Chapter Twenty – Tears of Joy

There are many different ways to read a mind but first you must acknowledge the differences of thoughts. A basic one is the voice people may think to themselves, asking questions allowed in their mind or reading a passage with someone else’s voice speaking.

Blah, blah, blah…

I throw down the book the Emerald recommended me to buy and rub my eyes. It’s something we’ve already gone over and I’m bored of it. There’s been reading so much lately that I feel like I’m back in school. That will never feel like a good thing to me.

I flip open my phone and stare at the blank screen. It’s Friday night in summer and I have nothing to do. Katie still hasn’t forgiven me. Xander is spending time with his mother. The hospital released him a day ago since they found nothing wrong with him. It baffled the doctors to no extent. And Lord knows I don’t have any other friends to call up. People I grew close to in other foster homes are too far away to hang with. So with my best friends busy, I’m bored by myself.

Time for the comfort of the internet.

“Let’s see,” I mumble to myself. My body slowly scrambles off the bed and moves to get the new laptop I bought with the last few paychecks from Yada Yada’s costume shop. “Pretty pictures? I like it. Corsets and piercings? Yes. Why do I like these things so much?”

When I’m alone, this sort of conversation tends to happen. I’ll speak to myself but not like there are two sides of me. I’m not sure if it means I’m crazy or if everyone else is lying in saying they don’t do it. All I know is as long as I don’t interrupt my own sentences, I should be good.

“Oh cute clothing,” I whisper as I click a new tab and search through my favorite online stores. I don’t have a card to buy anything with but I torture myself anyway and look.

Surfing the web is fun but drooling over pages of portraits is such a necessary torment to me. Not many can tell I have a fascination for fashion photography, especially alternative models. It’s something I’ve always admired. The gorgeous women have curves, tattoos and all kinds of body modifications. They’re more real looking to me, more themselves in the shots. It doesn’t matter that they aren’t the ideal beauty; it’s the look of abnormal belonging that makes them beautiful. What I wouldn’t give to be normal enough to have that kind of job.

Knowing I’ll be on here until I decide to crawl onto my bed and knock out, I push myself away from the computer and head to the bathroom. My body bounces as I make my way flat footed down the hall. I’ve reached that point at night where I couldn’t care less. The lights in the bathroom flick on which wavers the little nightlight plugged into the wall. Picking up my toothbrush, I start my nightly routine.

I want another piece of ink. I’m addicted and I’m not even legally old enough to get them without a guardian’s permission. At least my tattoos are my story and seeing that they’re permanent, they are well thought out. My eyes scan my sleeve art and rest on each skull hidden under the flowers. They represent each family I had to leave, each foster home I survived. The flowers are the blessings I thought I had when I thought I had first been adopted. The skulls came later when I knew I was wrong.

The spider web on my elbow has a similar meaning. ‘Tangled in a web of lies’ as I use to put it. There was a low point in my life where I didn’t want to go on. The system handed me from one house to the next and each had some sort of drama. I didn’t want to deal with it anymore. Luckily, I had help from a friend who got me back on my feet. She was a spider fanatic so I dedicated that piece to her. Her initials are on the back of my elbow but I don’t think she ever knew.

I guess I have another story to add now. Not everyone gets to say they’ve found out they are a witch with supernatural mind powers. It’s worthy of another piece of ink on my skin. The tattoos are my past written for the world to see. I wouldn’t change a thing of who I am and what I’ve become. Even as Emily it was what I thought was cool. I’m glad I had my second chance to actually go through with it.

“Gail,” Michelle calls after knocking on the door. I spit out my toothpaste and rinse while gargling my acknowledgement. She knocks on the door impatiently as I grab a Q-tip to start cleaning my studs and rings. “Come on, my turn to shower.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I reply. “Two minutes please.”

Mc-Shelly moans on the other side of the door but waits. I take my sweet time just to annoy her a little more and fix my dreads into a pony-tail. When I’m finally done, I open the door to gaze down at her shorter height.

“All yours, darling,” I say exasperated. To my surprise, my little sister rams into me with a hug and tightens her grip. I push her from my personal space and look her in to eyes. They seem a little red and watery like she’s been crying. I kneel to her height and embrace her back. “What happened? Are you okay?”

My genuine concern is waved off by her sky blue manicured hand. Michelle nods quickly and squeezes tighter. “I’ve never been better,” she squeaks out. “I have an awesome, annoying sister.”

“And I have a squirt of a sister who needs more patience,” I snip back. She sticks her tongue out at me and flings her towel over her shoulder.

“I’m not the one who takes forever, Butthead.” Michelle closes the door behind her and gets ready for her shower. My head shakes. She’s lucky she isn’t a little brother I can wrestle into behaving. That would be too much fun. I head back down hall toward my room to the loving internet.

“Scott wants to talk to you then,” Michelle says, popping her head out of the bathroom door. I nod and salute her away but her beaming face stops me. My little sister’s smile hides so many secrets. I sigh, not being able to return to the cool pictures for more ideas on my surprise-your-a-witch tattoo. I head downstairs instead, wondering what I did this time to warrant a scolding. Did he find my new carton and lighter? I hope not.

“Are you okay?” I flinch at Scott’s question. It caught me off guard since I didn’t even reach the bottom of the stairs yet. I ignore my racing heart and nod.

“I’m fine,” I say simply. But he’s not talking about how I’m feeling today. He’s talking about the past few weeks where I obviously haven’t been myself. I reiterate that I’m fine but Scott doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Uh-oh,” he replies. “Something I can help with?”

“Ha, I wish it was that simple.” I descend the rest of the stairs and plop on the couch. He doesn’t need to know right now. “I’m good. It’s stupid stuff.”

“Everything in your teenage years is difficult. I don’t know of one person who hasn’t had it bad. And you? You’ve had it harder than most.”

Scott scratches the back of his neck and paces the room. I don’t understand why he and Michelle are acting so weird. It’s not like they have a surprise party for my birthday since that isn’t until September. I cock one eyebrow at the random sympathy from my foster dad but accept the weirdness. “Nah, life just sucks. No big deal.”

“I might have something that could possibly cheer you up,” he tells me happily. “It depends on how much you like me as a father though.”

Another suspicious sentence.

“Go on,” I say, dragging out my words. Scott paces the room some more trying to find his words.

“Do you know why I started fostering children all those years ago?” Scott waits for me to answer and I shake my head no. I never really thought about it. My foster dad sighs and stares at the ceiling, lost in reverie. “It was my wife, Jessica. She had lung cancer and it got the best of her. After she passed, I had a hole in my heart. It was a terrible time for me. Eventually my buddy Thomas gave me some advice to get back on track. ‘Get a dog,’ he said. ‘You need to take care of something. It helps the heart heal faster.’ So I got a yappy Dalmatian mix with big puppy eyes.”

Scott gives a soft laugh which makes me smile. I fold my feet under my legs and sit Indian style on the sofa. I’m not sure where this is going but it’s cool of him to tell me. I feel like I’m part of this family, as long as this isn’t another time where a foster parent is sending me to another home. There’s too much here that needs me.

“Boy, did that mutt destroy the furniture. And he peed in the house every so often, might I add,” Scott goes on with a bit of a loving scowl plastered on his face. “But it was the only thing that kept me going most days. After that, I knew I was just meant to take care of things, you know? Doing things for others just made me feel so good and I knew Jessica would be just as proud. I did my research and decided foster care would be the next step. I don’t remember why but it seemed right.”

Scott’s face goes somber and he finally comes back to the room. His warm brown eyes look to my face and I can see a younger version of him. He doesn’t look as worn out as he usually does when he comes home from work at the office. Something is different and much happier in him.

“You’re time at my house,” Scott continues, shaking me out of my trance. “I’ve never had a kid push so many buttons. You’re sneaky and rebellious and oh so irritating sometimes but… underneath it all you have had the biggest heart and most passion I’ve seen any of the others have.”

“What’s this about,” I hesitantly ask. He doesn’t answer. Instead, my foster dad stands and crosses the room. Now I’m really scared. I don’t want to leave this house and move to another home to live with different people. Here it feels safe. But my heart sinks in my chest because I’ve heard these similar speeches. My time in this house, in this town… it’s done.

“Today I made it official,” he says.

“Made what official?” Okay, now I’m really confused. Scott picks a large manila envelope which was lying on the dining room table and holds it out for me to take. My hands gingerly grab it, opening it and pulling out a packet of paperwork which makes my eyes grow wider. “Is this really…?”

Scott nods his head. My hands shake as I read the header on the page in bold black letters. I have to pinch my skin hard to make sure this is reality. A lump catches in the back of my throat and I look up to Scott again.

“Whether you like it or not,” the man says with a big smile on his face. “You and Michelle… you’re going to legally be my daughters.”

My breath shakily exhales but I don’t take my gaze from the paper. This is happening. I’m being adopted. I’m staying in a home for good. My eyes water with joy and I stand up to face Scott.

“I think it’s time to give your old man a hug,” he says with a break of emotion in his voice.

Throwing the paperwork on the couch, I run over and jump into Scott’s bulky arms. There are so many reasons this is never suppose to happen. I’m too old for one thing. There are only a few months left until I’m eighteen and I wouldn’t have to live here any longer. But that means Scott wants me around for the rest of his life, visiting him and maybe putting him in a nursing home when he’s old. He’s going to be my father. I have a father again! And I couldn’t have asked for a better one. Realizing how soft I’m getting, I jokingly push Scott away and point a finger at him.

“Don’t tell me what to do, dad,” I say squinting my eyes but having too difficult a time to keep the smile away. We both laugh and I hug him again. My tears fall freely now from being so happy. I have a real family. The words keep repeating in my head. I’m finally being adopted!

And I’ve never been happier.