I followed the rules of the house, worked hard at school, hoping that somehow, it would make my parents notice me. That it would make them decide to love me.
Eventually, I did do well in one of my classes. I placed first in my art class. I remember the day I was to receive my award. I felt so proud and actually thought my parents would attend the special assembly, put on to honour the best students in my grade. But when I looked out into the sea of delighted smiling faces, no one was there smiling for me. No one cared enough to be proud along with me.
After that, I stopped trying. I stopped caring. It didn’t matter if I came first or last. I wasn’t going to get a smile. I wasn’t going to get a kind word. I’d just get… nothing.
Chapter Seven
Three months has passed since I went home and found that note. I spent the first two weeks walking past my family home, waiting on the doorstep, hoping to find them there and have them tell me it was all a mistake. Some ridiculous joke gone awry. But it’s not a joke. They were never there, and on the last day I visited, a ‘For Sale’ sign had been erected.
They had moved, and I had lost my last shred of hope. It meant that I needed to move on too. So, I stopped visiting and focused on what I needed most – a bed.
To get by, I’ve slept on every spare bed, couch, rug and open garage belonging to my friends that I could talk or sneak my way into.
Although, when word started to get around that my parents had kicked me out; it made staying with school friends a lot more difficult. Their parents wanted to turn me in to social services. It was as if they thought a fifteen-year-old girl would find a loving foster home. I don’t think so.
Slowly, I’ve moved further away from Miranda, which is the suburb I’ve known my entire life. I’ve done my best to meet new people, to make new friends. But those who don’t know you, aren’t always sympathetic to your cause.
The first night I slept outside, was the worst night of my life. Winter was just around the corner and while Sydney isn’t the coldest place in the world, night time is still fairly chilly. I ended up sleeping in the tunnel section of children's play equipment in a park near Jamisontown.
Every sound I heard sent my heart racing. I felt that any moment, the wrong kind of person would come along, and do unspeakable things to me. I cursed myself for heading out west. Everyone knew Western Sydney was a dangerous place. But I had travelled there, hoping to, somehow, make my own way – something I wasn’t able to do in the Sutherland Shire.
When I woke from what little sleep I had managed to get, I thanked my lucky stars. But I was hungry. A feeling that was becoming all too familiar to me. The two hundred dollars my mother gave me, stopped paying for my food weeks ago. My choices had become severely limited.
With no money in my pocket, I had to resort to taking what I needed. Although sometimes, I could order food during a busy period and claim that I’d lost my wallet. If I became visibly upset, then most of the time, someone would either pay for me, or the clerk would tell me not to worry.
I bathed in public washrooms, and reduced my clothing to what would fit into a small backpack, so I didn’t look quite so conspicuous walking around with a large sports bag.
I was getting by. I was surviving. I spent an entire week sleeping in different children’s parks, undisturbed, until one night a group of people turned up where I was huddled.
At first, I was really frightened. I held my breath as I listened to them all talking and laughing. Having no idea who they were and what they were like, I prayed that they wouldn’t find me. But when I heard the sound of a shoe hit the metal step of the play equipment, I yelped and alerted them to my presence.
“What the hell?” a guy’s voice said from just outside the tunnel’s entrance. I could hear the shifting of his feet as he crouched down to peer inside.
“Is someone in there?” a female voice asked.