Elitism

You know those movies where you see an intense emotional scene play out with really dramatic music playing in the background while the character looked out the window of a car, or the living room, or when they are walking away… yeah, I was having one of those moments.

I was sitting on the balcony – the balcony that was attached to my new bedroom. I was already planning a mini BBQ event in my head. The music was coming from my iPod. Not as dramatic, but I was lacking a boom box, or a concert size stereo. Inevitably, I was thinking about my mother, my best friend, and my hometown.

After I told my father about my mother’s whereabouts, he apologized sincerely and excused himself. He was told that my mother could no longer support me financially and had to give me up. That was bullshit, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t seen my mother since her arrest. I hadn’t visited her either. I wasn’t interested nor did I want to hear her excuses for doing what she did.

It must have been a while for I was being called downstairs. My social worker was leaving and wanted to say goodbye. I rolled my eyes at her on purpose. She looked annoyed once again making me almost laugh.

“Stay out of trouble this time, please,” she said quietly.

“I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises,” I reminded her.

I knew what she meant though. My mother had a knack for getting herself into trouble and somehow I always ended up right in the middle of it all. Then I would cause more trouble in order to get out of any difficult situation. Really, my mother was to blame here and since she wasn’t around anymore…

She hugged me tight. I sighed and sank into her embrace wrapping my arms loosely around her. I learned not to get too close to people. With a mother like mine you learned to keep your distance for everyone’s safety. Sure, I cared about my social worker, but I wasn’t good at really showing it knowing it would mean revealing that part of myself.

“I’m done here,” she said, letting go. “I’ve done my job.”

I didn’t realize I’d miss her when my heart ached. As much as I tried to shove her off, she never gave up on me. She stood by my side through everything in these last few months. I was truly grateful. I smiled. She winked at me before taking her leave.

I returned to my room and began to put my clothes away and other stuff. I had very little things. Stuff I could carry on my back. I was known to run away sometimes when I was younger. I had my reasons. The walk-in closet was still very empty after I hung up my four pair of jeans and six pair of t-shirts. I put my toothbrush and paste on the sink in my bathroom and the perfume my best friend gave me on the dresser.

That was everything. Everything else I owned was destroyed. Funny, how it never occurred to me until now that I was actually safe. I was finally away from all the danger my mother brought home. This was a new beginning for me, but it didn’t change the fact that I was feeling alone and empty, literally. My room was too big for me and I needed to fill it with things that represented me.

However, I did have one single picture of my mother and I together smiling. The only time I saw her without the weigh of the world on her. She took me to a festival when I was eight. It was my only favorite memory of her. She wasn’t always bad. She took care of me, whatever it took. I put the picture down on the side table and then laid down on the bed. I curled up in a ball and wrapped myself with the cover.

There was a loud knock on the door that shook me awake. Instinctually, I reached under the pillow for a weapon, but came up short. I let out a long breath and concentrated on slowing down my heart rate. Damn it. I was still paranoid.

“Spencer, honey?” my father said on the other side. “Dinner.”

“Okay!” I called back. I fell back and ran my hand over my head.

I changed into something a little more appropriate knowing my baggy tank top where my bandana bra could be seen would get me weird looks and quiet whispers from my dad’s wife. And the black shorts ripped at the bottom wouldn’t help the case either. I swapped them for good old navy jeans and a band t-shirt that I stole from the mall last year.

So when I thought I was ready, I found myself hesitating with one hand on the doorknob, the door still closed. The second I opened it; I was in a new world. It was a scary thought, one I’d never admit out loud. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly while searching for a peace of mind. I was doing this one way or another.

As I made my way to the dinning room, my thought drifted back and forth between acceptance and rejection. Would they make me feel welcomed into their home, or would they resent me for being a part of their father’s life? It never really bothered me what others thought of me. I didn’t care. But when you’re alone with no one to back you up, it’s wishful thinking to win when you walk into a gunfight with a knife.

I took my seat at the diner table ignoring the stares from my brothers and sisters. It was expected. I would assume my dad at least mentioned me beforehand, but seeing was believing.

“Everyone, this is Spencer,” he started. He looked at me, smiled and then pointed at his beautiful wife of 18 years. “This is Meredith.” She smiled, her teeth incredibly whitened. “This is little Carmen.”

She takes her beauty after her mother with their light brown hair and hazel eyes. She held that big smile confidently while hoping on her chair excitedly.

“This is Brian,” he continued.

I nodded and he returned the nod. I chuckled inwardly. He was trying to be cool.

“Lauren, honey, no phone at the table,” he said to her.

She rolled her eyes and put her phone away in her jeans pocket, obviously not caring much. Teenybopper, how cute.

“And this young man here is Jansen,” he finished.

Just like his younger brother, Jansen nodded as well, but in laid-back kind of way.

I later learned that the kids are all three years apart, Carmen being seven years old and Jansen being sixteen.

Dinner was peaceful. They ate some and talked and ate some more. I didn’t say much, only to answer questions though vaguely. They didn’t need to know where I grew up and what I did in my earlier years. Frankly, I didn’t want to think about it much myself.

“Thank you, Meredith, for a lovely dinner,” my dad smiled at her as he raised his glass. That look he held where all he saw was her and no one else. It was pure love. “And here’s to our new member of the family,” he looked at me.

I smiled and raised my glass as well.

Here’s to moving on.