The Foster Child
Untitled | Tory Morse | Painting
The Foster Child by Aviva Tarnoff
I closed my eyes tightly. The bright sun that shone on my back seemed to be mocking me. How? How could the sun shine so bright on the darkest day of my life? I grabbed my mom’s hand and squeezed it hard. I felt like if I kept squeezing, all the pain would go away. But then, I opened my eyes and saw the gray gravestone with my sister's name written across it in small, neat letters, and the burning, that excruciating burning that suffocated me, returned.
My older sister, Sammy, was my best friend. She was five years older than me, and some of my first memories are of us dancing around the kitchen in our pajamas or playing dress-up for hours on end, never getting bored. When I lost her, it felt like my world had ended. I didn’t want to live without her. I couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see her face. I just wanted her back. I just wanted to hug her one last time, to talk to her, to let her know I loved her.
A few months after her death, when I got home from school one day, I found my mother waiting for me on the couch. “Honey, there is something I want to talk to you about,” she said in a serious voice.
I put my bag down and sat on the couch with her. “Is it something bad?” I asked her.
“No, it’s good. It’s just going to be a big change for us,” she told me.
“Why? What’s happening?” I asked.
“Honey, we’re getting a foster child,” she said.
I looked at her in disbelief. “What?”
“It’s gonna be great, Honey. She can sleep in Sammy’s room, and it will really help the house feel less empty,” she said.
“Mom, please, I don’t want to get a foster kid. I just can’t deal with another person in the house when I’m still getting over losing Sammy,” I pleaded with her.
“Honey, I’m sorry, but the decision has already been made. This is not up to you,” she told me.
There was no use arguing with her. Once my mom makes up her mind, there is no changing it. I ran upstairs as quickly as I could. All I wanted was to be alone.
Two days later, when I came home from school, I found a suitcase in the front hallway by the door. I walked around the house to try to find my mom to ask her about it but quickly found my answer when I walked past Sammy’s room. There, sitting with my mom on Sammy’s old bed, was a small, scared-looking girl. She had long, dirty-blonde hair, and she seemed to be about the same age as me.
“Leah!” my mom exclaimed when she saw me standing there. “I want you to meet Amelia. She is 15, and she will be staying with us for a few months.”
I gave her a weak nod. “Hi, I’m Leah,” I said, trying to be as polite as possible. She smiled at me and returned my nod. “I’m going to go lie down in my room, but it was nice to meet you, Amelia,” I said, excusing myself. I could feel my mom glaring at me, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to spend any more time with this girl than I had to.
That night, I lay awake in my bed. When I was younger, I would always listen to the sound of Sammy’s footsteps as she moved around her room at night. Now, I could hear somebody else’s footsteps in that same room. Every time I thought about that girl, someone I hardly knew, sleeping in the bed where Sammy slept, sitting where Sammy sat, even putting her things in places where Sammy kept her things, a cold feeling would run through my entire body. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I jumped out of bed, threw open the door, and rushed into my mom’s room.
“Amelia needs to leave!” I shouted. “Now!”
My mom was sitting on her bed reading a book. She glanced up at me, confused. “What are you talking about, honey?” she asked. “I’ve told you, this decision is not up to you.”
Everything I had been feeling for the past few months came rushing out when she said that.
“Why? Why do I not have any say in my own life? I know you might be okay with replacing Sammy like old batteries, but I’m not. And this girl, this random girl that you have just invited into our house, is just a horrible reminder of Sammy and the hole she left in me when she died. So, I need her to leave because honestly, I can’t deal with that anymore.”
My heart was beating, and my face was red and hot. My mom opened her mouth to say something but then closed it when she saw something behind me. I turned to see what she was looking at.
My heart jumped. There, standing in the hallway with the door cracked open, was Amelia. Tears were streaming down her face, and she looked distraught. When she noticed us staring, she quickly ran to her room. I ran after her, trying not to notice the look of disappointment on my mom’s face.
When I got to her room, I found her packing up her things. “If you want me to go, then I’ll go,” she said through sniffles.
She looked so hurt. Her dirty-blonde hair was messy, and her tear-streaked face was red.
“Amelia, I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have said I wanted you to leave. I didn’t mean it. It’s just, it’s been so hard for me since my sister died. I haven’t been feeling like myself,” I told her.
“You still said it though,” she said, looking at me with her huge, blue eyes. “You know, you’re not the only person who's lost someone. I lost the two people that meant the most to me in the whole world, my parents. It still hurts me every single day that they’re gone.”
“Oh my god, I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry, Amelia,” I told her. The guilt of what I had said was starting to spread across my body.
“I would give anything to have them back,” she said. “But I can’t. I have to accept that. I miss them, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still live my life. You need to realize that. Your sister will always be with you, and she could never be replaced because your love for her will last forever.”
Both of us were crying, and neither of us said anything for a moment. I knew she was right. Sammy could never be replaced, no matter who slept in her bed. I looked into Amelia’s eyes and realized how wrong I had been. She was so strong. Living with her wouldn’t be so bad after all. Amelia hugged me, and we stayed like that for one perfect moment, just two girls crying into the night.
