I was always one to believe in fairy tales growing up. Someday my prince would come and save me from the world I knew. So, I’m not going to fly off to Never land with Peter Pan, or be awaken from eternal sleep by the kiss of my true love, but something similar could happen. After all it had to of happened to someone out of the billions of people in the world, one had to of ended up with a happy ever after. I knew in my heart, I would be that one. I just know my true love will come save me. This life I live isn’t meant for me, there is a whole world out there calling to me and telling me that he is looking for me too.
I wanted so badly to run away, leave this boring and unoriginal life I lived. I want to find the people I’ve been searching for and the place where I belong. And when I find it, I’ll know. I’ll feel it in the core of my being when I’ve finally found it. Found the life I should be living. Someday he would come and find me and I’ll know.
He will tap on my window and take me away from this wretched house I lived in, never to return again, leaving my parents to mourn the loss of their only daughter. He will be tall with golden locks and dashing blue eyes his body strong like an ox! His voice will be deep and smooth like the most perfect song written just for me. He would be sweet and romantic, and everything I ever dreamed of.
Letting out a sigh I pictured my hero, as we rode off into the sunset. “Someday you’ll come for me. I know it.”
“Kaitlin!” My mother bellowed from deep within the over sized town house. “You come down here this instant!” I was brought back down to earth with a thud, my head shaking the remaining clouds.
I slumped off my bed and headed to where her booming voice echoed from. She was in the kitchen, her arms crossed and eyebrows narrowed at me. Leaning against the counter, her feet were pointed like daggers at me as soon as I entered, her eyes just as piercing. The red flames of her hair flicked down over her shoulder like approaching lava, her tiny waist seeming almost painfully thin in comparison to her softly round face.
She was waiting for me to speak first, but I kept my mouth clasped tight knowing the second I tried to talk she would interrupt me, like she always did. Only after too long of a silence did she finally speak, my eyes not leaving hers for a second as if in some sort of subconscious staring contest.
“So do you know why I called you down here?” She asked, her voice calm and crisp as if she were in a business meeting. Yet her tone was full of acid that began to prick at my ears and make my body hot with frustration.
“No,” I lied coolly.
“I just called Ms.Kendall, and can you guess what she told me?” I stared back at my mother, the anger building already.
“No,” She does this once every other week, she calls my History teacher and asks how I’m doing in class. You’d think she’d know that if I was doing bad in the class that the teacher would be calling her not the other way around. But no she has to check up on me, make sure I’m doing just as perfect in my worst subject as I am in my other classes. It’s ridiculous.
“She says you haven’t been doing any of your homework, and your day dreaming in class again.” I rolled my eyes at this which I could tell made her even more agitated.
“Oh did she?” I asked, “Because I believe I have done almost all…”
She interrupted me, “Almost all, is not all your homework now is it?” She said letting her temper slip just slightly enough for her to loose her posture, which she quickly straightened out.
“It’s not none ether.” I countered. “And so what if I’m day dreaming in class, everyone does.”
“Your not everyone, your Kaitlin Rother!” She hissed now letting the first wave of her anger through. “And I should not be hearing these things from your teacher I should be hearing that you’re perfect! It only takes one mistake to let your whole future slip away from you!”
“Maybe you wouldn’t hear these things if you didn’t call her then!” I shouted back equally as loud. I thought it amazing how one second the house was so silent and then the next it seemed like a car crash was taking place.
“Don’t you get that attitude with me young lady!” She said taking a step closer to me looking as if she was about to pounce.
“What attitude, you’re the one with the attitude!” I said looking at her with a twisted look on my face, she always was the one with the attitude, but as soon as I said anything about it she would get even more upset.
“That’s it your grounded, no friends, phone, music or TV for a week.” She said closing her eyes and shaking her hand in front of her like she was putting a spell on me that would keep my locked up forever. Not like I cared, I went without all those things easily.
“I have an A in that class, you have no right to be telling me…”
She interrupted again, “I have every right, I am your mother!” She shouted again letting her finger wag in front of me.
“You are not my mother!” I screamed, “You are a liar! You have no right to tell me what I can and can not do! And don’t you dare tell me that you are my mother.” Before I had a chance to storm out of the room her hand collided with the side of my head so hard I could feel the skin by my eyebrow rip.
I stood there my mouth hung open as the sting came and silence took over the white room. It seemed like minutes passed, but it must have only been a few seconds because when I looked up at her I could see her hand still in the swing. Seconds later recoiling back to her side.
Then she spoke softly knowing I was paying close attention, “I am your mother, and you know that. Don’t you dare tell me I am not. I raised you…” I stared at her face, red and creased and I realized I didn’t recognize her, she looked more hideous than ever before and then speechless I left the room tears cascading down my cheeks; she didn’t stop me.
Just moments after I had entered my room my father came in peeking around my door like a child after watching his parents fight. When I looked away, sobbing again he entered and sat on the side of my bed. He pet my hair as I covered my face with a pillow shushing me and trying to get me to look up at him.
“She hit me! She slapped me across the face and didn’t look like she even cared!” I cried after finally lifting my head. I expected him to say something but instead he had a helpless look on his face, slightly terrified like an animal being trapped in a corner. Instead of defending me and saying he wasn’t going to let her get away with it, instead of even trying to tell me things are going to be alright he just held me closer and let me cry on his shoulder. It was too late though, I saw his face, he wasn’t holding me to comfort me, he was holding me so I couldn’t see the spineless look in his eyes, because deep inside he really didn’t know what to do.
The expression on his face hurt ten times worse than my cheek now, but I didn’t cry anymore. I lay in his arms… speechless, helpless and confused. How could he just leave me with that, just let her get away with it? He has let her yell at me before and let her punish me for no good reason, but this was just unbelievably wrong and he was going to sit here and do the same thing as if things hadn’t gotten any worse.
I pushed him away showing him my own face hoping he could feel the pain I was feeling and when he had a second to actually see me, to look inside my eyes and feel the hurt I felt, I knew he felt it too. He raised his hand up to touch my cheek or maybe wipe away the drop of blood slowly dripping down my face, but I slapped it away. I felt so angry and hurt and it must have been too much for him to see, so he turned and left my room walking all the way down the hall. A spark of hope came through me thinking he was heading down stairs to yell at her, but quickly burnt out when I saw him turn into his study and shut the door behind him.
All night I sat in my room waiting for one of them to come talk to me, to explain to me what happened and why. To tell me everything would be alright and they were sorry, but they didn’t and I sat there waiting for hours before I realized that they weren’t coming.
Real
Standing finally I looked out my window at the bright lights coming from the buildings around me, the cars honking at the snail paced traffic below, the night sky a dull gray from all the lit buildings. I could see the park from here, the green leaves of a tree just reaching high enough over a rooftop to see it.
It reminded me of the day I found out I had been adopted. They said it casually one day when I noticed I looked completely different from both of them.
“Mommy, why do I have green eyes when you and Daddy have brown eyes?” I asked her while she was doing to dishes on Saturday afternoon when I was only five. She didn’t even turn to look at me. She just answered like it was as common as the weather.
“Cause your biological parents had green eyes I’m sure.” I was at first confused by the word “biological”, but I figured it out after a second.
“But you’re my… parents.” I said confused.
With a sigh she replied. “Yes but we adopted you from your biological parents when you were still a baby.” At this point she had turned around and shook her hands trying to explain it to me like it were a lesson at school.
“So you stole me from them?” I asked shocked and unsure now, frightened by her words.
“No, no we adopted you.” She said smiling, but I couldn’t understand. I ran away to the park trying to figure out what she had told me, feeling like my whole life was a lie.
I sat on a bench for hours waiting for them to come find me, convinced that she would if she were really my mother and my dad was really my father. They didn’t come though, and that made me cry a little while longer, but I eventually went home. I guess things haven’t changed much since then.
But maybe, this time I could make things change. This time if I run away I won’t come back, I’ll live in the park until I have enough money to rent a place of my own. It wouldn’t be that bad. I’d finally be able to find the place where I belonged!
I packed clothes into my backpack taking my tooth brush and a small blanket and then snuck down stairs back into the kitchen and grabbed a few snacks. I could hear my mother mumbling with my father in the family room so I made it back upstairs into my room without being noticed. Then just after I stuffed the food into the outer pocket of my bag I crept down the hall to my dad’s study. Inside I could smell his brandy and cigars that made my head spin for a moment.
After the feeling faded I tip toed over to the large photograph of our family hanging across from his desk and lifted it up only glancing at it. My mother stood next to my father one arm around his waist, her smile genuine and clean. My father stood the same, except his smile was different, it was one of those smiles where you can tell they weren’t happy to be there, similar to the Mona Lisa. And then between them, grinning wide was little me, at only seven. I didn’t have time to truly look at it or else I would have seen it as a whole and been able to compare it to how things really were and have been. Could all family photos be this deceiving?
It was lighter than it appeared so I easily set it against the wall without making a sound. There behind it I saw my parents safe, locked and loaded. I carefully typed in the number password and listened as each let out a small beep, hoping that it wasn’t loud enough for them to hear it down stairs.
Then with one last tone I heard it unlock, so taking my time I opened the door and looked inside to see the stacks of money and other prize possessions my parents had. There had to be over half a million dollars worth of stuff in here, but I didn’t need that much. I took one stack of twenties and then closed and locked the safe, placing the picture back in its original place.
I scurried back to my room and put the money in the very bottom of my bag and opened my window taking a step onto the short shingled roof without hesitation. From there I slid onto the dumpster and then to the ground finally free of that horrid place they call a home.
parents wouldn’t do this. Real parents would be nothing like them, they are the perfect example of what evil step parents look like. The only thing is that unlike Cinderella I have two of them and even her step mother didn’t hit her in the story. I know my real parents would be nothing like them, they would be sweet and caring and everything my adopted parents aren’t. If only I knew where they were I would go find them, beg them to take me back, surely they would have a good explanation for giving me up.
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