Blue Feet - memoir-7000 words (complete)

ONE
I knew it was on the school supply list but I was trying to ignore it. I was starting junior high. Did my teacher think I was some baby like Patti? I did it; I broke the rule and let her come back. Everyone knew when someone was gone, you couldn't let their memory back in. I choke back and take a deep breath. The day it happened, Patti blamed those crayons. I'm older and I know the crayons had nothing to do with it. Luck, that's what Ma kept calling it. What happened to Patti didn't look like luck to me.

I won't think about her or the stupid crayons. I take a pencil and scratch out the word crayons. I have more important things to think about. Tomorrow is the first day of my new life.

I finish filling my backpack and take another glance at the supply list. I know that no matter how much black I pour over it or pretend it isn't there, I will have to have them for school. I didn't buy any crayons 'cause I'm pretty sure I can dig up a few around the house. Patti couldn't have destroyed them all. I start my search in the toy box.

I find six and roll them between my fingers. I smile thinking about Patti's missing two front teeth. "I'm sorry" I whisper, I know she can't hear me. My face turned red when I think of how much I teased her.

Squeezing the crayons, I know I need them and shouldn't break them, but I want to. I want to break them along with the memory, into little pieces, just like Patti broke her crayons. It hurts when I think about her. It's only been two weeks since I called her a tag-a long. Ma says the hurt will fade, I don't know that I want it ever to fade.

Patti and I must have looked like a miss-matched pair, her with smooth blonde hair fine as silk, fair skin spotted with freckles and me with my dark tan and black curly hair. When you are a kid, you don’t notice those things; sisters are just sisters.

I hardly paid any attention to Patti; none of us knew it would be our last day together. I was really excited shopping for new school clothes. As foster kids, we couldn't go shopping anytime we want. It was such a pain waiting for the welfare office to send the clothing allowance check. Every year I am afraid it won't come at all. New clothes are a big once a year deal and the beginning of junior high is important, more important than anything, I thought.

Our foster mother, Ma insisted I buy a new skirt. She didn't know I'd never wear it. We argued about my backpack. "Those smiley face decorations don't make it any better; it just makes it cost more." Ma also bought me three new pair of pants, two sweaters and two blouses and a new pair of sneakers. It was a long shot but I had hoped I could get the name brand sneakers they showed on TV. All the real cool kids would have them. "Too expensive" Ma shrieked. The pair of sneakers I picked out were okay; I hoped no one would notice they weren't a name brand.

Ma and I didn't just fight about backpacks and sneakers that day. Ma got real prickly about the low hip hugger jeans. When I took them off the rack, I expected to hear, "Only trashy girls wear clothes like that," Ma didn't disappoint, as expected, a disgusted look on her face. They were so awesome; I dug in my heels and insisted.

"All the girls are going to have them this year." I was not starting junior high school with my usual mousey look. Ma just didn't understand how great this year was gonna be. I had exhausted Ma shopping; she didn't even put up a fuss when Patti slipped that jumbo pack of crayons into the shopping cart.

When we got home, I wanted to rush to my room with my new clothes. The phone started ringing; Ma hurried to answer, "Watch Patti while I get the phone and dinner."

"Ma, I'm busy." Annoyed but defeated. I knew that look on Ma's face. I pulled on Patti's arm dragging her down the hallway to our bedroom. Patti rattled on about drawing, learning to read, all that stupid kid stuff. I wasn't paying attention; I was busy sorting my new treasures. "Don't get your chocolate fingers on my stuff." I said.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror. I was for sure going to wear the hip hugger jeans, but still deciding between the blouse with flowers and the red sweater. The sweater would match my book bag better than the tan blouse. What I wore on the first day of school could decide my whole future. New school, new friends, new life!

The junior high school was about three miles away. There were kids from all over town, not just the losers from this neighborhood. I held the tan blouse up under my chin and danced around in front of the mirror checking my new look.

"Ahhhh! What are you doing?" Ma's screams from the doorway brought me back to our room. I turned just in time to catch a glimpse of Patti scooting under the bed and pulling down the bed skirt. "Dear Lord! What have you done?" Ma was shrieking.

A magnificent wall mural in the artistic fashion of a five-year old decorated the left wall of our green bedroom. Large red and blue flowers accented brown squares, perhaps meant to be houses. There was a yellow sun and a stick person riding a pony. Patti even wrote her name at the bottom. The "P" and "R" in Patricia were backwards, but there it was, autographed just like any fine work of art.

Ma fumed, "You two will stay here for the rest of the night." I could see Patti peeking out from under the bed skirt.

"No! Ma, it's not my fault!" I protested. Patti sank further under the bed.

"You should have been watching her. I'll bring your dinner in. I can't think about this now." She stormed out of the room slamming the door.

Patti scampered out from under the bed and flew under the covers. She had tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry," she kept repeating. "The green wall looked like grass and it needed some flowers." Her missing front teeth made that and everything she said difficult to understand. "I'm thorry, Rothanne" was what I heard, making me angrier.

"Yeah, and it's Roxanne, learn how to talk, you baby!" I winced each time I heard my name through those missing teeth. I climbed onto the top bunk steaming. "No TV tonight, do you understand that!" I shouted down to her.

I always get blamed, she's almost six, she should have known better I thought. "Crap, crap crap, this sucks!" I said punching the pillow. I sat thinking, maybe with warm water I could wash off the crayon.

I knew Ma was right, I should have been watching her. It was a good picture I thought. I smiled, it was an improvement on the wall; I always thought that shade of green was the color of grass. "We'll work on your letters tomorrow." I said.

I waited a little while then crept down the hall to the bathroom. "Roxanne, what are you doing out of your room?" Ma shouted from the kitchen. I was caught!

"Just going to the bathroom," I didn't exactly lie. I closed the bathroom door and turned on the faucet hoping it wouldn't squeak. I took a facecloth off the shelf and let it sit in the warm water. I squeezed the extra water out as best I could; I didn't want it dripping down the hallway. All I needed was for Ma to find water on her hardwood floors. That would really have sent her off the deep end.

I opened the bathroom door then remembered the toilet. Ma would have expected to hear it. There was a glug, glug, glug that sounded like a deep silly laugh whenever it flushed. I opened the door then flushed. Ma was sure to hear it.

I tried rubbing as hard as I could; the crayon would not come off the wall. It was no use. We were doomed to that room, probably forever! Patti watched, sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve. Finally, I gave up.

I still had music, there was a radio that had pretty good reception. I turned on the radio and went back to my new wardrobe. I practiced my dancing; I knew they had dances in junior high school. When I had decided on the tan blouse, I hung my new tops. "Aren't you gonna hang your new clothes?" I asked Patti.

"Ma does that," Patti said.

"She's not gonna tonight, you want to look like a wrinkled rag on the first day?"

"I'm gonna learn to read and draw and play with the other kids. That's what school is for. School is not a fashion show, that’s what Ma says." Patti lisped through the words then stuck her tongue out at me.

I teased her back with, "fathion thow, baby talker!" Then returned the tongue. "These are not second hand; these are your clothes, bought just for you." I said, carefully folding my new jeans. "You've done enough drawing." I said reminding Patti of why we were locked in prison. Patti just shoved her clothes in her bureau drawer.

"I don't care!" She threw herself on her bed and cried.

"Crying won't fix the wall," I shouted at her, even though I was sure we'd be out the next day. Ma remembered what you did but she never stayed angry for a long time.

It was just Me, Patti and Ma living here now. Ma's Husband, Papa died about two years earlier. I thought Patti and I would have to leave then, but we stayed. One day, about a week or two after Papa died, I heard Ma's oldest daughter, Terri ask, "Do you want the girls to leave? I can call the social worker." I was sitting in the living room watching TV. Terri didn't even try to whisper.

Ma cried and told Terri that Patti and I had nowhere to go. Ma cried a lot back then. I think Ma needed us just as much as we needed her. I had a hard time understanding all that crying. Ma always told us kids, "Crying gets you nowhere and it don't stop the pain," but she didn't listen to her own advice.

Ma and Papa had five grown children, all married and living in their own houses. They also had ten grandchildren. Five were a little older than me, the rest were younger than Patti. Ma's house was always busy with kids. Still, she took in dozens of foster kids. Some stayed for a week, some a month, some stayed years.

I arrived when I was 3 days old, right out of the hospital, twelve years and I am still here. I was pretty sure I wouldn't ever be adopted. I was too old by then. Patti had been with Ma and me for almost six years. Like me, she had come straight from the hospital. She was nine days old when I first saw her. She was truly my little sister. Of all the coming and going kids, she stayed.

TWO

The sun peeked through our bedroom curtains but it was the smell of crisp bacon and warm maple syrup that woke us. Ma made pancakes like everything else, from scratch. Licking the bowl was the best part; I loved the pancake batter. Sometimes I could talk Ma into cooking the pancakes on only one side. I jumped up and ran to the kitchen. I wanted mine before they cooled. Seeing a pat of butter slide across the stack was neat and made them yummier.

"No berries?" I asked.

"You have to pick some" Ma handed me a bowl. "Later, eat first" she said, lifting crisp bacon strips onto my plate. Patti made a slow shuffle down the hall. I knew she was worried if Ma was still angry. "You'd better hurry, Roxanne is gonna eat them all." Ma called to her with a smile. Ma's beaming face told me we were forgiven.

Sun shining through the daisy curtains mixed with the bright yellow walls made the room feel safe and warm. Patti hopped up onto the counter stool and tried to reach for the syrup. "I'll do the pouring," Ma said, grabbing the bottle. "You've made enough of a mess around here." She tried to hide a smile. Then Ma's smile faded, "Girls, we have to talk after breakfast."

"I am sorry, the wall was my fault," I said loading my pancakes with more butter.

"It's just a wall. We can't afford to repaint it, you'll have learn  to like it," Ma said. She tried to look stern but I knew she wasn't angry anymore.

The phone rang so I stretched over to answer. "Don't go out, we have to talk," Ma said as she grabbed the receiver out of my hand. We hurried to finish. Pancakes were good, but the backyard was calling. There would only be a few more days, then school would start. Ma was on the phone for a long time.

Patti and I hurried to get dressed then ran outside. I wished it was still spring so I could lay in the grass and look at the sun shining through the leaves of the mulberry tree. It was too late for that; the ground was covered in berries. I had to be content with climbing up into the tree. The tree was a comfortable place for me even if I was teased about it at school.

"You have nothing better to do," someone would tease.

"Berries don't grow on trees," another stupid person would shout.

Then a chorus would start, "Here we go round the mulberry bush," singing and laughing. Okay, so they were just neighborhood jerks and didn't know songs could be wrong. I didn't care, plump, sweet, juicy and messy; the berries were waiting for me.

We spent the morning collecting berries for that night's ice-cream and the next day's breakfast. Patti and I made it a contest; who could get their feet more stained. The look of embarrassment on Ma’s face whenever anyone commented on our blue skin was priceless. My skin was dark, so many times the stains looked like bruises, and Ma would have to explain.

"I'm bluer," I said, although I knew my olive skin had once again been beaten by her fair complexion. Patti mashed her bare feet into the mulberries lying soft and overripe on the ground.

"Ma is not gonna like this," she giggled.

"You always win; your skin is too light. I just look dirty." We laughed at how messy we were. "I'm going inside to get another bowl." I rubbed off the excess berries by scuffing my feet along the grass. I knew Ma didn't want a blue kitchen floor. We'd been through that one.

Ma was vacuuming and didn't hear the phone ringing. “Hello” I sang answering the phone.

“Good morning Roxanne. This is Mrs. Walkenstein. Getting ready to start school?" The woman asked. I wondered what the social worker wanted that early.

"Yes, got our school clothes yesterday," I said. "Hang on, I'll get Ma." I put the receiver on the kitchen counter, called Ma and poured myself a glass of Kool-Aid. I took slow sips hoping the purple color would help stain my lips. I didn't get to hear much of what Ma said on the phone. Ma shooed me from the kitchen as soon as I finished my drink. I grabbed an empty bowl and skipped out the door.

"Mrs. Walkenstein is on the phone, maybe a new baby is coming!" I said.

"Walking who?" Patti struggled with the name. I climbed back up the tree.

"Walkenssstein, the sssocial worker," stretching out the S's I teased missing teeth.

"When is the new baby commin?" Patti asked wide-eyed as her excitement grew. It had been a long time since a new kid arrived. "A baby, like Gene?" She asked. Eugene was nine months old when we got him the previous Halloween. He was gone just after New Year's.

"You remember him?" I went on filling the berry bowl. "I hope it's a girl close to my age," I said. Then I thought about that, "I just hope she's not bossy like Kelly, she was loud." I said.

"Babies are nice but the diapers are stinky," Patti said. I nodded in agreement.
Pleased with her blue feet, Patti rode her training wheeled bike around the yard. It was my old bike, pretty beat up, I had it a long time, but it worked okay. I got a larger bike the Christmas before. It wasn't brand-new but there were only a few scratches on it.

Sitting in the tree, I could see the in-ground pool in the Trallini's yard. They had a daughter, Donna who was my age. She was wearing a bikini and lounging in a chair. Ma's head would have exploded if I wore a bikini like Donna's. They had a son too, Frankie; he was about fifteen. He was pushing a broom around the edges of the pool. The music coming from their yard was really loud. Ma would have killed me if I played music that loud. The pool sparkled and the filter whooshed the water around in ripples. It looked peaceful.

Ma was friends with the Trallini's grandmother. She told Ma that year her granddaughter, Donna was going to be going to the junior high school same as me. Donna had always gone to a Catholic School. Donna's mother said they only had nice kids in Catholic schools and Donna would be away from bad influences from the neighborhood. I wondered if Donna liked wearing those dorky uniforms with the knee socks. Maybe we would become friends and I could ask her, I thought. I used to wish they would invite us into their pool. Ma always said, "wishin' got you nowhere."

We sang along to the music, continued picking and playing for a long while. I had been trying to teach Patti how to ride a two-wheeler. I taught myself, I was sure I could teach her. It was hard practicing 'cause the driveway was small. The street was busy and Ma wouldn't let us go past the end of the block. When Patti was tired of falling, we played tag, hide-n-seek, treasure hunt and picked more berries, a typical fun summer day, just the way we liked it.

"I'm gonna see if lunch is ready," I said. Patti hopped back on her bike. "Don't run over the roses." I instructed before I ran up the stairs. "I'm in enough trouble."

Ma was at the window, laundry still in the basket; lunch not ready. She hadn't even finished vacuuming the living room. It wasn’t like Ma to sit around in the middle of the day. Had something happened, I wondered?

Two o'clock was the only time Ma skipped housework. When her soap opera was on, she sat for a whole hour. We learned not to interrupt her. Everyday Ma would talk to the women on the TV "He's no good, you are a tramp!" Or she would yell at the handsome men, "You're a bum, get a job you two-timer." Then at the end of every show, Ma would throw her hands in the air and say, "These people are disgusting. I'm not watching this show anymore." I thought that sometimes Ma thought it was all real. Sometimes she folded laundry during the program, but usually she just sat and enjoyed it.

There was no TV, no housework, just sitting by the window. Maybe she was sick. After Papa died, Ma sat at that window for hours. She slowly grew out of that, and life returned to normal, just without Papa. It had been two years and I couldn't remember what he looked like. Ma was sitting at the window again, something was wrong.

“Are you okay?” I really didn't want to know.

“Roxanne, I’ll get you a sandwich.” She didn’t answer my question. “Call Patricia inside, don’t forget to wash her hands.” I wanted to ask again if something was wrong, but why invite bad news. I said nothing. I kept looking at Ma but I didn't see any crying, just a blank look in her eyes and an occasional sigh.

"I checked our room. Ma hadn't made the beds or picked up our dirty clothes. I wondered if I should ask her. Are we getting a new kid? Maybe someone died. Ma knew a lot of old people. I said nothing.



THREE


While we ate lunch, I saw Ma pull a paper bag out of the cabinet and start to sort through the toy box. She picked out a few baby toys, just a few of Patti’s favorites. Then she went down the hall to our room. I hopped off the stool and followed her. By this time, I had a strong idea the social workers phone call was not about a new baby arriving. There were no happy smiles, no humming, or washing of baby clothes.

I stood in the doorway. Ma walked over to the bedroom wall. She ran a light finger over the drawing Patti had made the night before. Ma pulled a crumpled tissue from her apron pocket and dabbed at her eyes. The wall was my fault; I felt sick.

Ma gathered Patti’s clothes out of the dresser. Something started nagging at the back of my neck as I watched her putting Patti's clothes into paper bags. All of a sudden, it hit me. How could this be, after all this time, I thought. Ten minutes earlier, Patti and I had been laughing; the social worker was bringing a new baby.

Patti ran past me and hopped onto her bed. “Come on Roxanne, you promised you'd play with me." Patti said as her little blue lips formed a pout. Ma stayed busy sorting, folding and packing Patties clothes. Patti didn't notice Ma turning her back to us. 

“Hopscotch, you get the chalk, I’ll be out soon.” I said without thinking. I couldn’t believe it. I didn't want to believe it. I had seen this drill before. Only the essentials went. Anything that could be used for the next little girl stayed in the drawer.

Her new school clothes were the first things packed. Her black shiny school shoes un-scuffed, unworn, her crisp white ankle socks and pretty flowered panties were folded neatly and placed at the bottom of the bag. Patti must have wondered what I was looking at so closely. Instead of going out to get the chalk, Patti stayed in the room and watched. She looked from me to Ma back to me. My mind somehow slipped into gear and wanted to protect her from what was happening.

"Go get the chalk, come on, I'll go with you." I was too late. I tried to pull her out of the room but she shook my hand loose and ran over to Ma. A mixture of dread and disbelief washed into her little face.

“Ma, are we going on a vacation?” Patti asked with hope.

“No Honey, go play; I'll explain when I'm done.” Ma said with wet eyes.

“No, how come you ain't packing Roxanne's clothes, why just mine?” Patti ran to my dresser, pulled out a handful of my clothes, and shoved them in Ma’s face. “Here, pack Roxanne's too!” She demanded. Ma took my clothes and pushed them aside. She took Patti’s hands, pulled her in and squeezed.

"You are…" Ma's voice trailed off, she was looking for the words. She choked back some tears and pasted on a smile. "You're lucky! You're adopted!" Ma tried to smile again; she looked at me while she hung on to Patti. "You are lucky. You’ll have a mother and a father, and I hear you’ll even have a new brother." She said almost smiling. I could tell Ma was trying to be convincing, but she hadn't convinced me. Patti only understood that she was going away.

"I don’t want another mother! I want you and Roxanne! Don’t send me away! I’ll be good, I promise!" Patti screamed over and over. She started running around the room ripping the paper bags where Ma had packed her clothes. "No, no, I won’t go." Patti stamped her feet. "I’m sorry about the wall! I won't do it again." Ma did her best to calm Patti, but it was no use.

I stood against the wall. I don't know that I really heard or understood what Ma said. I had seen her mouth moving, I new these words; I had seen a lot of foster kids leave. I could remember names but not faces, Cheryl, Dorothy, Brad, Eugene; the children all left, life went on. I never saw any of them again. Now Patti? My Patti!

This wasn't right; something was wrong. It was a mistake. That's what raced though my mind. They always made mistakes, all the time. I'd been to the welfare office. There are so many people and so much paper. Some jerk who didn't speak English well just screwed up some papers. Ma would get it straightened out. I kept telling myself. My mind raced to find a solution, an explanation. The thoughts turned and twisted, so many I couldn't keep track. My head started to hurt like a brain freeze without the ice-cream. I wanted to put my hands over my ears and block out the sounds. I just kept repeating to myself, this is a mistake! I pushed my palms against my temples and pressed as hard as I could. I was trying to keep my brain in. I thought I must be losing my mind. I knew in my heart it wasn't a mistake. Patti was leaving. My mind tried but I just couldn't get it to sink in.

"I'm sorry about the wall! I'll be good." Patti was pleading. Ma put her hand on Patti's shoulder; Patti shrugged it away and ran to the other side of the room. She huddled between the desk and the wall. She grabbed her knees and rocked back and forth.

Ma looked at my face, surprise, horror; I don't know what she saw. When you are dead, can your mouth go dry and your head ache? At the time, I wasn't sure if I was dead or just wished I was. Ma nudged me through the door and closed it behind her. Was any of this making sense or was my mind just in a jumble, missing half the words?

We left Patti in her room crying. Ma finished sorting and packing Patti’s bags in the kitchen. I wanted to ask Ma what she was going to do. My tongue kept sticking to the roof of my mouth. My throat was closed and I couldn't breathe. Ma sat at the window packing. I wanted to shake her and wake us both from this nightmare.

Some friends and family stopped by to say good-bye but Patti was in such a state no one could talk to her. When other foster kids had left, there were hugs and kisses and sometimes we had time for a party, this was no party.

Ma went to the room a few times and tried to explain that adoption had nothing to do with the wall or her behavior. Patti just kept insisting that she wouldn't draw on the wall again. "No more crayons, I promise" Patti screamed. I wanted to scream too. If only I had a mouth, tongue, throat or something that worked.

Ma's daughters, Terri and Jean arrived with Papa's sister, Marietta. They all tried to say goodbye. Aunt Marietta brought Patti a new doll, but that didn't help. Patti never answered her bedroom door with anything more than sobs. Ma made coffee and the adults sat around the kitchen table chatting about stupid stuff that didn't make any sense.

"Lisa is picking up her new car tomorrow," Terri said.

"Oh great, what color is it?" Jean asked.

What color? What color? I had no doubt now, I was losing my mind. Why weren't they thinking of someway to stop this. How could anyone care about some stupid new car while Patti was in her room dying?

"I wish she would quiet down. I want her to know she's lucky," Ma said looking down the hall toward Patti's door.

"She'll be Okay Ma, You'll see" Jean said trying to calm Ma who had been tearful most of the afternoon. Then Jean turned toward me, "What's the matter kiddo? Don't be jealous, you can stay here with us," she said patting me on the arm.

Did I have the look of jealousy on my face? I can't imagine that I did. I wasn't jealous. Was I? I pushed that away, it didn't make any sense; she must have read my face wrong.

Ma kept saying, "Patti is lucky; someone wants her. This didn't look like lucky to me."

"God, Please don't let me ever be that lucky," I said aloud. The adults turned and looked at me but no one said a word. I couldn't listen to their senseless talk anymore. I wanted, needed to get some air. I was suffocating. I did my best to think of something else. I wished I had stopped at the library. I knew I needed to have a report done before school started. I tried to push my mind to think of anything other than Patti.

So, she was leaving. It was no mistake. It was nothing. The adults were right. Just like after all the other kids, life goes on. That’s what I started to tell myself. Eventually every one finished their coffee and left without a chance to say goodbye to Patti.

I wanted to crawl to that safe spot where I felt comfortable. It was my refuge when Papa died, and Bobby left. I hadn't been there since last Christmas when Miss. Piro, my Girl Scout leader re-gifted the Christmas gift I worked hard to buy her. It was time to go there again.

Robotically I moved through the house, Patti screaming in the distance. I pushed it further and further away. This wasn't happening," She isn't leaving," I told myself, "She can't ride a two-wheeler yet and she still wrote some letters backwards. We have to work on that," I said aloud; no one was listening. Then I remembered, Ma said only crazy people talk to themselves.

I shook my head. "Ma won't let them take her." My mind raced, my heart pounded but my feet felt like cement. I looked down; they looked like my feet, but felt so heavy. Grabbing a bowl, I went outside to pick berries. I knew it was true and I knew I couldn't stop it no matter how much I tried to forget it was happening.

My chest felt as heavy as my feet. I went out to the yard, to our tree. I felt close to Patti there, high in the tree. Bare feet in blue mush, laughing at the stains and Ma's embarrassed looks, that’s where I belonged, that's where I was headed. For one quick flash somewhere in the back of my mind someone said, why couldn't I get a family that wanted me? I pushed that away. I never wanted to leave! Did I? I smacked myself on the forehead. Shut up!

FOUR


This didn’t concern me. It was no big deal. My head reasoned. Yes, I had made it. I was there, that place where nothing could hurt me. That room where I felt nothing and no tears ever fell. I climbed high, higher than I had ever climbed before. There were ripe berries on the higher branches close to the peaceful blue sky. That’s what I had come for, more berries. I settled into a safe branch.

Like some forbidden late night horror show, I became fixed on the view through our bedroom window. Sitting high in the mulberry tree, I watched Patti's hysteria, running in circles, breaking her crayons. Frankie's loud music was blocked out by Patti's words haunting like an echo.

Would the phone ring for me tomorrow? Would Ma let them take me? What choice would she have? The thoughts raced through my mind. I tried to stop them; there's a ripe berry. I calmed myself down, it's okay, no one wants you, I told myself. But if some freak thing happened and someone did, what would Ma do? What would I do? "Stop it!" I screamed, shaking the thoughts out of my head. I picked a berry that was too ripe; I mashed it between my fingers and threw it to the ground.

Did Ma love them, all those kids? After all these years in this house with Ma, in this tree, would I have to go? Would I want to go to a real home and a real family? My bowl was half-full of berries. I thought I had heard a car door and was afraid it was time. My stomach churned.

Frankie's music drifted across the yards and a group of kids started splashing in their pool. The guitars and drums in a rock and roll beat mix with an odd screeching undertone. I had a lump in my stomach as Patti tried to rub the crayon marks from the wall, screaming, throwing herself on the bed and shoving clothes back into her dresser. She pushed her night table against the door. I thought it was amazing how much strength a child could find. Patti scooped up the broken crayons and threw them into the wastebasket.

"I won't draw anymore. I'm sorry!" She continued. The crowd swimming next door was oblivious to our horror show. Patti was desperate; my fingers were blue.

Maybe a year ago when my mother, Harriet showed up, I should have gone with her. Maybe I should have begged her to take me. I couldn't, she didn't want me, and no one did. I knew that was true and it was the hope and fear I'd carry around. I would never have to leave. I was getting dizzy; I must have eaten too many berries or had climbed too high." It's hot out here in the sun." I said. Only crazy people talk to themselves.

What time is it? Does John or Paul sing this song? Would I get to say good-bye to Patti? "Sorry, I teased you, called you a tattletale and brat." I knew she couldn't hear me but I had a crazy need to say it aloud. I wanted to yell it at the top of my lungs in the hopes it would make everything Okay. I didn't care if I was crazy, this whole thing was crazy.

Did I finish my sandwich? I'm tired, I want to go lay down. Did Ma remember to pack her softie? That's John singing, "Let me take you….Strawberry….. Nothing is real…"I hummed along, such a peaceful song. I rested against a branch watching the girls laugh and scream as the boys splashed mercilessly. It looked like they were having so much fun.

"No Ma please, let me stay!" Patti's hysterical tempo interrupted and pushed me toward reality. This is real! I knew sitting in the tree, I was safe from tears but I wanted to scream, this is real! Nothing is forever.

"Stupid song, there is no such place were things aren't real, nothing is forever," my crazy self said aloud. Will she miss me? That old song sucks, I thought I liked it but it's making my head hurt.

A beep from the driveway and the slam of a car door jolted me fully awake. Distant voices told me that the social worker had arrived. I was in a hurry to get to the front yard to say goodbye. Gosh, what should I say? Why hadn't I thought of some great thing to say to her?

I climbed out of the tree so quickly I didn't feel it when I skinned my knee. I jumped the last bit and landed with a hard thud on the ground. My hands, feet and hair mashed with berries, I ran to the front yard forgetting about my spilled berry bowl. I stood waiting in the driveway by the car. Four bundles sat on the front porch. Did all her things really fit into four paper bags? How could Ma let them take her?

I was still safely tucked away where tears could not find me, blood dripping down my leg. Four little bundles wrapped neatly with twine stared at me. Nothing would fall out, nothing would get lost. Ma came out first; she looked tired. Patti was a mess, her hair tangled and her shirt torn. The social worker, Mrs. Walkenstein had Patti by one arm, Ma had the other. The three struggled across the driveway, Patti kicking and screaming.

"Roxanne, get those bags and put them in the trunk," Ma said. I did as I was told. I placed those precious paper sacks in the trunk as gently as I could.

" Mamma…don’t send me away! I’m sorry; I'll clean the wall… I'll be good!….." I turned my back; I couldn't listen anymore. Her two missing teeth made the words broken and difficult, but there was no way to disguise the pain. There was a sour taste in the back of my throat. I'll have to stay away from those green berries.

Patti tried biting the social worker. She broke free but they caught her before she made it back up the stairs. The two adults dodged Patti's wild kicks and flailing hands. After a few tries, Ma and Mrs. Walkenstein had Patti strapped into the back seat of the car. Mrs. Walkenstein's car had a special kind of seatbelt. There was a childproof clasp; kids had a hard time unbuckling. Patti clawed at the window, her screams sounded muffled and distant. Ma turned her back and I just stood there gaping, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

Mrs. Walkenstein quickly got into the driver’s seat and started the car. It was hot; the social worker opened the windows in the front seat allowing Patti's full volume to escape. The car backed out of the driveway and tore down the road.

I kept hearing Patti's words over and over, even when the car was out of sight and long faded into the distance. The words obsessed me. Was it just in my mind or could we really still hear her? There was no good-bye, no hug. Four paper grocery bags and my heart was all she took with her that day.

I noticed a red spot on Ma's cheek. One of Patti's wild kicks must have hit hard. "Did you remember her softie?" I asked in a whisper.

"Damn!" Ma shouted. She had forgotten. I thought about Patti in her new house,  she'd have no softie. We couldn't mail it to her. We didn't know where she went. I worried about that for a long time. Patti slept with that little scrap of cloth every night. It was once a soft warm baby blanket. Now it was nothing more than a satin rag she kept under her pillow to rub between her fingers when she slept.

I don’t know how long Ma and I stood in the driveway. The morning had started so sunny. It must have been late afternoon; I felt a chill run up my back.

I went inside and found Patti's softie under her pillow. Almost a teenager, I couldn't sleep with a rag. I unzipped my pillowcase and put her softie inside for safekeeping. She was never coming back, but I'd hang onto it anyway, just in case.

That night sitting in the bathtub, I scrubbed, trying to erase the berry stains. Blue stained feet were for babies; I was moving on to Junior High.



The End