My eyes opened slowly from the luminous sun light. My name is Alyssa. I’ve lived with Janice, my foster mother, most of my life. Ever since the fateful day my mother died in the most terrible way, I has never been the same. I was once a happy, friendly and full of love child, but now, my heart is full of hatred for the world. For years, I was a mute, and people thought I was acting out, trying to get attention. Seeing your mother continually raped, tortured, and then murdered would be enough to drive any person to stop talking and to become turtle like and crawl into themselves.
I laid in my full size bed, wondering, if I should even get out of bed this morning. I had another nightmare about my mother again, and I felt took sick to move. I could hear the buzzing of the traffic outside my window, but to me it was like a parallel universe, that I wasn’t part of. I thought that maybe if I tried hard enough, I could create my own world. A world where there was no drama. A world, where pain and conflict didn’t exist.
“Laslie, come on and get ready for school. I won’t have anymore of the school calling telling me that you’re going to flunk in your last year of high school. GET UP NOW!” I hear my foster mother say to her oldest daughter. Laslie was the rebellious child in the house. I my foster mother has three daughters: Laslie, seventeen; Michelle, thirteen; and Joslene, six. All where different from me, but only Laslie didn’t understand my problems.
There was a light tap on my door that was so faint, that if I was in one of my moods, I would have missed it.
“Rhonda can I come in?” my foster mother asked.
“Yeah ,of course you can. This is your house,” I said lightly.
My foster mother was a very beautiful women. She was petite and thin, but her voice was a little raspy, yet smooth. Her hair was a lovely golden, brown color, and it flowed beautifully next to her peachy, tan skin. She never wore it down any more though. Ever since the death of her husband, Mark, she always wears it in a bun. He died in a shoot out two months after Joslene was born. I like to think that the day that Mark died, he took a part of Janice with him, because she hasn’t been the same since. She would like everyone to think that she is fine with this fake happy home maker act she puts on. I know how she feels. I use to hear her cry in the middle of the night. She can fool someone that doesn’t really know that kind of pain, but she can’t fool me. I pride myself in faking like I’m happy when I’m not.
“How are you feeling this morning? Are you ok to go to school?” Janice said with a comforting voice.
“Yeah, I’m ok. I had another nightmare last night though.” I said brushing her long, wavy black hair off my face.
“I remember when I use to have nightmares, I would drink some warm tea and take deep breaths. I don’t know if it will help you, but it would help me a lot,” she said assuring me.
That made me think about when I use to go to the doctor three times a week, to talk to a therapist. Mrs. Low was her name. She was always trying to tell me to do things that were suppose to make me feel better. She didn’t know what I was going through. Like some lady with a special degree was suppose to cure me. I hated going there. It only made my nightmares worse, when I talked about what happened.
“Thanks Janice, I’ll try that for sure,” I said as she pulled back the covers of my bed. It always made me mad at myself to feel anger towards her. She was the closet thing I had to a mother, but I hated when people tried to comfort me, and tell me no to be sad. It’s impossible not to be sad, and depressed. I would just rather suffer in silence.
“I know you’ve been through a lot, but if you want to you can call me mom. You have been living with us since you were six. I know I’m not your mother, and God knows I don’t want to replace her, but I just want you to know that I’ll always be here,” Janice assured me as she gave me a hug.
“ Thank you, but I think I would feel better if I called you Janice. It’s not personal, it would feel wrong calling anyone else mom. I’m so sorry if I upset you,” I said moving away from here slowly.
She put her arms down and moved back too. She looked at me with a slight smile. It was so hard to read her expression. I hope that gesture didn’t hurt her feelings. I hated doing anything to hurt her.
Finally, she kissed my head softly and said, “Sweetie, I understand fully. I would feel wrong calling anyone else my husband. I’m sorry I even asked.”
At that moment, I went back to a memory of my mother, really the only good memory I could remember, when we were at a park having a picnic. My mother had on the most beautiful sun dress that accentuated ever wonderful curve of her body. Her name was Elyse Thompson, and she was the most extravagant women that I had ever seen. She had the most luxurious, long, wavy hair, and that day it was down and blowing in the wind. We just got done running and playing. We were sitting on the picnic cloth for at least five minutes, when my mother looked into my eyes and said, “I love you,” and then kissed my forehead. I can still remember the way she smelled. It was jasmine mixed with roses and lilac. It was the best day of her life.
Remembering that day made me want to cry. I never showed my vulnerability to anyone, and I wasn’t about to start with her foster mother. I held the tears back, as I told Janice thank you. She turned and smiled at me one more time before she walked out, closing the door behind her.
The thing I dread the most is school. As a junior, I was almost at the top of the social food chain, but not quite. I am very social and I have lots of friends. The only problem was, I trusted no one. No one knew about what happened to my mother. I told nobody about my life. I put on an act at school.
I participated in many school activities. I was in the French club, the choir, student council, young achievers, and many more. I immersed herself in so many activities, not because I enjoyed them, but because it was a way of not living in the real. If I could keep myself busy, then I wouldn’t be able to think about my mother and the pain it brings.
“Ok, I’m going to school today, even if it kills me,” I said raising herself off the oh so comfortable bed.
I stood in the middle of my room floor for three minutes, before I decided to go to the bathroom and get ready. I had my own bathroom. Janice tried to be as accommodating as possible. I have had the room with the bathroom in ever since I was twelve. It helped a lot when I would stay in her room for days without coming out.
Finally, I took a shower and got dressed. I ended up wearing a pair of ripped, dark wash jeans, and my favorite all white V neck shirt, with my blue flip flops that I got at Disney World last year.
I headed down the stairs for breakfast. Janice was at the stove cooking eggs. The smell of the kitchen hit my nose, and exploded all my senses at once. Janice was a home caterer. She made the best home cooked food in Arizona. We lived in Phoenix, and I loved it. The smell of the air, dry yet soothing. I loved to be able to wear flip flops in December.
As soon as I entered the kitchen, Laslie shot me a glare. She has always had problems with me from the start. She never liked the fact that Janice treated me her favorite. I guess she doesn’t grasp that her mother only does this because I lived through a traumatic experience. I would prefer that Janice stop treating me special.
“So, Rapunzel has decided to come out of her tower and go to school. It’s about time, I kinda thought you died up there. I was hoping that I could get the room with the bathroom,” Laslie snapped at me as I pulled the kitchen chair back and sat down.
“You know Laslie, if you want a room with a bathroom, why don’t you just move into a subway bathroom in New York. I’m sure everyone in Phoenix would love to get rid of you,” I said snapping back. She always brought the worst out in me. I hated to argue with her, but she was just so inconsiderate.
“If you just moved out, that would make this family happier. I mean, you’re seventeen. The government should be able to give you money so you can live on your own. Why are you still here?” Laslie yelled as she threw her chair back and stomped off to her room, slamming the door behind her.
“Laslie Marie Moore, get your butt back here right now,” Janice screamed as she slammed down the spatula she had in her hand, and followed her to her room. “You are in so much trouble. How could you be so inconsiderate and…..” That was all I heard as she opened Laslie’s door threw is shut behind her. Janice rarely yelled, or even raised her voice, but when she did, you knew she meant business.
