Foster Child

By Ramsey Austin-Spencer

Charlie desperately wanted to belong to a family and even though his foster mother Barbara didn’t provide the feeling of love and acceptance he always dreamed a real mother would offer, he forced himself to believe this is what a family was like. When Caroline entered the house as an exuberant five year old, Charlie found the only person in the world he thought of as family.
As the years and Barbara became more and more cruel the pair believed they slipped through the cracks in the system when no one ever came to check on them, only to find out at the end that the system was the crack.
Torn apart by pain and disappointment the pair find they are the only family each other really ever had and learn that family is everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ramsey Austin-Spencer
• Release date: Jan 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370224791

Ramsey Austin-Spencer

Ramsey was born in Salt Lake City, UT, raised in Salt Lake City, UT, married and had a family in Salt Lake City, UT and will more than likely die there as well. Don't feel too bad; Ramsey also enjoys traveling to places other than Salt Lake City, UT. In a motor home with a Jeep towing behind it she tours the United States just for fun. An accounting technician by profession (odd, I know), she does payroll for one of the municipal entities in (you guessed it), the Salt Lake City, UT area. Writing is the passion that has driven her since she could pick up a pencil. Receiving her Associate's Degree from Salt Lake Community College, and her Bachelor's Degree from WGU, she continues to work on perfecting her trade by continuing to take classes. Always looking for new educational experiences, she is a certified diver, studied sign language and French, has been in local plays and even went through a Citizen's Police Academy. Two sons and a wonderful husband are the reason you have a chance to read the work Ramsey has written. They encourage, irritate and force her to do better. Hope you enjoy.

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F

OSTER CHILD

by: Ramsey Austin-Spencer

2018 Copyright by Ramsey Austin-Spencer

Smashwords Edition

CHAPTER ONE

ST. PAUL, MN 1964

Mother

A hint of trepidation settled on the small boy’s face, but flitting around in his stomach he held the excitement of possibility.

Mother

A lifetime passed for the six-year-old boy since that word carried any real meaning for him and he spent his entire short life searching for the person who wanted to take on that role.

Charlie let his hand tighten around the finger of Ms. Black the social worker who brought him here as he stood on the porch of the unfamiliar house while she rang the bell. Charlie’s eyes stared out with wide anticipation as he let his mind chase the what ifs that lay behind the dark stained wood door. What was going to happen next he wondered? The answer to the question might not necessarily be a pleasant one, which is why his fear overrode his excitement.

Would this woman want to be his mother? None of the other women who came and went during his life wanted the role. It seemed too much to hope this new person might be any different, so Charlie let his thoughts wander to trivial things, like whether or not he’d get to eat dinner tonight.

While he waited his mind conjured up images of Marge, the woman who lived down the street from his grandmother. He envisioned a mother being like her. His stomach growled slightly as he waited for the smell of cookies coming out of the oven, but when the door to the small red brick house opened he didn't smell anything remotely like the sweet smell that permeated Marge's house.

Barbara Norse opened the door seeming bigger than life. She smiled down at the thin, blond haired little boy who clutched his satchel containing three pairs of pants, four shirts and a threadbare blanket. She didn't resemble the picture he conjured in his mind. She didn't strike him as being like the women he saw on his grandmother’s television programs and her house definitely did not smell like cookies. Barbara was a broad woman with reddish brown hair piled up on her head. Orange colored lipstick smeared across her drawn out lips and she looked to be in her early thirties. She wore a bright green polyester jumpsuit normally seen on someone younger and thinner than her.

He secretly hoped for someone like Marge, but he was grateful Barbara didn’t remind him of his own mother, with sunken eyes and pale skin. The memories of his mother consisted of her shaking and yelling all the time. Charlie hesitated at the door as Barbara politely asked the social worker and the young boy in. Ms. Black tugged at him slightly seeming to forget Charlie held onto her hand.

The house had an aroma reminiscent of old flowers and cooked cabbage. Charlie puckered his nose up slightly at the scent, but sat down dutifully on the brown and yellow, heavily flowered couch. The two women spoke in mild tones which Charlie blocked out as he looked down at the dark brown shag carpet under his worn brown shoes. They were almost the same color and that amused him; though he couldn’t say why.

Every time he listened to grown-ups talk it ended up being bad for him, so he found it easier to think of something else while they carried on. One-two, buckle my shoe, his mind hummed at him. Slowly he let his eyes roam across the living room. The drapes seemed to be as thick and heavy as lead and the dark carpet and furniture absorbed the light making the room seem dark even with the sun shining in through the window.

This would be his home Ms. Black told him as they drove over here. This would be fine, he repeated to himself over and over in his head hoping to create a warm sense of calm and belonging and to convince himself he found a real home this time. Right now it didn’t feel like that, but he just arrived and everything was still new here. It would come later, he promised himself.

Charlie. Ms. Black bent down to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. He stared up at her, afraid of what she might say. He had no idea what it might be, but he held back the odd sensation of wanting to take hold of her hand again and not let go. Mrs. Norse is very happy to have you here. She’s going to keep you until we can find you an adoptive family. She tilted her head slightly and raised her eyebrows. It could be a long time, or it might happen quickly. Do you understand that?

Charlie nodded even though he didn’t really understand what she meant. It was always best to agree with grown-ups. That way they didn’t get mad at you. Of course if you agreed to something and then didn’t do what they expected they got really mad, so you had to be careful. Charlie's stomach rolled in fear of not doing what Ms. Black wanted him to do.

I’ll be back to check on you later, Ms. Black said, her thin face and long brown hair seeming to sway softly back and forth in front of him as she bobbed her head as though confirming his understanding for him. That was fine with him.

He gazed up at her with large blue eyes which held back his tears. He wanted to act braver than he did and he wanted to experience the sensation of this being home, but even more than that he simply wanted to disappear and be invisible. Nothing in Charlie’s life ever stayed the same and as much as he wanted to belong somewhere, he didn't have the confidence to make himself comfortable here. Ms. Black patted him twice on the leg and stood up. Charlie stood up too.

Standing like a statue at the center of the room, he remained quiet while Ms. Black and Mrs. Norse say their good-byes. Barbara returned to him after shutting the door and her face seemed pinched somehow, giving Charlie a momentary jump in his stomach. He immediately believed she didn’t like him and her reaction to him briefly brought to mind images of his grandmother. For a moment he was convinced he could hear the hissing of her oxygen machine again, but it ended up just the fear ringing in his ears.

Let me show you your room, Charlie, she said, her voice brought down to a six year old's level. After you’re all settled in I’ll fix you something to eat.

Following along behind her, the tightly stretched green polyester of the jumpsuit moved back and forth along Barbara’s backside as she led him to the first room down the short hallway. The room didn't possess any decorations or pictures that would give the room a childlike theme, but to Charlie it might as well have been a castle. It held a small bed, a dresser and didn’t smell like mentholated cream or cigarettes. Charlie liked it right away and smiled his appreciation at the substantial woman taking up the doorway. Barbara lifted the left side of her mouth in what Charlie took as a smile before she left him alone to put the meager belongings he brought with him into the small dresser.

Charlie sat down on the bed with the firm mattress offering sturdy support underneath him. He bounced lightly on it twice and couldn’t suppress the smile now warming his face. This was everything he ever wanted, he told himself; a bed of his own, a room of his own, a home of his own. And a mother?

Outside the window to his room stood two tall thin juniper trees which made the light fight to penetrate them. The green, fern-like branches blew softly against the glass as though struggling to gain access and get at what he had because in his mind this must be the best room ever. He waited for just a moment longer before silently moving toward the kitchen like a timid mouse.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich waited for him, along with Barbara, who smiled at him, coaxing him to come and sit down. Charlie took a bite of the soft white bread, which stuck to the roof of his mouth. His tongue played with it, savoring the texture and wondering if he would get to feel this again; if she would make this for him tomorrow.

I’m glad you’ve come to stay with me, Charlie, Barbara said, this time not using her child voice, but talking to him like another grown-up.

Thank you, ma’am, Charlie offered shyly.

Barbara let a small laugh escape her. You are the perfect gentleman, she told him. Now, you can call me Barbara, or even mother if you’d like.

Thank you, Barbara, he said softly not willing to use the other word just yet. You could never be too careful.

Do you want to go for a ride? she asked as she cleared his plate from the gold-specked Formica table.

Charlie nodded, unsure. Rides usually meant you were being taken somewhere and not brought back, but Charlie hadn’t been here long enough to become attached, so he followed Barbara to the other end of the kitchen where the back door led out to the carport.

The entryway to the back door sat right where the stairs to the basement started. Charlie hesitated on the top landing while Barbara took her blue knit sweater off the hook which hung on the wall. Looking down into the yawning depth where the concrete stairs stretched down to a shut door at the very bottom, Charlie experienced a small chill.

Barbara took Charlie by the shoulders, turning him to look at her. He stared up at her in surprise as her fingers dug into his thin arms and her face loomed in front of him, taking up every bit of his vision. The familiar sting of being with adults filled him and he worried nothing had changed for him in moving here.

Don’t ever go down there, Barbara said seriously, holding him in this tense state for another moment before releasing him.

Charlie’s large eyes locked onto hers; wanting to ask her the question his mouth was afraid to form - why?

Barbara adjusted her sweater and gently pushed Charlie out the door and over to the passenger side of the car.

Basements are where bad little things get locked up. You don’t want to be a part of that, she said in a quiet, calm voice as though talking about the weather, but her words pushed moisture to the edges of Charlie’s eyes and he could still feel where her fingers gripped him so tightly.

Where shall we go? Barbara asked happily, turning the engine to the Buick over and sitting in the carport with both hands on the steering wheel, waiting for his reply.

Charlie didn't have an answer to the question making Barbara look over at him with the same pinched look she held earlier, as though his silence irritated her, which gave Charlie a moment of confusion. He always made sure not be seen or heard and the thought his behavior might be upsetting the woman he hoped would be his mother for a long time made his stomach tighten painfully. He wanted to answer her, to say something that would take the pinched look off her face, but he couldn’t think of anything, so he sat silently on the big blue vinyl bench seat of the car, waiting to see what would come next.

How about we go to the park and go down the slide? she offered, putting the car into reverse and pulling out of the driveway.

Charlie let out the breath he’d been holding, letting the pressure release slightly from his chest as the car gently swayed back and forth as it rolled through the gutter. His mind began to go over what would be waiting for him at the park. By thinking about that he could push the image of the dark basement stairs out of his mind.

Charlie had never been to a park before. His grandmother never took him anywhere because she never left the house. She couldn’t go far from her oxygen tanks without wheezing. Of course he didn't mind since that was better than before he moved in with her, he thought to himself as Barbara maneuvered the large car into an open parking space across from the playground. It was better than when his mother locked him in the apartment while she went out. Thinking back, even that was better than when his mother would come home.

People came in and out of the apartment all the time, making lots of noise, pushing him out of the way and yelling at him. He didn’t have a room and he usually slept on his mother’s bed, but often when she was at home the bed was frequently occupied by more than one person and his mother got upset if he came in to go to sleep. She smacked him on the back of the head and shoved him so hard he fell back on the floor or bounced off the wall. He didn't like that.

Standing at the edge of the grass, Charlie looked out at the playground equipment. He didn’t want to remember the things from before, but they seemed to be all he had inside him. He wondered about his life to this point and how things would change living with Barbara.

At four-years-old Charlie went to live with his grandmother. His own mother didn't have the ability or the desire to take care of him, let alone herself. He oddly understood that. He didn’t remember much of his mother, just the small snippets of when she actually came home, but then the state intervened in the decision of where he would live after a neighbor called and complained about the young boy being left alone for four days without anyone to care for him. The one thing Charlie did remember was having a sense of relief at not being locked away without any food.

After moving in with his grandmother most days were spent listening to his grandmother’s oxygen hissing just underneath the blaring television so she could hear her programs. She didn't allow Charlie to watch the television, so he sat in the kitchen and listened and tried to imagine what was happening on the small fuzzy screen in the other room. Sometimes he would try to sneak a peek around the corner to catch a glimpse of the barely visible black and white picture. He didn’t mind not being in the room with her because the smoke that filled the room from her ever burning cigarettes made his eyes tear up.

During the two years he lived with his grandmother he only saw his mother twice and both times had been unpleasant experiences. When she was around him, she seemed angry and scared and irritated and she yelled a lot. Both visits had been abruptly cut short when his mother and his grandmother got into a fight. It started as yelling and then things got thrown and insults were hurled and finally the threat of police action drove his mother from the house without so much as a good-bye. Even at such a young age he recognized his mother didn't come to visit him. It didn’t make him sad. He was grateful she didn't give him any of her cross attention during her visits.

Shuffling forward, Charlie sat down at the edge of the playground. The small square area was filled with sand and had a see-saw, a slide, monkey bars and a set of swings. Charlie moved the dirt around with his feet; the tiny granules of sand coming into the worn holes of his shoes and filling his socks. Looking behind him he saw Barbara watching him and his face flushed with embarrassment. He wondered absently what she wanted from him.

Early on in his life, Charlie learned that being invisible was his best defense. When grandmother had friends over, she didn’t want Charlie getting in the way. When her television shows were on, she didn’t want Charlie getting in the way. When she was trying to sleep, she didn’t want Charlie getting in the way.

Grandmother didn’t yell like his mother, but she would pucker up her face and wave him away like someone shoeing a fly, making the loose wrinkly skin underneath her arm waggle. Then she would hiss at him, just like the sound of the oxygen tank. That meant he was to go sit in the other room and leave her alone, which was where he spent most of his time.

Of course, grandmother didn’t always want him away. Charlie found that out the hard way. If you didn’t respond when grandmother wanted something it resulted in a smack on the back of the head with her cane. She couldn’t get around easily with her arthritis and emphysema and if he was going to be living in her house he was going to have to make himself useful; or so he’d been told. So, by staying small and quiet and patiently waiting in the background just in case someone needed something of him, it made it easier to get through the day.

It wasn’t all bad living at grandmother’s house. The cupboards, though not full, usually had something to eat in them and he learned to make sandwiches because when grandma wanted something to eat he had to be quick about it. He also learned how to boil water and make her tea, but you had to be very careful because the stove was one of the scariest things in the house. He burnt his arm once taking the kettle off the burner making grandma furious with him.

Of course the best part of his grandmother’s house was the neighborhood. More specific it was the house two doors down the street. Even now it was the one memory he treasured when things got really bad. It was a house that always had a cookie to spare and a hug to offer.

He only knew the woman who lived in the bright yellow house down the street by the name Marge. She was also a grandmother, but her grandkids lived in a different state, so she told Charlie she would spoil him in their place. She didn’t have oxygen and was always pleasant, which was very much unlike his grandmother. Marge’s house didn’t smell like stale smoke and she smiled a lot with bright white teeth that didn’t have dark stains on them. He spent as much time as he dared at the house down the street, afraid to be away too long for fear his grandmother would be calling for him and punish him if he didn’t come running. He once mentioned the woman in the yellow house causing his grandmother to smack him with the cane. He didn’t know exactly why, but that told him going there had to be his secret.

There were times when he would lay awake at night and visualize what it would be like to live there all the time. To have someone cook him an egg for breakfast and sit on the back porch and talk to him as though he mattered, as though he weren’t a burden - as though he could actually be loved.

His smile came from Marge. Being at her house was the first and only memory he had of being happy. She never asked him any questions, but she would sit quietly and listen to anything he wanted to say, which usually wasn’t very much.

When Charlie’s grandmother died, he knew immediately it was the yellow house down the street and Marge he would miss the most. She had been his refuge in an otherwise unfriendly world.

Charlie couldn’t remember if he realized his grandmother was dead before someone came in and found her. He always made sure to be real quiet because he didn’t want to disturb her. Once when one of her friends came to visit she grabbed Charlie’s face in her bony fingers, squeezing it tightly.

What happened? she squawked at him. How long has she been this way? You stupid little boy.

Shaking his head as fear swelling up in his chest, Charlie became frozen in fear. She pushed him away from her and he stood staring in shock at his grandmother, who now that he really looked at her was a pale yellowish color. How long had she been this way? Charlie didn't know for sure, but he believed he was aware there was something wrong. She hadn’t lit a cigarette for some time and even though the oxygen was still hissing he didn't hear her wheezing or coughing like he usually did. He’d actually been relieved not to listen to her barking and hacking and growling at him, but now the guilt over letting his grandmother die filled him up.

He was to blame. When the police arrived he thought for sure they were going to take him to jail, just like they did in some of grandma’s shows. Instead, a heavy set, serious woman took him by the hand, holding on too tight as though he would run from her and took him to a house with a big tree in front where a small little lady and a balding man who smiled all the time, lived.

No one told him who they were or why he was there, but after only two days another serious faced woman who worked for Child Welfare Services came and put him in a white car and took him away from there. He thought about asking them to take him to Marge and one night he even considered leaving to try and find her. If anyone would welcome him into their home, it would be her and she would smile and give him a plate of cookies and a glass of milk and it would be cold and fresh and it would stain his upper lip and they would laugh together about it.

Instead he went to another house where he shared a room with two other children that were quite a bit older than Charlie and would bump into him, pushing him into the wall when they passed by. The mother always looked upset and the man hardly ever spoke, quickly leaving the house every morning, only returning after the sky was dark. Charlie stayed there for a month. One of the older kids left and another child replaced him; a girl who was in junior high school. She was nicer than the boy had been, but none of these places had been home and none of those women wanted to take on the role of mother for the young boy.

Now, standing in the park with Barbara sitting on the bench, watching Charlie carefully, he wondered if this was as good as it got. He feared he already started to forget what the yellow house smelled like. He barely remembered Marge’s smile. Barbara’s smile wasn’t the same.

Charlie wondered what he should do. He watched the other kids and tried to mimic their behavior. He understood this to be something that was supposed to be fun and the other children playing around him made it seem that way, but he couldn’t figure out how to recreate the sensation for himself. He carefully picked his way through the tricky bars. The round metal burned cold on his fingers and his little arms couldn’t hold up his body as his grip slipped away and he dropped down onto the dirt.

Move, a kid called out and Charlie crawled out of the way, staring up at the boy to see if he could tell what he’d been doing wrong. The boy’s body swished back and forth as he grabbed one bar and then the next until he completely crossed the expanse. The display impressed Charlie. Slowly he walked over to the slide and began climbing the tall ladder. He wanted to change his mind, but he was too afraid to go backwards, so he finished hiking to the top and looked down at the long strip which would lead him to the bottom. Scooting a little further forward gravity caught him and pulled him down, spilling him out onto the sand. Picking himself up and brushing the dirt off of him he glanced over at Barbara who sat proudly with the other women watching their children. He needed to do his best to make it look like he was enjoying himself, but he felt unsure as he went back to the tricky bars and hung precariously off the cold steel, which still seemed too far off the sand for him.

He was grateful when Barbara called to him, telling him it was time to leave. As he took her hand and she led him back to the car, he glanced back at the play area and believed he had fun. He hoped he made her happy by being here and that she would bring him back again.

CHAPTER TWO

Barbara’s house struck Charlie as being pleasant. Charlie knew that without a doubt. No one yelled, he didn't experience hunger pains like before and he didn't need to cover his nose from the stench of death, but there was an underlying unease Charlie couldn’t quite pin down. As time went on Charlie thought perhaps what he sensed was a type of disappointment wandering around in his stomach, which attached itself to him early in life and now would never go away. He tried hard to do everything he thought he should; the things people did in the families on television, but he never got the feeling he thought you should have when you’re in a family. Something appeared to be missing, but he seemed incapable of figuring out what it was. He feared it was something inside him.

Most of the pieces Charlie believed necessary for a family seemed to be here. Barbara made him pancakes in the morning, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at lunch and sometimes she would read a book to him before bed. He liked all those things and understood how precious they were because he never had them before, but Barbara didn’t feel right to him. Perhaps he was expecting too much, he thought.

Barbara came across reserved and polite to him, but it always seemed to Charlie the pinched look waited behind her eyes with everything he did. Sometimes he caught a glance of it when she started turning away from him. He wanted to please Barbara and that pressure kept Charlie on edge, wondering what else he should do, what she wanted from him and always feeling like he hadn’t done enough.

After four months, Charlie got up one morning and Barbara seemed preoccupied. She quickly buttered some toast and left it on the table for Charlie before she disappeared into her bedroom. She always sat with him in the morning for breakfast and even though she made him nervous because he didn’t know what to say, he knew being without her this morning created so much stress he wouldn’t be able to eat the toast without being sick. Was she going to get rid of him, he wondered.

When she came back out she harshly wiped off Charlie’s face and hands, not noticing he didn't eat the toast as she inspected him with a look he came to fear even though he couldn’t explain why.

Without explanation she took his hand and nearly dragged him out of the house and down the block to the large brown brick school building. She moved at a pace too quick for Charlie to keep up and several times his feet skidded along the cement rather than moving like they should. Once they maneuvered their way through the quiet hallways, she took Charlie into a room filled with desks and bright posters on the walls and placed him in a small chair in front of the teacher. Barbara lowered herself into a larger chair next to him looking stern and serious as she filled out paperwork.

He’s a bright child, Barbara told the unconcerned looking teacher. I’m sure he’ll do just fine.

I’m sure he will, the woman whose name plate on her desk declared her to be ‘Ms. Garrison’ offered with a slight smile.

He’s very well mannered, Barbara continued.

Did Charlie finish kindergarten? Ms. Garrison asked.

Barbara’s face puckered. No. I don’t believe he attended kindergarten.

Ms. Garrison nodded as she bent over the papers on her desk, writing with a thin yellow pencil. Charlie could see the angry look on Barbara’s face and wanted to beg the woman to stop whatever she was doing because he didn't want Barbara to be upset with him.

When she finished, Ms. Garrison handed the paper to Barbara and then looked over at Charlie with a smile that reminded him of the lady in the yellow house by his grandmother. This must be what she looked like when she was young.

Welcome to first grade. We’ll see you next week Charlie.

Charlie started school the very next Monday, looking forward to seeing Ms. Garrison again, but that didn't stop him from experiencing the familiar pain in his stomach as Barbara walked with him to the edge of the schoolyard. Her hand grasped too tightly around his, but he wouldn’t say anything. Barbara behaved serious and quiet all morning and when grown-ups acted like that you needed to try extra hard to be invisible.

In a way Charlie wanted to start school and learn all of the things he desperately wanted to know, but didn’t. Still, situations had a way of turning out different then they first appeared. The teacher seemed nice when they met her last week, but being here constituted something new and Charlie learned early on how new things were not always good things.

Barbara stood with her arms folded at the gate