought of all the things that were happening, about how her life was crashing down, about how she was helpless to stop the anxiety, the suspicion, the voices. Whatever had happened, it couldn’t be any worse then everything that had already happened.

She dropped my bag and sat across from her, arms crossed defensively, not a word spoken. She just sat, and watched, and waited.

Her mom gazed at me for a few moments, and it struck her that there was more then a tiredness in her expression, more then mere anxiety. She was scared, and lost, and deep in grief. And then the tears came, welling up in her distant eyes.

“What’s happening to you Sarah? You’ve been acting so strangely, and with barely a word to say to any of us. You’ve been so hostile and lazy, and you’re sleeping all the time. Then today your school called and said you’ve been failing your exams. You’ve never failed even one exam before. Honey, whatever it is, please tell me what’s wrong and we’ll fix it together.”

Her mother’s words softened her a bit, and before Sarah knew it she had broken down crying. What’s happening? She wanted to tell her mother everything, like she had always done up to that point. But she couldn’t think of any words that wouldn’t sound insane. She didn’t want her parents to know what was happening to her, how she was losing her mind. She wanted more then anything to stay the Sarah they knew and loved. And so she turned to the best lies and excuses she could think of. She could tell her mother didn’t really believe them, but eventually she gave up asking, and that was where it ended… for a time.

That night found her crying in her room. She felt completely lost and helpless and didn’t know who she was anymore. She muffled her tears with her pillow, the door shut and locked. Before long she had cried herself to sleep.

When she woke she had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t alone. She had left the overhead light on, but now the only light was the dim glow of her desk lamp. She jumped when she realized someone was sitting at the desk, watching her. She had the playful green eyes and pink hair that was now so familiar to Diamond.

“I’m Candy” she proffered helpfully, as if that explained everything. Sarah stared at her. The girl sighed. “Don’t worry, people get used to me. I can tell you’re not a girl burdened by social graces. Maybe I can help with that.”

“Who… are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Candy? Like the stuff they hand out at Halloween? Look, Sarah, you’re a bit of a mess. I can help you. Trust me.”

Sarah nodded, still staring. And that’s when it really hit home. She finally knew that the girl she had been, the life she had lived, was gone.

©️ 2017, Accountec, LLC

Henderson Road

 July was fading into August and the growing detachment inside of her was something she still didn’t understand. All she knew was, the farther away from home she got, the less she felt, and if she didn’t stop moving soon she’d feel nothing at all. She was searching for somewhere She had been in the game long enough to know the rules. She had bounced from one foster home to another and yet the only home she truly knew was the one place they wouldn’t take her. After they took her away, for about the first 6 months or more she didn’t get it. She just was the same little Annie she had always been… waiting to be taken back home to her family. Then reality caught up. She realized not just that she was never going back, but that these homes that they took her to were not interested in little Annie. No, they all had their own expectations and motives. So she finally began to pretend. She would pretend to be what they wanted in the hope that they would leave her alone. She surprised herself at how quickly she learned the game, learned how to pretend. But even so, eventually something would happen and she would be back on the road again, waiting for her next “family”.

It was clear to her that the Ford Focus was being pushed to the limit of its useful life. The paint was faded and the tires threadbare. It was clean, but sterile. The caseworker, Morgan was her name (as if it 286497mattered), behind the wheel had a similar appearance. Anne had known her for years, but knew virtually nothing about her. She wore her usual cheap suit and strained expression, perhaps somewhat related to the time on a Friday evening. 

“Are you ready for this, Anne?” Morgan asked, keeping her eyes on the road.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Anne replied as she gazed out the window. The usual pre-launch discussion.

Morgan sighed. “Look, I know you better then you think. You’ve been through a lot. No one denies that. But this is a big opportunity for you, Anne. I’m serious. This family, they are very excited about meeting you. It’s a very stable home, and they can provide for you. And I know you’re tired of trying, but you need to try this one last time.”

“And how many last times have we done?” The words came out before Anne could think to stop them.

Morgan stifled a response and returned her eyes to the road, and Anne turned her eyes back out the window.

Anne knew the system too well. She knew the caseworker too well. There was always something they weren’t telling you. But Anne wasn’t completely innocent either. There were some things she regretted, and more that she probably should have regretted, even though she didn’t.

The news from the South Carolina Department of Social Services had come in just 2 days earlier. Anne had been in the system for years now, since she was 8, D.S.S. moving her from one temporary home to another. This time, they said, it would be permanent. After all this time, the word “permanent” sounded so foreign. When they gave her the news, she said nothing. It had been too long and she had seen too much. She had no illusions of a fairy tale ending, but still… permanent? The traces of a smile flickered across her face, then quickly faded.

They drove through quiet streets in a wooded area with proud, well kept houses. Her meager possessions had been hastily stuffed into a duffel bag in the rear seat… a few changes of clothes and some spiral notebooks. After more then 15 years of life, it was the only evidence of her existence. There had been other possessions along the way, some lost, some discarded. She couldn’t help but wonder what all this said about her. She peered out the window with pensive but steady blue eyes. Her father had taught her to be brave. The system had taught her to be strong. It looked so peaceful here and, if she allowed it, the scene would easily carry me off to visions of fairy tales of princes and princesses, heroic struggles and happy endings. But she was not naive. She kept her fantasies on a very short leash, otherwise they would turn and bite you. These trees were only trees. Beautiful, tall green trees with birds singing from their branches, but still trees. However, the sky was a clear blue and the sun was strong. They were well within the city of Greenville, driving down a slope on a road called Cleveland Street. The area was quiet, the only evidence of human activity being some kids riding bicycles. They were younger then me, but they looked so happy and she smiled at them as they passed. It was a forced, perfunctory smile, but it seemed required. This one time Cherokee hunting ground was not urban. The houses sat on plots of land of less then one acre. But the lawns were neat and flourishing and the houses modest two story structures and she wondered what kind of people lived here. Not the kind that lived paycheck to paycheck. For a moment she remembered her old childhood home, her father smiling as he cut the grass, her mother sketching at her easel. They had always struggled to make ends meet, as had many of the foster homes, and she had learned to be resourceful. But the roads were smoother here, the houses larger, the property in better repair. At the bottom of the slope the road came to a T and the social worker turned left on an upward sloping road labeled “Henderson”. 

A mere fifty yards down, the car slowed and turned into a downward sloping driveway. She could feel her heart accelerate as they came to a stop in front of a wood sided, recessed house. The clapboards were painted blue and it stood two stories high, with the driveway wrapping around the back. The social worker turned off the engine and looked at me, her hand sneaking into mine and squeezing it. Though this woman had been in the system for a while and knew better then to be falsely, overly nice, the system had not managed to kill her empathy. She knew what this situation was, and Anne thought the woman had a pretty good idea of what Anne was feeling. She might not be telling Anne everything, but this woman was her ally. Her only ally. This part was never easy, no matter how many times you did it.

Her other hand instinctively ran to the small prism pendant hanging from a simple string around her neck. When it caught the light it wouldn’t sparkle, but it would refract the light, producing rainbows, bright with the colors that life sucked out of the world.

For just an instant her father was there, his proud, sad smile on her. Take me home! She wanted to cry out. She never wanted to be here. She didn’t understand why she had to be. She didn’t want to meet these people who were trying to replace him but never could. The social workers face blurred as Anne tried to blink back the tears. She tried to shut him out, but she missed him so much. I miss you too, ‘Bow, always will.

Suddenly Anne became aware of someone gently shaking her, and she was back in the car again, the social worker’s voice dragging her back from where she belonged. Once.

“Are you ready, Anne?” her eyes spoke compassion, but her expression betrayed impatience. You should have let me stay.

But it was years too late for those words, and they didn’t listen then so there was no reason for them to listen now. And before She could put my thoughts into words She saw movement in the corner of my eye. They both turned towards the house. The door had flown open and a woman came bouncing out, trailed behind by a more much subdued man.

Anne furiously swiped at her tears and steeled herself for the usual presentation. She had no makeup to adjust, no fancy clothes to arrange. One of the suits had pushed her to wear a dress, but Anne had refused. She did not like dresses, and she resented the presentation ritual. She was no longer a feisty, unruly little girl. She had learned form and function. Her manners were irreproachable. But she was still her mother’s child, her father’s daughter, and Anne Marie would not be paraded around for the pleasure of others. If they did not understand that now, then they would learn. 

Her eyes reverted to the woman. “I’m ready.”

The suit nodded and climbed out. Anne lingered just a moment, then followed.

A tall wisp of a woman with sharp features was approaching them. She was dressed in a well cut and fashionable black dress, her makeup perfectly applied, her hair pulled back and pinned up. She looked like a doll. She walked with energy, however, her hands moving to adjust her dress and jewelry. Anne would have marked her for a museum curator or lawyer, if not for the anxious energy that characterized her. Her smile was surprisingly genuine looking. In fact, in her eyes Anne saw a little girl who just got the big birthday present she had been asking for for months. She burst forward and engaged the surprised suit in an embrace.

“We’re so excited!” she exclaimed as the caseworker awkwardly disentangled herself. The suit opened her mouth to respond, but the woman was too quick for her.

“You must be Anne!” The woman giggled as she threw her arms around Anne. At first her body tensed up, then she reluctantly returned the hug.

“Yes, Ma’am.” she struggled to force a smile.

“Aren’t you precious! I’m Janet Cardinal, but you can call me mom!” Then to the man “Andy, say something!”

The man who lumbered up behind her was a sharp contrast. His button down shirt and slacks were neat and clean, but not fashionable, in fact, they didn’t even match. He walked slowly and deliberately, and did not smile nor speak. He simply nodded at the social worker and glanced at Anne, acknowledging Anne with a grunt and a nod. He seemed to take an odd interest in the Focus, as if sizing it up for auction. 

“Anne, this is Andy, your new dad!” Janet squeaked.

“Hi”

Andy looked at Anne for a second, then addressed the social worker “Have any problems?” 

Anne looked at Mrs. Cardinal, who laughed and pulled her aside, half whispering to her “That’s your dad! Always a man of few words.”

Andy pretended not to hear her and continued speaking to the social worker as Janet drew Anne towards the house.

“Come, dear, I’ll show you your new room.”

As an afterthought she called over her shoulder to Andy “You can finish up here, right?”

“Yeah, ok.” He replied to her back as Janet led Anne into the house. 

Janet gave me a whirlwind tour, then brought me up the stairs and down a hall to a solitary room. My own room. I even had my own bathroom just down the hall. By that time Mr. Cardinal had come in and dropped my faded duffel by the door. Janet wanted to linger and chat, but her husband drew her away.

Left alone in the room, I let the situation wash over her. The first thing I did was close the door and lock it. I wrapped my arms around myself and took a deep breath. She shouldn’t have hugged me. She did not know me. I didn’t like to be touched… I still don’t. Even when I make love, I keep guys at a distance. I don’t like to cuddle. But I knew I could not afford to offend the woman. And the man… he was polite. He didn’t seem cold or unkind. But he seemed rather disinterested. The two of them had an odd dynamic. I had the strange feeling that I was viewed more as a pet then a person in his eyes. Except… that one moment when the social worker was speaking and Janet was completely absorbed in her instructions, I couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes seemed to dart in my direction, but not to my face, rather, running down my body for a mere instant, so quickly that by the time I thought to look back his eyes had returned to the social worker, nodding along to the details. My heart beat faster, and I closed my eyes and breathed again. When they opened they were calmer, and I released my self embrace. But the first thing I did was double check the lock. My life was not a fairy tale, hadn’t been for a long time. There was no one here to rescue me if something went wrong, and at the end of the day I would always remember the one truth of my world: I was often amongst others, but I ALWAYS stood alone. I moved my bag away from the door, but did not move to unpack it. Instead I looked to the window slipped over to the it and opened the glass. It was dusk now. The window opened on a sloping back yard that vanished into a thicket of trees. In the distance I could hear the sound of a burbling brook, and crickets began their nightly song. For a moment I could see a man there on the grass below smiling up at me, his features honest, his eyes sad. I blinked him away and the image blurred as I felt the disconnect again. Still the crickets sang their chorus and I remembered the song of another time, a children’s rhyme, part French, part English. The voice was gone, and gone it would stay. The crickets now would be that voice, and I left the window open. I needed the sound to ground me. I glanced over my new quarters. I could not help but smile at the quilt on the bed, an illustration of popular fairy tales stitched together. I pulled off my shabby sneakers and laid down upon the bed, wrapping the quilt tight around me. And there, armored in my tales of yore, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the crickets song, blocking out my thoughts as best I could. Slowly, reluctantly, I slipped into anxious slumber.

©️ 2022, Accountec, LLC