I woke up to a crying baby, screaming mouths to feed and the shuffling of heavy tired feet getting ready to leave the crowded new home. I missed my last home but not because of the people, because of their house. It was a decent size, but what I loved most was all the windows. The pure sunlight that shone through felt like a warmth of home wrapped around me. That's the only time I had the feeling of home.
Like always, it would only be a matter of time before I moved into a new place again but with a new family I’d get dumped on. That's how it worked and that's what has always happened to me.
This apartment only has one window. When I looked out, I saw a group of people all different sizes, ages and colors. I loved pretty much any color there was - on people, paper, the sky, just about anything. They were doing something that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I would have gone down right then, but I was always shy around large groups of people. Plus, what was I suppose to say to them? "Hello my name is Angela and I was staring at all of you from the one window in my apartment." They were sure to think I was odd. Then again, they all must be odd for getting along with each other. Out of all the places I have lived, I had never seen such a diverse group like them get along so well.
My foster mom was always trying to cheer me up or do activities with me. She thought I was sad because all did was sit in my small shared room and stare out that window or just read. I was over being sad a long time ago when my parents abandoned me. The only thing I was, was annoyed that I was the oldest out of all the children that these foster parents had taken in. Meaning I didn't have anybody to talk to or play with. I mean, unless your idea of playing is watching boring overrated cartoons, feeding them, jiggling shining things in their faces or, my personal favorite, changing their wonderfully smelling waste.
I think besides the annoying and bored factor of my life, I was angry. Not all the time, but sometimes I would sit there and think up reasons to myself of why they didn't want me. I was smart and, as far as I could tell, I looked like an other young white girl. Maybe my looks or personality were just not good enough for my parents. Or maybe they already had the perfect child and I was just a bad surprise or even an accident. I wonder, if they didn't give me up, what my life would be like and if I were with them right now, what would they think of me? And would I still have the thought that I wasn't suppose to happen?
I wonder if any normal kid, with normal parents and a normal life thinks this. Or better yet, asks their parents if they were suppose to be born, because we don't know if we were meant to be or not. The funny thing is, I never have blamed my parents once or have been angry at them. I am only angry with myself.
I was also angry that I didn't have the courage to charge down there and be sociable. Really what did I have to lose? In the fourteen years I have been alive I have not had one friend. In most people's perspective, they would consider that to be pathetic. I am sick of being the example of pathetic and settling for less. I was going down there.
Unfortunately, when I arrived there was no one there. I had missed them. But from what I could tell they came quite often. I wasn't worried that they wouldn't be back; I was worried that I wouldn't find enough spunk again to march down the stairs and outside into the street, like I just had.
Then I realized something. Its not about getting enough spunk to go down; its that I am scared to meet them and become friends with anyone. I think its because it is hard for me to trust people. My parents broke trust for me as soon as they left me. And I think that's why I haven't had any friends or connected to any of my foster parents or siblings. I was scared I would be betrayed and my trust would be broken again. But not everybody could be like that, could they?
As I pondered the thought, I walked around the area where that group had been and then I saw it. It was a beautiful thriving garden. All the plants had different colors, but when you looked at them all together, it was a masterpiece.
I saw a plant that caught my eye just for a second, the lima beans. They reminded me of one of the many books I had read. Then, to my surprise, a girl came up to the beans and watered them. I looked at her curiously but did not say a word. She stood there herself for a few moments then turned to me and introduced herself as Kim. I returned the introduction, babbling slightly.
For some reason it was easy to talk to her. I think it was because she was like me. I asked her about the garden and the people and I was amazed to hear she had unintentionally started the garden, because she wanted to feel closer to her father. I was sad to hear about her father and knew exactly how she felt. But some good came out of it, because it made her make one of the best decisions she had ever made. I then told her about my life. It was only fair, since she shared with me. Within a few hours, we had talked about everything there was to talk about. We were both like open books to each other. I finally had my first friend.
The next day, I met her down by the garden, but this time there were lots of other people there. She stayed by me the whole time and introduced me to her friends. They all seemed nice and seemed to like me, which made me more at ease. They then insisted that I have a part in the garden. Before they had mentioned it, the thought never had even occurred to me.
At dinner that night, for the first time, I asked my foster mother for something. She was surprised, but delighted, and asked me what it was. I simply said, " Any seeds you can find for me to plant." With out any question she just nodded and smiled. I didn't give her enough credit for how smart she was, probably because I didn't know her. But that smile told me she already knew about the garden and my friend.
My best friend, Kim, and I met everyday at the garden. We cared for our plants, mingled with others, talked to each other, and even played. She thought that my rhubarb was funny looking, but I loved it because of the vibrant red on the bottom and the tipped green on top. I brought it home so that my foster mom and dad could use it and it wouldn't go to waste. They even stopped by the garden sometimes to see me and they talked with everybody. I was beginning to think that soon they would be planting seeds in the garden, as well.
It was like this was a magical garden. Making the people who looked at the garden cheerful, bringing people together, filling bellies, and making new beginnings. How could one garden do so much? It bonded people together in a way I had never seen or felt before. It also made me realize I was wrong about people and my foster home. They were alright. I was the one who was bottled up, afraid and judgmental. I think that everything takes time to heal and grow, just like the seeds we were planting. They needed care, nurture, time and, most of all, love. |
