Saving Kim

“You stupid girl, you are such a---“My foster mother Amy hurled accusations and curse words faster than I could blink.   Or breathe.
     
Standing wide-eyed on her front stoop clutching my suitcase as she screamed at me, I tried in vain to defend myself.  But any efforts I made to explain 
the entries she found in my diary went completely unheard.  
     
“You got a problem with me, huh!” Amy screeched.  “How ‘bout you tell me what you think to my face!”  Her cheeks were beet red and her nicotine 
yellowed eyes were literally bulging out of their sockets.  Her hands were shaking my tiny diary in the air as she continued to call me horrible names and 
insult any right to my very existence.  It was then I noticed that I had locked the diary!   For nearly ten minutes, I was shivering on the front porch 
thinking that maybe I was a stupid girl because I not hidden the diary and locked it.  But as I watched it fly through the air, I saw the entire locking 
mechanism dangling from one side of the binding.  Amy had ripped the entire lock of the hardbound binding in order to read my private thoughts.
     
My one source of peace, my only outlet from my confusing young teenage life, my diary was my escape.   I was able to release my thoughts, feelings, 
and struggles.   It was my safe place.   The blank lined pages did not judge me for being a ward of the state, they did not ask what was wrong with me, 
nor did they fault me for the burdens I placed on them.  The pages simply accepted me for who I was and they didn’t ask for anything back.    
     
Up until this moment, I had been living with Amy and Bart for nearly five months.  At first they seemed happy to have me as their first foster child.  Their 
own three sons were grown up and moved out living their own lives.  I quickly discovered this chain smoking couple was no ordinary couple and should 
never have received a license to foster.   Amy began acting very irrationally.  One day she was happy and kind to me.  In a flash, she would turn on me 
with outlandish accusations that shocked and frightened me.   Bart never stood up to her and hardly gave me the time of day.  I was on my own.
     
Afraid of appearing ungrateful, I never said a word to my social worker about Amy’s behavior.  I was pretty well taken care of overall. I had a comfortable 
room of my own, I was well fed, and allowed extra privileges such as being in a school play, or visiting a new friend in the neighborhood.   I was much 
more afraid of being shipped off to an unknown place so I put up with Amy’s bizarre episodes.   My mistake was documenting them in my diary.
     
Just as Amy’s head was about to explode, I saw the diary come flying at me and I swung to the left as it whizzed past my ear.   Tears stung my eyes as I 
reached into the soft snow to retrieve it.  
     
“It’s not your fault.” I whispered to the badly beaten up journal.
     
“What did you say?!”  Amy charged. “Speak up you stupid---“and off she went again tossing out insults and curse words at me.
     
Thankfully, my social worker Doreen was pulling into the driveway just then and I nearly jumped headfirst into her car.  I watched worriedly out the 
window as she endured Amy’s tantrum for a few minutes and then hurried back to the car.   We drove in silence at first, neither one of us knowing what 
to say.

“I’m sorry Amy read your journal. “ Doreen said after a while. “She had no right to do that.”  It seemed Doreen had more to say, but she just sighed and 
kept driving.
     
Saying nothing due to the large lump in the back of my throat, I kept my eyes fixed out my window as the forests and neighborhoods slipped behind me 
with each passing mile.  I was no longer going to be attending Ballard Middle School.  I would never see my friends Annie and Dawn again.   I would not 
get a chance to say goodbye to my one true confidant Miss Christine the school nurse.  I would often skip certain classes claiming a headache so I 
could go see her.  She was the only person I had talked to about Amy, but I was careful not to tell her everything so I didn’t come across as one of those 
“needy-aid-kids”.  I wondered if Christine would ever think of me again.  But what did it matter?  I had been thrown out of Amy and Bart’s home and once 
again I was on my own.   
    
“Where are we going?”  I asked quietly, scared of Doreen’s answer.
     
“Well,” Doreen cleared her throat. “I have arranged an emergency respite care home for you for a few days until I can place you permanently with a new 
foster family. You have to understand this was all very unexpected and short notice.”
     
My heart sank.  I looked out my window and squeezed my eyes tight so I wouldn’t start crying.  I was headed to my third foster home in only eight 
months.  My first foster home was actually with relatives I did not know very well. I would have loved to have been able to stay with them but rules are 
rules.  Being a ward of one state, I was not permitted to be placed in a foster home in another state so I was removed from my aunt and uncle’s and 
placed with Amy and Bart.  Great turn out that was.
     
Over an hour later, Doreen made a right turn and soon pulled into a long driveway that led up to a pretty red house.   A small pond to the right of the 
house was frozen over and appeared to be marked up from the blades of ice skates.  A beautiful welcome wreath hung across a simple white door at 
the top of the steps.  My heart filled with hope that this family would not be anything like my last.