Callum, sensing how tense I was, hugged me closer.
“Where did you go after that, Harper?” He asked.
“An alcoholic’s but, to be honest, it felt like a reprieve. They were winos, their floor was littered with corks. I lived in a literal sea of corks but I didn’t mind it so much. They were cool as long as you left them alone and whatever trouble you got into didn’t directly affect them.
“I stayed there for at least a year, but social services paid a surprise visit to them and they hadn’t cleaned up yet. So...” I shrugged as if that was explanation enough.
“And you were forced out?”
“Yup.”
“Then where’d you go?”
“To the last foster home I’d ever have to endure again,” I said.
“Was it as awful?”
“Depends on your definition of awful,” I offered. “Was it as bad as John Bell? No. As laid back as the winos? Nope. It was somewhere in between. They weren’t physically abusive or anything but they would scream at one another every night over money and I was sort of endured because I provided a steady stream of the very cash from the state they’d yell about.”
“And when you turned eighteen?”
“See you later, alligator.”
Callum
I had it pretty bad growing up but Harper seems to have endured every awful situation a person could conjure up, short of rape and even that I think she narrowly escaped. I wanted only to wrap her in my arms and tell her that everything would be okay but that would have been a lie. I didn’t know if everything was going to be okay. I did know, however, that whatever we did go through that we were going to sustain it together, that I was quite certain of.
“And then you met me,” I said.
“And then I met you,” she said, smiling softly.
“And all was right with the world,” I joked.
“Exactly,” she said seriously.
“I was only joking Harper,” I said, sitting up a little to get a better view of her face.
“Of-of course,” she giggled, fidgeting next to me. “I know that.”
I studied her closely before turning off the lamp next to me. The moonlight fell across her gold strands, looking for all the world like copper threads. I half expected them to sing in clinking charms every time her head moved. I hugged her closely to me, hoping to squeeze the bad memories from her life. I’d absorb them from her, if I could. Just take them and endure the obvious ache they caused her.
“When my folks died,” I confessed, “I remembered feeling sadness, an overwhelming sadness, but I was too young to realize what it meant. I have memories of visiting a cold, unwelcoming room where they would force me to draw pictures of how I supposedly felt. They’d ask me if I remembered my mom and dad, and even then I thought they were stupid for asking such an obvious question.
“I wondered why I left my home, wondered when my mom and dad would come and pick me up. I would often tell my foster mother that I was ready to call my parents to have them pick me up but she would just smile and settle me on her hip, never really giving me the answer I was looking for.”
Harper thread her fingers with mine, burrowing her shoulder deeper into mine.
“When I was slightly older and had almost completely forgotten about my parents,” I continued, “I began school and quickly noticed that my life was very different from my classmates. Many of them would talk about their families and I just couldn’t help but fear that I didn’t share their fates.
“I went home my first day of first grade and asked my foster mom if she was mine. She gave me a round-a-bout answer and that’s the day I knew I was different. That was the day I knew I belonged to no one and steeled myself for a difficult life. I don’t know how I knew, but at six, I had already figured it out.
“I was a pretty good kid, school became my life because I had nothing else. I made it my life’s goal to be worth something to myself as I was the only one interested enough to care. I, too, was thrown from family to family for one reason or another. I tumbled about New York City never really forming friendships for fear they’d just disappoint me further than I already was. I was afraid that a loss like that would be the bitter pill that would kill the little spirit I had left.
“I trusted no one, until the age of fourteen, when a boy introduced himself to me as Alan Moss. He was cool and non-judgemental. I started hanging with him a lot.
“By the time we were fifteen, Alan and I had become best friends. I didn’t allow myself to get very close to the guy, like I said, I never allowed that void to be filled until Charlie and Cherry but, I admit, Alan was a really good friend and I was as loyal to him as I possibly could be.
“By our sophomore year though, Alan became distant. We hadn’t talked for weeks but out of the blue he called me and invites me to this party, letting me know that Keiko was going to be there. This was after our kiss in eighth grade, of course, but I still liked the hell out of her. So, I told him I’d be there. I met up with him that night but the party was not what I thought it was. People laid about like idiots, laughing at the most ridiculous things and I knew they were high as kites.