After her threat, I retreated to my room. My heart heated up my boiling chest. My thinking spun. I served up my home, vacations, friends and family for her feasting.  Gratitude came wrapped in acidic betrayal. Up until then, I didn’t believe people could be like her. The reality wedged into my ribs; a twisting hot iron.  It wasn’t fair. I had only tried to help.

That night, with resolve, I told my parents her promise. They balked, in hindsight knowing she had no-such power.

I refused to wait and see where her new resolve would take us. I countered with my own threat: I would not live in the house if she was there.  I left.

I believed I could cobble together the last months of my Senior year bunking at my boyfriend’s and others’ houses. I reasoned if my parents wanted to keep her, I’d be okay. She needed a home and a lot more of everything than me.

A few days later, my parents reached out to let me know she was gone. They shuffled her into the Foster care system. They wanted me back.

I returned but more alone.  

She swept the house of herself and bundled up a group of my friends with her. I was too cold-hearted for friendship.  Later, she unraveled and let loose on them too.   

Then, I wasn’t so mean.

 

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C) Marika Reinke – Adventures in Art with Heart, Humor and Spirit.