I hate this house. Every aspect of it. Being forced to clean day after day. Foster care is supposed to be helpful, at least that’s what I was told. After being moved so many different times I really couldn’t tell you. Once I was done doing my daily chores I quickly disappeared to the small room my sister and I shared. The white walls made me feel more insane, more hospitalized than ever. Lying on the small cot I had time to think my life over. I guess I was fortunate in some ways. I have a roof over my head and clothes on my back. Since my parents passed on my 8th birthday I had been in a wall, that wall will not be broken.
Well I guess you’re wondering about my foster ‘parents’. My mother is hard-headed and demanding while my father is arrogant and sarcastic. Of course they both had one thing in common. They both loved to make my life miserable.
Looking at the plain white ceiling for almost an hour I finally let my body shut down, falling into a deep sleep. But of course, that hadn’t lasted long. They were fighting again. What else is new? My so called mother only married him for his money. Which was long gone by now. Why else would they have foster kids? Manual labor, free manual labor that is.
Looking to my left I observed Andrea, my foster sister, had fallen asleep on her own cot. She looked kind of lost, like she didn’t belong here. But yet, she doesn’t belong here. Nobody besides those people fighting outside the door belong here.
I knew Taylor would be somehow involved with this. He was the favorite child out of the three of us. Because he is a guy, obviously. Our father preferred men in the house. If it wasn’t obvious, he is a very sexist man.
I looked up in alarm as the door slammed open. My foster father glared down at me. As if I was the one causing his wife’s unhappiness.
“You, dishes now!”
I glared back, thinking about standing my ground, but decided against it. I would rather not take a slap to the face because quite frankly, that is much worse than washing a few dishes. Besides that, knowing him, it would leave a mark.
I silently walked past his bulky body, glaring the whole way. There weren’t many dishes, there never are. Washing dishes is actually very boring if you think about it. Just scrubbing until your fingers become sore, I obviously, have too much free time thinking about this.
After doing the dishes my mother tells me to vacuum. What else is new? This is all I ever do. Clean. The way my life had been planned out for me since I came here last year. My social worker only comes about three times a year, and, of course, the ‘parents’ act as if they were doing nothing wrong. Sick, isn’t it?
At about eleven I had finished vacuuming, it was at least eleven. My father dismissed me to the closet I am to call a room. Andrea was still sleeping as I expected. The girl can sleep through anything. For being only twelve years old Andrea had been through a lot in her lifetime. She still had four years to go, seeing as myself and Taylor only had two. Honestly, I feel awful thinking about this. Her entire life is based on some lie of a family. Andrea, Taylor, and myself are the only thing close to a family in this town. Everybody here only cares about their money. That’s just the way things work around here I guess.
Leaving this town, God I can’t wait to do that. Yet I had until October 2nd, 2012 to do that. I would be eighteen and gone. I guess all that can be done now is wait.
Lying on the uncomfortable cot I closed my eyes. Hoping sleep would over take me. It never did. As my eyes finally closed shut I was screamed at, to get up. Of course, this happens every day. Here we go again.