When I arrived to their home, Hannah had already been accustomed to their old-school values and was tasked with “showing me the ropes.” I knew when I first saw her that she was not like them. She put on a great act, though. That first night living with the Greenburgs, I awoke having to piss badly. I strode down the hall into Hannah’s room, thinking it was the bathroom, and turned on the light. I honestly think she was waiting up for me because she snuck over and shut her door with me still in her room. She was 14 years old and I was 13 years old.
That was the first time I got laid.
The Greenburgs portrayed this image of the perfect family living in a perfect house with their perfect foster children. Day by day we continued to live the part. When the opportunity would arise, we would play out our secret. They talked about adopting us and the two younger kiddos they fostered after us. I will not lie, it got a little awkward when they started referring to us as brother and sister. I never saw Hannah as my sister, nor me her brother. Of course, we both knew it was wrong to do what we were doing as siblings. I genuinely enjoyed spending time with Hannah. We would have deep conversations about our wants and wishes when we turned 18 and could be on our own. She was one of the first people I felt like I could trust in my life. We even talked about running away together on many occasions. We started saving up chore money so we could leave one day and never look back. I guess you could almost say I fell for her—pretty hard, too.
When the Greenburgs found out Hannah was pregnant, shit hit the fan. They were pissed to find out their perfect 14-year-old daughter was having sex and is now pregnant. They were really out in left field on this one. Hannah eventually spilled her guts and told them we had been screwing for months. They were petrified by this news. I think they were more upset by the idea of their kids screwing each other than her being pregnant at the age of 14. A small part of me was excited to have a baby with her, but I was also scared. It wasn’t until she told them that I might not be the father that they completely lost their shit. I was disgusted that she was screwing some other guy when I thought we had something special. I thought she was my friend, my girl.
She was screwing her foster “brother” from the home she came from. She continued seeing him even after she moved to this home and met me. She told me she never liked him; she was just bored. I don’t believe that shit for a minute. The guy was seventeen.
What. A. Slut.
The Greenburgs were not equipped to take care of a 13-year-old that’s screwing girls and a pregnant 14-year-old, so we were both sent out of the home and off to another. Through the months, I would occasionally hear from Hannah. She was placed with a decent family that adopted her and agreed to help her care for her baby. After he was born, we did one of those box paternity tests you can buy online—and turns out, Russ is in fact my kid.
The cool breeze hits my cheeks hard. I watch his curly blonde hair dancing in the wind as he walks his short legs down the sidewalk with his hand in Hannah’s. He looks like her more than he looks like me. He is three-and-a-half years old now. I believe he looks older than that. He is tall for his age, and shy. Although Hannah doesn’t let me see him much, I love spending time with that runt. I jog up the walkway behind them.
“Hey Russ man. Where you going?” I say in my dad voice. They stop and glance behind them to see whose talking.
“Russ, look, it’s Daddy!” Her mom voice is so phony.
I wish she would call me Daddy when we are alone. She gives me that expression that says hurry up. She is clearly not happy to see me.
“Go give Daddy a hug!”
I squat down and give him a big hug. He wraps his little arms around my neck, and I feel a rush happiness sweep through my brain.
She has the nerve to mouth the words, “Are you following me?” I squint my face and shake my head no. What a bitch.
“I just wanted to say hi to my little man.” I take a twenty out of my wallet and give it to her. She looks at it and shakes her head. “It’s for Russ. Buy him a jacket or something. It’s cold out here.” That should piss her off.
“Screw you!”
She grabs the twenty and takes Russ’s hand and pulls him around. They begin walking away.
When I have to converse with Hannah it reminds me why I won’t date another white girl again. She ruined it for me. She is a total bitch, but I’d still do her for old times’ sake.
Hunger
To taste is to answer.
A need from necessity. A need from within.
You fluster from the smell that creeps.
Festered moisture from when your senses are exposed.
Filling your belly or filling your soul?
It’s hard to tell the truth.
The void is there and it breathes.
Pleading to be filled, but how?
Decide the intake, feed the crave.
It’s never enough, never.
Still you try to suffice in whatever way you know how.
The point is gotten, at least for now.
Please how you must, unhealed underneath.
Soon to become more, obsessed into rhythm.
Plead to be had.
It returns with twice the fragrance.
So, you build again until your gut swells.
Only to release a fraction of its guilt.
Pleased with the results, you confide.
What’s your comfort?
Janny
It’s Friday, bitches! I am probably the most excited person ever today because after my eight hours of work, I am free for two days to do anything I want. On my weekend off, I don’t want to do a damn thing and I am okay with that.
I pull myself out of bed and throw on some nice clothes. Fall is approaching and the weather is cooler today, so I decide to go all out and wear my size 26 tall Vigoss jeans with the bling on the butt pockets. These are my favorite jeans, but my muffin top spills over so I elect to wear a flowy white sleeveless shirt and a red cardigan to cover up my flabby arms and stomach spillage. I decide to straighten my hair today instead of the usual ponytail and hairspray. I’m feeling decent until I look in the mirror and realize that no clothing or makeup can hide my morbid obesity. Mirrors and photos are wakeup calls, and sometimes I have to set myself straight.
Because today I am starting my healthy eating lifestyle, I decide that canned fruit is a better alternative than my usual Captain Crunch or Fruit Loops cereal. I munch on some sliced pears, then head to work. I sit in my car and give myself the usual pep talk.
I got this! Only eight more hours between now and the weekend. I just need to go and do my job until 5:00 p.m., then I can leave and do whatever I please. I wore my nice jeans today, which means I feel good. Fridays are one of my best money-making days. I need to go out there and sell some shit to these snooty people. Go get ’em!
The day takes forever but the customers are consistent. I manage to keep busy assisting the overprivileged with clothing trends and trying on sizes. After lunch Lucy tells me that some of the girls are going to meet up tonight for drinks and I’m invited. I was appalled by the invite, but I felt a rush of excitement pulse through my body. Is this the moment where I am finally included in the cool people’s club? I’ve secretly always wanted to be part of the A-team. I never felt like I was one of them. I accept the invite and get the details.
The last hour of work, my mind is running. Who will be there? Should I invite Sean? What should I drink? I don’t want to get drunk or anything, just have fun. Where exactly is this place? What should I wear? What if no one talks to me? What if I have one of my meltdowns? What if they expect me to dance? I don’t dance.
Our general manager has decided to grace us with her presence today. She scarcely makes an appearance at our store, since she manages three other retail clothing stores in the area. She is a pleasant soul to be around, but I can’t help but feel like I’m being scrutinized when she is in the building. Since I am now the assistant manager, she puts a lot of pressure on me because I am here e
very day and she is not. She expects me to fill her in on everything—sales data and workplace gossip included.
I don’t like gossiping about my coworkers to my boss, but she has a way of getting information out of me before I even know what’s happening.
Today she has brought in our quarterly sales data, and we have our anticipated meeting to discuss who is our top-selling associate and who is slacking. Of course, Lucy is number one in sales and commission for the third quarter in a row. This is really getting old if you ask me. I work more hours than Lucy and she still sells more than me and the other girls. What the hell? It’s very discouraging. According to my boss, I am in the bottom two out of eight associates.
This news sinks my heart. It has been difficult for me, especially this past month with my higher-than-normal anxiety levels, but I had no idea I had dropped the ball this bad. A feeling of dread melts my veins and I feel ashamed standing with my coworkers. I am supposed to be setting a positive example for these employees as the assistant manager, and here I am at the bottom of a short list.
They probably think I’m a failure already. I’m sure they all believe I didn’t deserve this promotion, and this news today probably feeds into their opinions.
I can’t help but spend the rest of the afternoon beating myself up for being too slack. I will do better next quarter. I have to do better. I can’t let this happen again. I need to prove myself, or someone else might swoop in and take what’s mine.
Five o’clock rolls around and I’m off to the grocery store. I’ve managed to freak myself out enough to contemplate not going out for drinks, mostly out of fear that something will go completely and utterly wrong.
Just then, Sean texts me, “I love you babe. I got called into work early so won’t c u tonite. Srry. Have a good evening. Kisses.” I guess I have the night to myself.
I scour the isles, looking for healthy food options. I fill the cart with broccoli, carrots, cabbage for soup, apples, cantaloupe, berries, fat-free whipped topping for the berries, and chicken. If there is one thing that anyone needs to know about me it’s that I freaking love chicken! I have always been told to avoid being hungry when I go grocery shopping or I will end up with a bunch of stuff I don’t need. Let’s just say the canned pears I ate nine hours ago are long gone from my system and I’m literally starving. When I walk through the deli, I fight the urge to pick up some hot boneless barbeque chicken wings. I settle on a medium size container of macaroni salad to eat on the drive home so I don’t croak of famishment.
I’m looking at the cart, realizing its going to take me hours to prep and cook some of this food. At that moment, I pass the freezer section and a DiGiorno pizza catches my eye. I think to myself, It’s Friday. I’ve worked my ass off all week, so I deserve to treat myself to something good. No, it’s not on my healthy eating plan, but I don’t have the energy to cook a healthy feast tonight. I grab a stuffed crust four-meat pizza and a bag of Doritos for Sean after telling myself that I’ll postpone my healthy eating until tomorrow.
I devour my mac salad as I sit in my car in the grocery store parking lot. I glance around hoping no one I know witnesses me fulfilling my latest food binge. As soon as I get home, my nice clothes are off and my long nightshirt is on. I take my DiGiorno pizza to the living room and binge-watch the first three episodes of Breaking Bad on Netflix. I don’t know how I managed to eat the entire pizza. It was there one moment and then gone the next.
I get a text from Lucy, Change of plans, we’re meeting at Scotts Saloon at 9 p.m. See you soon!
Shit. I completely forgot about drinks tonight. There is no way I’m going to the bar—I’m already in my pajamas and I’m too stuffed to move off this couch. Besides, I want to watch more Netflix and play with my new puppy. I’m seriously obsessed with the Breaking Bad series.
I ponder a decent excuse to tell Lucy. “Hey, I got a surprise visit from my folks so I won’t be seeing you tonight. Have fun!”
That should work, right? I’m a horrible person, and now I’m a liar. I know that when I’m around people I feel better about myself, but it really exhausts me mentally. I always feel like I’m pretending to be this happy, functional person, when I’m actually the exact opposite of functional. As I sit here and watch another two episodes, I feel like complete filth for ditching the girls. Part of me wonders if they will even miss me.
Doubtful.
I’ve failed myself today. I was supposed to be eating healthy and I fucked that up. I was supposed to try to be sociable today and I put that idea out. How do I fix this?
I will try to do better tomorrow.
Tomorrow I will take the time to prep the healthy foods I bought and make an effort to be a healthy person.
Tomorrow I will try to be more sociable and start accepting invitations to go out.
Tonight will be my last hoorah because tomorrow I’m going to be a changed person. I get the bag of Doritos I bought for Sean. He never knew I bought them for him, so he will never miss them when they are gone. Mine now.
At the end of the night, I take my pizza wrappers and empty Doritos bag and stuff them into the bottom of the trash for no one to see. Ever. Out of sight out of mind, right?
Freedom
A right given to us at our very moment of existence.
Allowing us to have a thought of decency.
To control our lives and live our wants.
The wise understand this is not the case.
Choices to be made without repercussions.
Earning can be treacherous.
To be taken if you misbehave, so don’t.
Follow the rules and you shall have what you receive.
Begging to be reckoned with.
Removal is usually enough to keep the peace.
Betray and you will be had in the worst way.
Why as a punishment?Responsibility is a comrade.
Given to the undeserving righteous.
Complicated by fear.
Take the opportunity while you can.
Open up into a new realm, a new style.
See the beauty.
Some day you won’t have the essence, the drive.
Are you a free spirit?
Adam
When I lie in bed, I sometimes become fearful. My bed is my thinking spot, and I think a lot. I think a lot about the past. I wonder how the past has affected me as a person. I wonder how it will affect my future. Do I even have a future? I try to see the good in my past. I’ve met many types of people, being a foster kid and all. I’ve had opportunities to be part of many different types of families and their ways of living. I’ve learned to appreciate different lifestyles because of this. I guess you could say this has made me an accepting person. I try not to judge people because I get the fact that people are different.
Deep down I feel damaged. I never understood why no one wanted to adopt me. Every time I entered a new home, I had hoped that it would be the last. As the years went on, I lost hope. I tried so hard for my families to like me enough to keep me permanently, but it never happened. I catch myself still trying to please people around me every day, especially at work. I’m learning that pleasing people opens me up to be taken advantage of. Paul is really good about that. Asshole.
The big question is this: Where is this going to get me in life? I can be a good person that appreciates all the right things and doesn’t judge, yet still I struggle every day. I struggle to maintain my life. I struggle to make friends. I struggle to support my son. I struggle to be a dad. What’s the point in being a good person? It’s so much easier to be a shitty person and get the same results.
I think back to a time last year when I had just turned 17. I had saved up all my money for years so I could buy a car when I got my license. I managed $800 and bought a 1998 Toyota Corolla. It was the most precious thing I owned and it was all mine. It belonged to me and me only.
The evening I bought the car, my foster father at the time sat me down and told me his rules. I had to be home at 7:0
0 p.m. every evening, I had to ask before taking the vehicle anywhere, I had to let him know where I was at all times, and I had to keep liability insurance on the car no matter what. I was furious! In my mind, this was my car and I would do as I please. That night, I was driving around the city with my friends until 9:30 pm. When I got home, he was pissed and took my keys. I wanted to kill that fucking asshole for threatening my dream. I now know that he was trying to protect me.
In my teenage brain I wanted to feel the freedom I’ve longed for. Having a vehicle meant I had a way to go further than my legs could take me. I could explore new places and meet new people. I could have more time to do the things I love. I could get away for an hour if I needed to. I could be where I felt I needed to be. I felt like I was moving up in this shit hole of a world.
That evening after he went to bed, I stole my keys back and packed up a few of my belongings. I left his home and planned to live in my car until I could get on my feet. I wouldn’t be controlled like that for another minute. I quickly realized that things get complicated when you’re living in your car, especially in Detroit. I could have driven to another city nearby, but I’ve never been outside Detroit, so that sounded too daunting for me.
I ended up sleeping in a Costco parking lot my first night alone. It was so hot I had to keep starting the car and blasting the AC. For the next few days, I skipped school and drove around looking for a part time job that would hire a 17-year-old runaway living in his car. No luck. The scary part about living on the streets is the darkness. You can’t see who is lurking nearby, but you can bet your sweet ass they can see everything you got through those car windows. I never really felt like I could rest when it was dark. I felt like I had to protect my home on wheels. I remember lying in my car, peeking through the window at every sound I heard. I was afraid—something I wasn’t used to feeling. I was afraid my tires would get stolen or my car shot up.
Tomorrow Page 5