Us Against The World

I first met Stephen and Melanie Firth twenty-four days after my fifteenth birthday. It had been a typical day at school, full of senseless, boring work, and I was happy just to crash in front of TV in the play room with my latest book – H.G Well's War of the Worlds. As usual, there were about five kids running around hyperactively, trying to kill each other by the sound of it, but that was Parthorne Sunnyside Children's Home for you. I was the product of thirteen years in a government institutional care home. Genetically of an abusive, alcoholic father killed in a road accident and a junkie mother who topped herself. I wasn't supposed to know this, but back when I was nine, my best friend Austin and I had picked the office lock with a hairgrip and read our files. Austin was adopted six months later, and he was too busy with his wonderful new life to keep in touch me with. I don't blame him though; I would probably have been the same.

Now, I was the only teenager left in this particular Home. The rest were all age ten or younger. I don't know why exactly, but Doreen, our 'mother' figure, had taken a shining to me, and agreed kept me on until I turned eighteen and could fend for myself. Two years, three hundred and forty one days. I was counting down.

The day didn't seem particularly special to me back then. There was somewhat of a hubbub amongst the younger kids; we'd been told to be good and quiet this afternoon because there were visitors coming. To me, this wasn't anything unusual; I'd seen hoards of them during the years, and I'd given up on being fostered or even adopted a long time ago.

I hadn't really noticed the sudden peace which had spread throughout the house until a shadow fell across my page. I glanced up, at the man whom was standing in front of me. He was about average height, with broad shoulders and sandy coloured, cropped hair. With his broken nose, and sticking-out ears, he reminded me somewhat of a rugby player. He smiled at me in a friendly way, with a wide mouth of straight, white teeth. "Good book?" When I only surprisedly blinked in response, he continued uncertainly. "It's one of my friend's favourites; he swears by it."

Quickly recovering from my temporary blip, I managed to reply. "Oh yeah... I'm not very far into it, but what I have read is good."

He nodded, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth for a few moments before extending his arm towards me. "I'm Stephen."

I shyly shook his large, warm hand as it engulfed my own. "Eva." Retracting back again, I regarded him quizzically as he showed no signs of exiting my company. "Are you looking for Doreen? I think she's in the office, but I can go get her if you want."

He shook his head, burying his hands in his pockets and bashfully looking down at his feet. "Um, no. I'm here to talk to you, actually. To get to know you."

And that was how this whole ordeal started.

At first, I didn't quite understand why Stephen and his wife visited me. I thought that they were probably here just to give me some social interaction away from wailing toddlers and constantly fighting younger children. But as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, I came to realise that this was an opportunity. An opportunity to be part of a real family.

There are normally three main types of people who are wanting to foster, or even adopt, a child. The first are those who are somewhat older, and their own children have already grown up, but still have a yearning for parenthood. The second are the typically are loud, zany and alternative people, with already large families who want an ever bigger, thriving environment of childlike havoc. The third, which the Firths were, are the couple who so badly want a child, but for some reason or other, can't conceive.

I knew this as soon as I came within the presence of both of them at the same time. It was the way that Stephen kept a protective arm around his wife's shoulders that portrayed this, as well as the wrinkled creases of tired distress in their faces, which aged them both beyond their twenty-nine years.

As I gradually get to know then better, Stephen told me about themselves; he said it was only fair as they'd read my file and knew everything about me, which included all my misgiving deeds. It's a wonder that they still wanted to go through this at all. They had met at eighteen, whilst studying the same architecture course and gotten engaged four years later. Age twenty four, they had wed and for the past three and a half years, been trying to create a family, with unsuccessful results. Three failed IVF attempts later, numerous stumped doctors as to why they couldn't conceive, and here we were.

There was a point which was made clear though; that they still wanted a baby of their own. I had no issues with that matter; of course they would, there'd be no doubt of that. I guess that's why they wanted to foster an older child, rather than a toddler or pre-teen. Because I'd understand beforehand, which I wholly did.

Over those months, I watched as Stephen grew young again. The stress left his face; he became child-like in his actions and he laughed so much more often. Melanie was different though; she still stayed uptight. Sure, she was calm, kind and didn't have a bad bone in her body, but there was always a yearning for that baby of her own. She'd often stare wistfully at infants in their mother's arms with longing etched upon her face. This is probably why I grew closer to Stephen than her; he was just accepting of the past and future. He thought that everything came within its own time, and if it was meant to be, then one day they would have a baby, but obviously not now. He lived each day as it came, and as if it would be his last; a motive we both shared.

There was a time where it was just him and I, Melanie was at work, and he took me to a theme park. We were sitting at a table out front of one of the many cafés, and he was twisting a straw wrapper back and forth between his fingers. He opened up and told me about how their marriage had been so close to breaking down, that at one point, he wasn't even sure if love still existed between them any more and that their relationship was simply there in a vain attempt to produce the next generation. He was very open in such respects about his personal life. He continued to say that recently, because of me, they'd become close again. That they were back to before their love had degraded down to an angst hate.

The one moment which stood out to be about that day, was when he had looked up at me, eyes slightly watery from remembering unpleasant memories, and just said two simple words: "Thank you."

But even after that, when they'd sat me down, and said that magic sentence which every child in care longs of hearing, it still came as a shock. An overjoyed, happy shock which was followed by a festoon of flurried hugs and even a few tears, I'll admit. That magic sentence, which will forever live in my mind. "We'd like to foster you on a more permanent basis." To those with relatives, such a simple statement wouldn't seem that big of a deal, but to us, to us, it was the words of Gods.

The final paperwork took months, but halfway through the summer holidays, I finally was able to move in with them. The day that I was part of an actual family, the day that everything would begin to change everything forever, the day that the demise started, but also the day which I wouldn't trade for the world.