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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Emotional · #1711782
Short story about a street worker and her memory of an abusive foster mother
It was 9:30 on the dot.  The Brady Bunch had just ended and that was her cue.  She pulled herself up and



rolled off the unmade bed.  At the window she pulled the corner of the torn dirty curtain to the side and



peered out towards the small store across the street.  There is was, in the same spot, on the old wooden



steps where it was every morning, seven days a week.  Placed in exactly the same spot at exactly the same



time, you could set your watch by it.  One orange sitting on a piece of paper towel.



Every morning after the Brady Bunch she would leave the hotel room to go get some fresh air.  She



wasn’t ever gone long, her mother would not allow her to leave the room for fear the authorities would see



her and give her mother shit for not having her in school.  But she knew that her mother would never be



home this early in the morning, and if she was awake she would be back in the bar so she never really



worried about it much.



One day as she was walking by “Won’s Groceries” she noticed an old Chinese man looking out the window



at her.  She smiled at him, he gave her a half smile, one where only the one side of his lip went up, but she



took that as a smile none the less.  The next morning when she came out of her hotel he was standing on his



step, he leaned down and patted the stairway with his hand, then he laid out a piece of paper towel and put



an orange on top of it and he walked back into his store.  She could not hurt his feelings and show him that



she hated oranges, he was the first person that had ever offered her anything without expecting some sort of



payment in return.  She walked over, plunked herself down on the step and ate it.  This had become a daily



ritual for 3 months.  Every morning she ate the orange, laid the peelings neatly in the paper towel and folded



it up, took them to the little garbage can at the side of the store, went around the corner and threw up so



much her stomach would ache all day long. There was a good reason she hated oranges, just thinking about



that day made her stomach turn.



She was only seven years old and already in her third foster home.  It was a special day, a new girl had



come to live in the home and she was seven years old too, it would be nice to have someone to play with



who was her own age.  It was lunchtime, all six children were sitting around the table eating a grilled cheese



sandwich and a cut up orange.  When she was finished eating her sandwich she started to eat her orange, she



was so busy talking to her new friend she really didn’t notice that she had eaten all the orange pulp and was



chewing on the rind.  Her foster mother, Mrs. Carlin came over to the table and asked her if she liked eating



orange peelings.



She answered quietly that she didn’t like the peelings as she put it down on her plate. 



She then went to pick up another neatly cut piece of orange when she felt a sharp sting on her arm.



Her foster mother had picked up a fork and had whapped it down on her little hand so hard it left a mark the



perfect outline of the fork tongs in bright red.



“ If you want to eat orange peelings then by all means, eat orange peelings” shouted Mrs. Carlin as she



leaned over the table and took all the orange pieces and peelings from every child’s plate and heaped them



up onto Cassidy’s plate.



“ Now little missy, you will sit here and eat every goddamned piece of orange, peelings and all, before you



will ever leave this table.  That will teach you not to mimic my good cooking by eating the garbage at our



Table.”



Mrs. Carlin ordered all the other kids to leave the table immediately and go out into the yard to play.



Cassidy was left sitting at the table all alone with a plate piled over six inches high with oranges.



Her arm hurt where the fork had hit and it was starting to become a red welt with a white blistery outline.



Cassidy’s eyes filled with tears as she thought for a moment about what had just happened.  She hadn’t done



anything really wrong, all she wanted to do was eat her lunch and go outside to play with her new friend.



She had not meant to make Mrs. Carlin angry at her.



She thought she should eat all the orange fruit before trying to eat the rinds, maybe by then Mrs. Carlin



would have calmed down, changed her mind, and would tell her that she could go out and play.



There were about 8 sections of oranges in total and she was feeling a bit sick by the fourth one, her stomach



was getting full and feeling upset, her lips were starting to burn and her tongue was  feeling like it had some



freezing like ora-gel on it.  She kept eating, taking small bites at first, but then she thought if she took



bigger bites it would get rid of them faster, but the bigger bites made her gag.  As soon as the orange would



hit the back of her throat she would start gagging and she would have to continuously swallow and force it



down, she was really afraid to throw up because she knew that would make Mrs. Carlin really upset and she



had seen what happened when she was mad.



Finally she had eaten all the orange pieces, but she still had a big pile of peelings to go.  She knew that she



couldn’t take big bites of rind, they just hurt too much when they started to come back up so she took tiny



baby bites one right after the other.  Her lips were burning so badly from the acid that she tried to put the



pieces back into her throat and not near her lips.  Even her  tiny fingers were starting to burn from the acid



that was getting on them, just from breaking the peelings up.  She looked around to see where Mrs. Carlin



was as she wiggled down  from the table.  She was just about  to go into the living room when Mrs. Carlin



yelled behind her.



“ Where in the hell do you think you are going young miss? “



“ I ate almost all the oranges and they are making my tummy sore, can you please check and see if I have



eaten enough so that I can go outside and play with the others?” She asked, almost begging.



Mrs. Carlin turned and went into the dining room, Cassidy followed behind her. 



“ It really doesn’t look like you have eaten any of the oranges at all” she remarked, “ you get your little butt



back up to that table and when  you are finished all the oranges, then and only then, will you be allowed to



go out with the other children”



Cassidy climbed back up onto her chair and turned to face the plate of oranges.  One by one she picked



them up, pulled them apart into tiny bite size pieces and put them into her mouth.  After about 10 minutes



her mouth was feeling totally frozen. her lips burned from the acid, and her teeth were sore from chewing on



orange rind. Every bite made her throat go through the gag reflux and it began to hurt, every bite made her



tummy ache more, she felt like she needed to go to the washroom but she knew that she dare not get down



off the chair and leave the table.  She just sat there and ate one orange peel after another.  All she kept



thinking was that the sooner she ate all the oranges the sooner she could go out and play with the new girl.



She went into the living room where Mrs. Carlin was lying on the couch watching television and told her



that she had finished all the oranges.  Mrs. Carlin told her to put her dishes in the kitchen and go outside.



She did what she was told and headed out into the yard to play with the other kids.  As she started to run to



the swing set she knew she was going to throw up so she ran as fast as she could to get behind the old travel



trailer parked in the back yard. She threw up everything she had just eaten.  It burned all the way coming



up, just as much if not more than it had burned going down, it hadn’t had time to digest so it was still



chunky and stringy.



That was 4 years ago, it was the last time Cassidy had eaten anything with an orange flavor or smell, but



now, every day for the last 3 months at exactly 9:30 in the morning she relived that horrible day.



She had not been blessed with many good things in her life but she did have a friend who cared if she had



something to eat every day, his name was Mr. Won and he fed her oranges
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