CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Whitney
Sixteen Years Ago
“ W hy can’t I stay with you?” I plead. The tears fall, and my voice burns in my throat.
“Me? Why would you wanna? I got a life to lead, kid. I can’t be worried about you all the time. A lady’s gotta have some freedom to do as she pleases.”
Gentle hands grab my shoulders to try and guide me toward the open door. “Come on, Whitney, it’s time to leave.”
This is the third time a strange person has come to the house and told Mama that I couldn’t live with her. It doesn’t matter how soft their voices are or what they promise me. I hate it. I hate it so much.
They never want me in the other homes they bring me to. The parents have big smiles when I’m brought there, but the minute the social worker leaves, the smiles fade, and I cease to exist.
“You heard her, Whit. You gotta go. I’m sure they’re gonna take you to Disneyland and all of those fun places you want to go. I’d go if I were you.” She smiles as her body does that weird, twitchy thing it does when she needs more of her special medicine. “Just remember, your mama will always love you.”
“That’s what you always say, Mama.”
Her body shakes again. “It’s true. I do love you.”
“But, if you loved me so much, why don’t you ever want to keep me? Why don’t you ever look at me with your happy smile? The one you give to those men when they come over with that powder stuff?”
“Because I need what they have, sweetheart.” But you don’t need me ... “That doesn’t mean I don’t love you though.”
“Please don’t send me away, Mama. I’ll be good, I promise.” The social worker guides me closer to the door, but I wiggle from her grasp and run back to my mama. “Please,” I say as I wrap my arms around her and try to hold on tight. “Don’t make me go away again.”
But my mama doesn’t hug me back. Her arms stay at her sides as she looks down at me with eyes I don’t understand. With eyes that say she’s about to punish me for not listening again.
I don’t care. She can hit me again. I’m strong. I can take it. Anything is better than being sent to another scary place.
“It’s time to go now, Whitney,” the social worker says as she wraps her arms around me and tries to pick me up this time.
I kick and I hit, but I’m no match for her as she takes me away.
“Please. I don’t want to go,” I beg as I thrash from side to side. “Tell them you want me here, Mama. Tell them you want me to stay here.”
But when I look at her through my blurry tears, she just sits there, scratching her arm...like she always does. Like she’s watching a TV show or something. Like that’s more important than me.
“Please...” It’s a broken word that doesn’t even sound like my own voice.
As the screen door clangs behind us, I hear her muffled words, “Mama loves...”
“No, you don’t,” I cry quietly as I give up and sag into the lady’s arms.
Because it’s worse if I fight.
If this is what love means, then I don’t want a part of it.
Ever.
I will never believe someone when they say those words to me. You can’t trust people who tell you they love you.
They mean you’re disposable.