Twenty-one Years Ago
Aubrey is allowed one toy. She has no idea which to choose—how to choose. They are all dear to her. And they will all be gone, just like the rest of her world. The teddy bear will be the best; he works as an extra pillow. She sleeps with him at night, her head resting on his, her curly hair mimicking his own curly fur. Yes, the bear is the right choice. Especially if there is no bed, no pillows, wherever she is going.
She looks to the dark-haired woman sent from the bad place, who is tapping her foot in impatience. She wants to ask if she may have permission to take two, but she is afraid. She reaches for Bear, careful not to meet the inquisitive button eyes of the rest of her brood. She knows they feel she is abandoning them. She understands their concern completely.
“All set?”
Aubrey looks at the walls of her room, painted a rosy pink. There is a picture of her parents next to her bed. She is too frightened to ask if she may take it with her, stow it inside her bag, her tiny little bag with three changes of clothes and one worn bear. When the woman glances away, she shoves the frame under Bear, trusting him to protect her secret.
“Aubrey? You hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you all set?”
She nods. What other choice does she have?
“Good girl.”
The dark-haired woman stops at McDonald’s, buys Aubrey a Happy Meal. The car smells of fake evergreen and grease and cigarettes, and Aubrey can barely choke down the sandwich and fries. She leaves the small movie cowboy in the paper box. The woman said only one toy.
With rush hour traffic and lights, the drive takes twenty minutes, give or take. Aubrey forgot to look at the clock as they left the house, but as they leave McDonald’s, she locks eyes on the little digital display and watches the minutes tick away.
Twenty minutes by car.
If you are traveling in a car that is going forty miles an hour, and you travel for twenty minutes, how many miles have you traveled?
The dark-haired woman whistles.
Aubrey clings to Bear.
The car slows just after dark. The dark-haired woman mutters under her breath, grabs a piece of paper from her purse. She does a U-turn in the street and takes the first left, then stops in front of a small yellow house. Aubrey’s eyes slide across the yard, which has two tricycles, a boy’s bike, and various other items that tell her children live here.
She is at once relieved and frightened.
“Come on,” the dark-haired woman says.
“Where are we?” Aubrey asks.
“This is your new home. For a while, at least. It’s a foster home.”
Aubrey does not know what foster means. She does, though, understand the concept of home, and knows, without a doubt, this is not hers.
She climbs from the backseat, clinging to Bear. One of the porch lights is out, and she can see a large cobweb littered with dead insects strung around the other. Not the fun, fake kind her parents used to put up for Halloween, but a real one. A spider, as big as a cherry, sits patiently in the middle, ready to drain an unwary being into a dried-out husk.
Aubrey begins to shiver. It is not cold—no, she hasn’t felt a bodily sensation like hot or cold anytime since her parents failed to come home and the policeman knocked on the door and the babysitter screamed. This is the kind of shiver that comes from inside, one that can only be comforted by loving arms and gentle kisses. The arms and kisses and kind, loving faces of people she will never see again.
The door opens, and a smallish woman with her mousy brown hair in a frowsy bun on top of her head looks down at her.
Her face creases into a smile, and Aubrey sees that the woman is missing the same front tooth that Aubrey is. She takes this as a good sign.
“Come in, come in. I was just sitting everyone down to dinner.”
The dark-haired woman pushes Aubrey lightly on the back.
“This is Sandra,” she says. “She’s going to take good care of you. I’ll come see you in a few days and see how you like it. Okay?”
Aubrey is suddenly exhausted. She didn’t know it was possible to be this tired. Beyond tired. She closes her eyes and feels the colors of the day swirl behind her lids.
“Okay, Aubrey?”
She nods, not knowing what else to do.
The woman named Sandra takes Aubrey by the hand and gently pulls her into the house. The door shuts behind them with a slam. Aubrey feels the air around her draw close, and her vision begins to swim.
“No, no, sweetie, don’t cry. You’ll be happy here, I promise.”
When the woman speaks, there is a long hiss on the s’s. Aubrey knows that is called a lisp, and it is a bad thing. She changes her mind about the missing tooth.