Foster Home at Five
I was only five, but I knew my mom and dad were in court that day fighting over custody rights. The rainy gray outside—plus the turmoil of yelling and crying, nighttime stirrings, and mornings waking up in different rooms or houses or cars, and not understanding what was going on or where exactly was home—had me nodding off at my grandma’s kitchen table. I remember fighting to keep my eyes open, jerking my head back up each time it dropped, and eventually letting myself go to sleep, but still being aware enough to feel myself gradually slipping under the table. I was in the non-time between sleep and being awake. The front door opened and my eyes opened for good. My dad was squatting down to me. It was strange... Read more...
