Snake Bite Heart With a Bubble Gum Smile

I sometimes wonder as I stare at the empty streets if my family worries about me. Do they remember the quiet girl who always stayed in her room, away from human eyes? Maybe they think about me from time to time and wonder why I left. Maybe they searched my room and found the note I left them; the one telling them I would never come home. Do they look through my trophies from competitions of the past and marvel at the things I've done? Have they looked through my room, read my journal, found out my deepest secrets? Do they mourn at the loss of their little girl? Maybe they stay up at night and wonder where I am.

Or did they forget?

They were never there for me in the first place; always forgetting to pick me up, about my dance competitions, that I even existed. We never had family dinners; everyone was too busy, except me. I looked for acceptance and love from them and received nothing. My brother was busy with his band, getting drunk, and getting laid. My parents were work-aholics. They didn’t notice when I stopped eating. Either that or they didn't care. I simply did it to get their attention and to make sure I was thin enough for dance.

I wonder if they've changed. Maybe they have family dinners together now and ask my brother how his day was. Maybe they actually talk about things together. Maybe their values changed.

Maybe they're looking for that thirteen year old that ran away three years ago. Maybe they don't know that she's sixteen now and nothing like she used to be.

I'll admit I miss them or, rather, the idea of them. The idea of having a family and a home; but I remind myself my family never acted as a family and home was never really home. We were strangers living in one house.

Living in the streets has been better for me; at least I believe so. I make friends that stick around till they die. We act as a family, protecting each other from everything. Sure I have no roof over my head or a bed at night, but who needs that when you have people who care about you?

All I ever wanted in life was to be cared about. Why couldn't my actual family give that to me?

It may seem odd for a teenage girl to want attention from her parents. I mean most do anything to get away from them. I guess it wasn't solely my parents I wanted attention from. It was my brother.

We never fought because we never talked. He was always with his friends. Always. It hurt knowing he didn't want to stick around to at least make sure his little sister was okay. He never brought his friends over either. I always assumed he was ashamed of me. I knew I wasn't as pretty as the girls he brought home but I was always a lot younger than them. I was still a budding teenager in my awkward stage of life so how could he compare me to them? If he did, did he think his friends would make fun of him for having an ugly sister? Or were my accomplishments not enough or in the wrong area of expertise? Still I strived for him to take notice of me.

My self-esteem dropped, not from what my brother said, but what he didn't say.

I shouldn't care. I should never have cared.

But I did and I still do.

I wish they cared enough to look for me.

It's not like it would be that hard. Sure I switched to a different public school but I still go to the same dance academy. The park I sleep in isn't that far from our house; a mere fifteen minute drive at most. I didn't even change my name.

I still want them to love me.

"August Marie Gaskarth," one of my friends yells.

"Hmm?" I acknowledge.

"Thinking about your asshole of a brother again? What's his name; Alex or something like that?" he inquires.

"Yeah," I mumble.

He pulls me into a sideways hug. "It's going to be okay. Let's go get drunk."

"You know I don't drink."

"I know, but I do and I need someone to carry me back here."

I smile, "Of course."

The life of a street kid is one I've come to love though.

I'd still trade everything I've built up for them.