foster care after losing my grandmother, who raised me. I was ten years old when she passed, and she was all I ever had. I remember my mother stopping by here and there when I was little, but it’s more a blur, and I often wonder if the memories are real. They didn’t hurt, but can something really hurt you if you didn’t know it? I don’t remember missing her or thinking she’d come back to get me when my grandma died. In fact, I never really thought of her at all.
Losing my grandma was hard. She wasn’t the most nurturing, but she was always there for me. I got lucky, though—crazy lucky, in fact—when I landed in the foster system and went to live with Aunt K and Uncle C as we all called them.
Two retired married teachers who could never have children of their own. They always had at least six children in their care. When one left, another would come to live with us. They were wonderful to all of us. And while they were loving, they were also realistic with us.
They gave us the tools to succeed in life. Every night when we got home from school, we had dinner together. Then we went back to studying after a little playtime. They told us the only way to get somewhere in life is to work hard. They were determined all of us would not only get into college, but would get scholarships to help us as well.
But even with all the studying, there was still time for laughter and some love. Even though I haven’t seen some of my foster brothers and sisters in a long time, we still send emails and call. Others got busy with life, but we understood there would always be a bond that held us together.
I felt like every time someone left the nest, it sent them far away from the home Aunt K and Uncle C had made for us. Though it was a nice place and I know they loved us, it was never really our home. It was a holding place. A safe place that taught and prepared us for the world, and I’d always be grateful to them. Grateful for what they gave us and how they opened their home to all of us.
“All the furniture came with it,” I admit. If it hadn’t, we’d be sitting on the floor with only a small love seat and mini fridge. That’s all I have from college. It’s the only furniture that I actually own. God, I really hope no one takes this place out from under me, because I need more time to save for the move. Not only for a deposit, but furniture as well.
“Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking on this sofa.” Apple pauses, her wine glass halfway to her mouth. I push my glasses up my nose and grab my own glass.
“I’m a klutz. I know stains come out easy on these sofas already.”
She laughs and takes a big gulp of her wine. I do the same before picking up my phone. Biting my lip, I debate doing what I’ve been thinking about doing since I got home.
“Maybe we can Google him a little.”
Apple’s eyes light up. “You just said we shouldn’t!” She puts her glass down on the table. “And what do you mean a little? What’s a little Google?”
“I don’t know. I changed my mind.” I put his name in the search engine. “A little is a look at the images, not clicking the links or anything.” I don’t know why, but this makes it seem like it isn’t so bad.
“You sure you wanna do that?”
I look over at Apple, my finger hovering over the search button, all ready to go. This was her idea to begin with.
“Why? Do you know something?” I feel a tight ball form in my stomach like I’m about to lose something I never had. Maybe I don’t want to see. Or maybe it’s better to know.
A smile spreads on her face, making some of the tightness fade.
“Search. You’ll either fall more for him or…” She trails off, but I’m already hitting search and scrolling through pictures of him. There are photos of him at events, and a number of articles have been written about him over the past year.
In many of the photos, he’s with his mother or his sister. In the other photos, he’s alone. I can’t stop myself and I click an article that talks about