Four
The red glare of the alarm almost caused me to have a heart attack the next morning, or should I say afternoon, because as clear as day in the thick, bold lettering it read.
1:34pm
I had slept a full twelve hours, and not even been woken up by my alarm. I panicked, I couldn’t be absent on the second day. Why hadn’t nobody woke me up? I suppose I must of needed it, I have never, ever slept that late before. I’ve always been around too many people to get any peace and quiet for more than four hours. I yawned and stood up to stretch properly, clicking my joints was my morning ritual. The popping sound always told me that I was ready for the day.
Scratching at my bedroom door was the tiniest black cat, for a second I completely forgot what it was doing there. Then last night hit me like a train, and so did the rest of it.
I did it again.
That thing, that hideous thing that I try so hard every day to cover up or counteract somehow. I did it and I didn’t even know I was doing it. Suddenly I felt sick, and sat back down on my bed, furiously rubbing my face with my hands.
It had never happened with animals before, only humans. I hadn’t ever encountered any sick or injured animals to do so, at least not that I consciously knew of. I had all the signs and I didn’t even see it coming. After something like this has happened, I usually sleep for a long period of time, its like my body is absolutely worn out from it somehow, and I immediately have to crash straight after. I noticed a corner of the mac peeping out from underneath my bed, the bloodstains were a dried on brown color telling me a. that last night did happen, and b. that mac was damaged way beyond dry cleaning repair. Mrs. G was going to kill me, then I panicked. I would need to find a way to get rid of the cat and fast, Button rubbed up against my legs, as if she had heard my thoughts. It’s a shame that I don’t have a ground floor bedroom, I could just throw her out the window. It must be true what they say, about cats always landing on their feet?
I decided to test the waters, I crept down as quietly as I had last night to check if there was movement in the house.
Mrs. Gardener and about six bemused but perfectly polished faces were looking up at me from the dining room table, then I realised I was still wearing a pair of lame Spongebob pyjamas. I folded my arms across my chest, and covered as much as I could, and tiptoed out into the dining hall. It didn’t help that I was pretty positive I had a crest of birds nest hair resting on my head, not a hair was seen out of place in this room that was for sure. They looked like a group of debutantes, twenty or so years later. Mrs. G rose and flashed those pearly whites at me a little too abrasively, I was clearly showing her up.
“Daisy, you’re awake then. I figured you must of needed that sleep, you were pretty much comatose when I tried to wake you this morning. Sweetie didn’t you hear your alarm go off? It was like a lighthouse beacon, not pleasant at all I can assure you,“ I waved almost comically at the ladies, they smiled sweetly back, a few raising perfectly plucked eyebrows at my attire. “Excuse me ladies.”
Mrs. G shooed me through into the hall, safely out of earshot of the others. Although the others weren’t safely out of earshot from me. As soon as we left they all started to gossip.
So this must be the famous Daisy, the ready made child they decided to foster… I didn’t even think Peter was the fatherly type?.. Of course he isn’t, you know this is all Magda’s influence… Pretty little thing though isn’t she? All things considered.
“I’m sorry Mrs. G, I didn’t realize you had company.” I wanted to shut the whispers out, this wasn’t normal.
“Please, Daisy I should think we’re on first name terms. Call me Magda. Are you feeling alright? You seemed to have a temperature this morning, although I wasn’t sure if that was because it was hot in that room. Its not uncomfortable up there is it? Because if so then I can surely get Peter to--”
“--No its fine. Perfect even, I don’t know what came over me. I think it was all the travelling I did to get here, and the school have you?”
“Yes I called them of course. Its perfectly fine, they were surprised you wanted to start so quickly. You know its fine, you can just go back after the Summer. There’s no rush--”
“--Oh no, I mean. I’ve missed enough of school as it is, I want to be able to keep up.” And it was true.
I could see Mrs - sorry. Magda, wanted to somehow show me that this pleased her, kissing would have been awkward, hugging even worse. Instead she reached out her hand, and patted me on the head. Like a dog, I fought the urge to shove her off, ask her what the hell she was doing. I didn’t like being treated this way, like I was some kind of pet. As if I didn’t feel like an experiment enough, I’d heard more whispers, ones I couldn’t explain who or where they were coming from. It was as if Magda was testing Mr - Peter. With me to see if he was ready to have a baby. They’d have a surrogate of course, it was as if dear old Maggie was too posh to push.
I managed to sneak Button down the stairs and quickly out the front door, Magda and her ladies had moved on to the garden, for cocktails in the sunshine. She didn’t invite me, on account that I hadn’t bothered to get dressed or brush my hair. Now I was bored.
I wasn’t used to being idle, there was usually always something to do. I suppose it was because I wasn’t used to being on my own, it was easy at school. I could go the library, go to the computer lab, there was always something that would pass the time. And It was boring inside my own head. Back in every foster home I’d ever been in, there had always been at least four other kids to play with. I still couldn’t believe I had involuntarily skipped my second day at school. I should have been excited, relieved even. I now had the day, or at least the few hours remaining to myself. Yet I had nothing to do, I didn’t even get homework on the first day.
Now I really needed to get a grip, I was complaining about not being at school and not having any homework today. Oh please Daisy, its not like I’m the most studious person in the world. I’m not stupid, but I’m not a swot. I listen in the lessons that matter, and keep up with my homework as best as I can, depending on how strict my current foster family is. I’ve never really gotten into trouble, at least not proper trouble, I’ve never ever felt the need.
So I showered, this wasn’t something that passed the time. This needed doing, I’d been sweating most of the morning, sorry - afternoon - about getting rid of that damn cat! I had my own bathroom, which was certainly something I wasn’t used too. Queuing in a long line every morning to just brush your teeth isn’t much fun, I used to have to set my alarm at least an hour and half before I even needed to get up just so I could use the toilet, eventually you had to book a slot in, suddenly the bathroom turned into a five star restaurant, it was so popular you were lucky to get a place! I took a little longer than usual, someone had filled this bathroom with everything you could think of. Fancy shampoos‘, intensive conditioning masks, body scrub, more moisturizers than a department store, the lot! It wasn’t a bad size either, the bath doubled up as a shower, needless to say it was white head to toe, and positively gleaming. I doubted even spiders dared climb up through the plughole.
I clawed my head furiously, using far too much shampoo that the soapy lather trickled down everywhere, almost into my eyes at one point. What should have been a relaxing head massage turned into a form of torture, suddenly I felt like I had to make sure every tiny bit of dirt on my hair was removed, I removed the shower head and made sure that the water ran clear all over my head. Then I started on the conditioner, it was the same make as the shampoo, and it had a beautiful banana and coconut smell, I enjoyed this very much and smoothed it onto my head a little more gently than the first time. I stepped out of the water now, about to start on the body washing process. A generous handful of gritty body scrub, Sparkle Skin the label read, it didn’t smell particularly pleasant but I covered myself head to toe regardless, vowing to pick out the most heavenly smelling shower gel I could find to make up for it. Once satisfied that I now had baby soft skin, then it was the raspberry Pavlova smelling liquid soap, a shocking shade of pink identical to the lip stain worn my new foster Mom. Time to wash out the conditioner, I lingered in the warm shower a little longer. Wondering how long I’d been in here already, I decided it had been long enough, and I used one more towel than I ever did usually. One for my body, and one for my hair.
I giggled to myself once I was sitting on my bed, thinking that my laborious shower session had been my way of taking a little bit of advantage for once. I had plaited my long hair so that it would dry a little beach like, it was naturally in between wavy and straight. I had also put on a new outfit, but I had paired it with an old pair of black leggings, a pair of black leggings with a tiny hole in the left knee, the top was a vest but it was pretty, floral and long, I didn’t mind it much. The bed had been made whilst I was in the shower, it was obvious that it had been Mrs. Houseproud. There was an extra forty five minutes on the clock, I think it was safe to say that was the longest time I had ever took a shower for, I was absolutely sparkling clean, you could probably eat dinner off my smooth and exfoliated butt cheeks.
I didn’t like to sit in silence, once my thoughts had kind of evaporated, I went over to my music collection. Pulling out something that I thought of as a kind of guiltier secret of mine.
I’m five years old its getting cold I’ve got, my big coat on.
I hear your laugh and look up smiling at cha’
I run and run.
I liked to close my eyes and listen to the lyrics, ones I could recite backwards, I had outplayed the album over and over. It was a song dedicated to her parents, and I liked to dedicate it to mine, wherever they were. I also liked to dedicate it to everyone who had tried to be my parent(s) depending on whether they lasted a week or a year, just the fact that they tried, meant so much to me, as I still was furious with my own for giving up, so how could I blame anyone else? It must have been my fault.
I wasn’t quite five years old at the time, just a few months shy. I was born in Eureka, Montana. Such a silly name for a city, but it certainly was cold outside. I both hated and was pleased about the fact that I was so young at the time, I hated it because I wished I was older, just so I could remember their faces a little more clearly. I was pleased, because a part of me inevitably didn’t want to even be able to remember the color of my Mother’s eyes, the only reason I remember those fiercely is because they are the exact same eyes I see every single day, not only in the mirror but in my dreams. I could never forget; those wide flint coloured eyes haunt me endlessly. It was my Father’s glasses I remembered more, they must of obscured his eyes I didn’t have a clue what color they could have been. I suppose I remembered that part of their faces more because that’s always my focus point, that’s where its so common to look at a person whilst communicating. The glasses were almost a trendy style, half cut but still with thick almost geeky black rims. I remembered the glint of the sunlight reflecting off the glasses, I remember not really looking into his eyes, but watching my expression through the reflection whenever he was talking to me.
That’s where the song and my life differs, because of course, its just a song.
I have an excellent father, his strength is making me stronger.
I no longer wished that he had been strong then, strong enough not to be able to give me up. I wished that he was strong now, strong enough to be alive and breathing, strong enough to perhaps find me, someday. I was bitter, full of hurt and hatred, and bile. I wanted to shout, and scream, and stamp my feet and lash out if I ever saw them again.
But at the same time I was distraught, I was upset and inconsolable. How do you ever cope without parents? The worst feeling is not knowing anything, not knowing why, how, or even where.
The answer is you don’t cope, you don’t bounce back. You simply carry on, what other options do you have?
