12 December 2012
The sharp noise echoed in my head and my eyes snapped open. Clearly, we had talked enough for Rita’s lifetime because that was the first and last time we did. I sat up on the cot and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The fact that I didn’t know whether it was morning yet or not from the lack of windows didn’t matter to me as much as the fact I had to seriously use the bathroom. It took me a minute, but I found the door and desperately tried to open it. Before I could start pounding on the locked thing, a tall, young man opened it from the outside.
“It’s time for breakfast, sunshine,” the strange figure said. Before he led me out, I caught a name on the St. Bennett’s tag around his neck. Brett.
“Uh, what the heck is a St. Bennett’s?” I asked as Brett walked me to the bathroom. He stopped and turned around to face me.
He almost whined, “Please don't tell me you’re an amnesiac!”
“Where are we goin’, again?” I asked blankly. I smiled when I saw every trace of hope leave his face. “No one ever told me where I was bein’ taken yesterday,” I explained.
"Hmm. Where exactly did you come from?” he asked. “Greensville Department of Child Protective Services. They were probably so desperate to get me out of their hair, they forgot to mention where the hell they were takin’ me.” “So I'm guessing you left quite the impression then,” he said with a half-smile.
“I betcha my counselor Rita had nightmares about me last night,” I laughed.
“Well, you don't look so sinister to me,” Brett said as we started walking again. “St. Bennett's is the name of this wonderful place,” he said as he gestured to everything around us. The place was truly rustic; there was wood everywhere you looked. It was obvious this place had been around for a while because some parts of the building had been redone from overuse while others were collecting layers of dust. Windows were abundant everywhere except bedrooms; there were more unlit candles than ceiling lights; and the air smelled like a mix of pine, rosemary and nursing home.
“Great. So, what exactly is this wonderful place?” I asked.
“In earlier days, it served as a residential mental health institution, but was later turned into an orphanage. The mental health aspect still sticks around, though, so there are some counselors and nurses available if need be,” Brett said. “Are you a nurse, ...” I hesitated.
“Brett,” he said.
“Right… So are you?” I asked.
“You could say so, ...” he mimicked, looking at me.
I smiled, “I’m Kay.”
“Nice to meet you, Kay. The bathrooms are right there,” he pointed, “and the cafe is straight ahead. I’ve got to go help Mitch in Adoptions, so I’ll leave you to it.”
“Alright,” I said as I watched him walk back down the hall.
Tables, benches, kitchens—the café here was set up almost the same way as the one at school. I gripped my tray and hoped for the best as I started toward the sea of tables. There were probably fifty or so kids spread throughout them and, like school, they were grouped in cliques. Age and gender were the main factors, so I headed to the back corner where the older kids sat. I was dumbfounded when I noticed how few teens there actually were, but then I realized that most high school kids lived at home—not an orphanage.
“You must be her,” a raggedy-looking brunette boy said, looking directly at me.
“’scuse me?” I asked, hesitating to sit down.
“Ah, a hick!” a blonde boy joined.
Raggedy Andy continued in a bad southern accent, “A new gal and a fine, country hick at that!”
When I heard a catcall come from another boy, I felt the blood in my face begin to boil.
“Tell me, darlin’, why y’all bruised up?” Raggedy Andy tested.
“Was Daddy drunk again?” asked Goldie Locks.
“Did he beat ya as red as that there color of yer hair?” asked the one who whistled.
“Can you guys possibly not be assholes for one day of your miserable lives?” a dirty blonde girl questioned from the other end of the table. “Just ignore them, you can sit over here,” she said as she beckoned me over.
I set my tray down in front of Raggedy Andy’s and waved to the girl, “I’m fine, thanks.” I crossed my arms over my chest as I stood in front of seated Raggedy Andy. “Nah, Daddy didn't beat me. Wanna guess again?”
He cocked his head and looked up at me with a smirk, “Aw, shucks, I dunno, sugar. Did ya try to walk and chew gum at the same time again?”
My face as hot as Aunt Lynn's stove top that night, I grabbed a fistful of Andy’s shirt and yanked him up out of his seat with unforeseen strength. In a soft, almost playful voice, “Ya guessed wrong, sweetheart.” I took a step back while taking note of the complete shock on everyone’s faces--especially Andy’s. I held up my bandaged hand, my golden trophy of truth, and spat, “Y’all think I got this from fallin’ off my Barbie-doll pink bicycle, or trippin’ in my high-heeled shoes? I don't freakin’ think so.” I could feel a growing number of eyes watching me as I half-shouted, “Y’all with your bad-boy attitudes--it’d make sense if y’all were neglected by your parents. Hell, half your dads probably DID beat y’all! But I will have you know, my dad NEVER drank, and he certainly never beat me.”
The thought that I was fighting some kid about how Aunt Lynn burned my hand in the apartment I would've never been in if my parents hadn't died sparked a fire deep in me.
“No,” I said a little quieter, “that's not how I got this.” I grabbed Andy’s shirt collar again and got right up in his face. “I got this shit from people like you gettin’ on my last nerve!” I could feel my spittle flying on him as I continued, shoving my burnt hand in his face as I did, “My aunt did this to me, and you know what I did in return?” now yelling, “Do you?”
Andy didn't have time to open his smart-Alec mouth before I shoved him to the floor. My temper broke the gauge and I was pumping adrenaline the same way I was when I had Aunt Lynn in my clutches. I was on top of Andy now, staring straight down at him, but all I could see was Aunt Lynn’s wrinkly, old face. I began replaying the scene by throwing my fists left and right. His nose spewed a fountain of blood on my face, but I kept going. “Do you know how much I hate you?” I shrieked as I grabbed his neck, threatening his airway. His strength, a little overdue, finally arose and he yanked my hands off his neck and threw me to his side. Oh-so-creatively, he put a chokehold on me after he was up off his back. I elbowed his chest with all I had in me, forcing him to stop and breathe. I utilized the spare time, hopped on my feet, and threw myself on his back. He was able to stand up despite my weight and aimlessly flailed his arms around. My legs were around his waist and my hands were around his face and that's when I screamed, “You won't freakin’ beat me, Lynn!” My nails dug into his forehead and cheeks and I tugged back on his face with a wild, grit smile. All I could hear was his cracking, pain-soaked cry before I began having hot flashes. He and I spun in circles in the circle of kids around us. The room it seemed, too, was spinning. His blood and tears made it hard to hold on, but again, nothing was going to come in between me and Round Two with Aunt Lynn.
Orphan - Pt. 2 • Opuss № I