Throwaway Girl (7 page)

I
've
done it. I've applied for university. I've looked over all the brochures and decided to give school a try. If I'm smart and I do well in school, then why shouldn't I try it? I've decided on Arts and Science with a possible major in English. I'm not sure why, but I feel like I'm taking a leap of faith. Somehow I'll be able to make school work while I'm living on my own. Somehow I'll be able to study the written word and pick up a pen again. I don't know how exactly, but I'm going to do it or die trying.

Something has lit a fire under me these days. I know I'm an example to the other girls and I want to make them proud. Knowing I'm leaving soon and knowing how happy everyone is for me and how they'll miss me, maybe I have more of a family here than I thought. It's not perfect, but there is truth to what I told Trina. We do have to look out for each other; we're all we have.

My apartment has been secured. It's a tiny one bedroom in a rougher part of town, but it's affordable and vacant, two requirements that are hard to fulfill in this city these days. There will be basic household furniture and kitchen items already there. I'll even have an allowance aside from my grocery budget to buy some linens and toiletries and other things I will need. I have to admit that as terrified as I am, I'm starting to get excited.

Trina is way more excited than I am. She thinks I'm so lucky that I'll have the freedom to do as I please with no one to answer to. I don't mind having rules in place; it makes me feel like someone is looking out for me, like someone cares. Knowing that Trina will be joining me soon comforts me. We'll have each other.

I've even got a job. I'll be working at McDonald's. It's not much, but the hours are flexible and the manager has assured me that I can take time off when I need to so that I can focus on school. I figure I can also eat meals pretty cheaply most of the time. It might not be that healthy, but at least I won't have to worry about food. The restaurant is just a couple of blocks from the apartment I'll be living in, so I won't have to worry about how I'll get to work and back. It'll be pretty cool to earn a paycheque. I've never been able to do that before. I hope I like it. I hope I can learn it all and be a good employee.

Today is my eighteenth birthday. It's hard to imagine that I'm supposed to be an adult now. I feel so conflicted about age. It feels like I've had to be an adult for so long and yet it also feels like I never really got to be a kid. It's weird to reach this age and have someone officially declare you an adult. If everyone's experiences are so different, how could we all feel the same way at eighteen?

Everyone is lining up in the dining room to sing to me. Betty glides towards me holding a birthday cake, lit with nineteen candles. The room breaks into song, everyone is smiling and clapping. I gaze around the room, grateful for everyone in it. I look at each person's face and see the love in their eyes.

“Nineteen candles. One for each year of your life and an extra for good luck,” Betty says, winking at me. I take a deep breath and blow out the candles, secretly hoping for a couple to remain lit. When all are extinguished but one, the room breaks out into raucous laughter.

“Ooh, Andy has a boyfriend,” Sheena sings. My cheeks flare with embarrassment but I laugh anyhow.

“We also got you something. Sort of a birthday/going away present,” Gertie says. She steps forward with a rectangular shaped package, wrapped in coloured foil and sparkly ribbon. The staff members blink back tears, but Betty's tears flow freely and she keeps staring at the ground, wiping her nose with a tissue. The room is quiet as I open the package. I tear off one end and start on the next.

It's a picture frame. I turn it around so that I can see the front of it and when I do, I feel tears pricking my eyes too. It's a picture of all of us, the girls and the staff at Haywood, taken on the grounds last December. Even Trina is in the picture. It is signed by everyone and in the bottom corner it reads: “To new beginnings … from your family at Haywood.”

“We thought you could hang it in your new place,” Gertie explains. I hold it close to my body and say thank-you, but the words come out garbled. I start crying uncontrollably, out of love and gratitude and fear and before I know it, everyone has their arms around me, consoling me.

“It's going to be okay, girl,” I hear Betty whisper to me. I breathe in the scent of everyone and relish the physical contact. I have to believe that it's going to be okay. I just have to.

January 2005

I
t
's January. I've been at Larry and Sandra Puhler's house for a little over three months now. It doesn't feel like home. I'm not sure it ever will. I've been spending my days with Hunter, Stephanie, and other kids in the neighbourhood. I attend school most mornings, but by afternoon you'll usually find me sitting in the ditch alongside the train tracks. It's our meeting spot and some days there are a dozen of us passing the time there. Hunter's always bringing bottles of liquor. Mostly I drink enough just to feel a buzz, but if I'm being honest here, there's been a few times that drinking takes the pain away.

It's a cold, blustery winter in the Prairies, so we're often drinking to stay warm. There isn't really any other place for us to go. Most of the kids have parents who are drunk or high all of the time, or there are so many people living in their house that adding extra bodies wouldn't be possible. Larry and Sandra are usually home, and while there really aren't any rules with them, somehow we know that drinking the afternoons away in their tiny bungalow wouldn't be on the list of acceptable practices.

Today is especially windy. I'm wearing a thin hoodie instead of a winter jacket and my body is trembling. None of us are dressed for winter, but not for lack of winter gear. It's more because we think we're too cool to be all bundled up like little kids. Stephanie is cuddled into her new boyfriend, and Hunter is smoking a joint and staring up at the sky.

I'm feeling nervous because Marcus is also with us today. He keeps looking over at me and smiling, making my stomach jump with anxiety. I'm wrapping my arms around my knees, my bottom feeling numb and nearly frozen from sitting in the snow.

“Hey girl,” Marcus says, plopping down in the snow beside me. His breath is making warm circles in the air. I turn my head towards him with a shy smile.

“You cold?” he asks. I'm shivering uncontrollably, though I'm not sure it's just the cold. He puts his arm around me protectively and squeezes me close to him. The butterflies in my stomach flutter together furiously. A nervous laugh escapes me and Marcus rubs his hands up and down my arms.

“Come here, I got you,” he says, his voice husky and warm. I like having his arms around me. I like being held, it feels comfortable and soothing. The trembling eases and Marcus moves his arm to brush hair from my face and run his fingers down my cheeks again. I feel the same rush of pleasure that I felt the first night in the park. I snuggle deeper into his chest and close my eyes. His smell is a mixture of cologne and cigarettes, but it's pleasant enough that I breathe him in deeply.

The others nod over to each other and stare at us. Some of them are wide-eyed while others are smirking and elbowing each other. I just smile back at them. So what if Marcus is older? So what if he's into me?
Maybe some of them are jealous,
I think. Stephanie gives me a thumbs-up and nudges Hunter, but Hunter isn't impressed. Marcus brushes his lips on my forehead and the heat of his kiss send shivers down my spine. He puts his arm out to one of the guys who quickly hands him the bottle of vodka. Marcus passes it to me and I take a long sip. I hand it to him and he smiles, chugging the clear liquid for several seconds before handing it back.

“That's better,” he says. He tips my chin up and kisses me full on the mouth, soft at first, then with more force. There is longing in his kiss and I almost melt in his arms.

“Aw, come on,” Hunter grumbles.

Marcus pulls away from me. A white squad car is coasting down the street several metres from our spot. Everybody stiffens, waiting to see if the car is going to stop.

“Gotta jet, beautiful,” Marcus says, moving away from me. He jumps to his feet and walks away, gaining speed with each step. I watch as the squad car makes a U-turn to head in the same direction as Marcus. He looks over his shoulder and realizes that the police are following him. The rest of us watch, quiet, and when Marcus disappears from view and the squad car turns down another road, we all breathe a sigh of relief.

I sit in the snow, warmed by the memory of Marcus's touch. It isn't long before Stephanie and Hunter are both high and drunk, but it's starting to get dark and I nudge them for us to leave. I help pull them from the cozy seats they've imprinted in the snow. Everyone waves and we walk home.

When we arrive at the house, Larry and Sandra are glued to the TV. “American Idol” is on and they never miss it. Sandra feels that her true calling is to be a famous rock star, but she has a terrible nasal voice which only worsens when she sings. She's singing along with the contestant at the top of her lungs and the two of them don't even notice that we've come in. There is a box of Pizza Pops open on the counter, empty wrappers across the floor and the sink. Hunter races to the box, eager to have something to eat.

The view of the TV is obstructed from the kitchen, due to a newly acquired six-foot cabinet that blocks half of the doorway; a great find of Larry's, no doubt. It leaves little room for us to walk through. The small artificial Christmas tree that he erected in December still stands, further cluttering the room. It looks pathetic and small, the handful of metallic ornaments shining with the reflection from the TV. I make my way to the bedroom, passing by the Puhlers and the TV, but nothing is said between us. Sandra cranes her neck to see around me as I pass so that she doesn't miss a moment of the performance or a beat of the song, but other than that, they are oblivious to me. Or indifferent.

I throw myself onto the bed and close my eyes, imagining Marcus's smile and the way he put his arms around me and held me tight. I imagine the warmth and scent of him and his soft lips kissing me. I feel a stirring in my belly again.

I bury my head in my pillow, imagining that it's him and that we're making out and caressing each other and I can't believe how much I miss him and wish he was here.

“What are you doing?” Stephanie asks, her voice full of ridicule. I freeze and turn onto my back as though I was just lying there.

“Nothing,” I say coolly. My face flames with embarrassment. She smirks and throws her sweater onto her bed.

“That's not what it looked like to me,” she teases. “Missing Marcus, are you?” I throw my pillow at her and she laughs.

“Lay off,” I tell her, but I mean it in a good natured way. While I'm looking at her, my eyes become fixated on the open shoebox at her feet. I realize it's my shoebox, my most treasured possession, my only tangible memories of what's been good in my life and someone has clearly gone through it! Some of its contents are spilled on the floor beside it, one photo crumpled and torn.

My face registers horror. I jump to my feet, my voice a piercing shriek. “What were you doing?!” I yell. “Who went through my stuff?”

Stephanie steps back, taken aback by my outburst.

“I was just looking,” she says, shrugging.

“Just looking?!” I scream. “This is my private stuff!” I fall on my knees in front of the box, gathering the things that pepper the carpet.

“Big deal,” Stephanie says.

But I pick up the lifebook Shelley made for me. Its edges are tattered from looking at it so often. The pictures of us together — biking, having picnics, at the beach, and snuggling on the couch — all start to tumble and flutter to the ground. There are concert tickets, notes that I kept from my lunch box that Shelley wrote, pictures that we drew together, even a heart-shaped locket that they bought me for my birthday. All that is precious to me is in that box and the realization that someone has gone through it without my knowledge or consent has me shaking with anger.

Then I see a ball of crinkled paper and try carefully to pull it apart. I realize it's a photo, now torn. I try to smooth the edges. It's my favourite picture. It's of Luke, Shelley, and me, and we're smiling, our arms all wrapped around each other. It was taken last summer. We had just finished riding the Ferris wheel at the amusement park, its flashing neon lights blur in the sky behind us. The picture is now so creased that our faces are mangled. There are no smiles to be seen, just a mottled mess of photo paper. I feel my insides rip with pain.

“They're dead anyway,” Stephanie says, nonchalant. “It's not like they're coming back for you, ever,” she finishes. I lunge at her with all of my might and we both tumble backwards into the door frame. She yelps in pain while I pummel her with my fists. I can't seem to control myself, it's as though I've come unleashed.

Stephanie's cries go unheard. In the background, Sandra's loud singing carries over the sound from the TV. I continue hitting Stephanie, pulling her hair and scratching. The TV falls silent for a split-second as the program cuts to a commercial break and Larry and Sandra finally hear the screaming and run to our room. Larry pulls me off of Stephanie, who is clutching her face and the scratches that are now bleeding. She's glaring at me like she'd like to kill me. I glare right back at her, letting her know that I'll do it again if she ever thinks of touching my stuff again. I grab the shoebox and clutch it to my body. I think of the ruined photo, of the disregard of my most precious things, and Stephanie's flippant attitude towards my belongings.

I think of the pain of losing Luke and Shelley and how robbed I feel. I think of how each day feels meaningless. I even think of the fact that Stephanie is right. They aren't coming back. Ever. But I must still hold onto everything we had. I must believe that even though they were taken from me, I was worthy of them. Because if I don't, I may never survive.