The Night That Formed the New Me

Tenacia Burke

Rain splatters the windshield as the darkness forms around the vehicle, waiting to capture my brother and me in the dark; never to be seen again. My humble abode: warm, cozy, and welcoming. The mere thought of never returning turns my heart to stone. It all happened so fast; it’s smeared in my memory, as everything I saw flashed before my eyes without the realization of what was just experienced. The pain hasn’t reached me yet, but the idea that my brother and I were lost in a system of hate brought an uneasy sensation to my stomach. I try to remember what just happened as the car ride proceeds, and I start from the beginning.

Mid slumber I recall my grandfather, who adopted me, shaking me conscious. I call this man my father; after all he is the only man I have ever known to be in my life from the beginning. While he is shaking me, I open my eyes and the first thing I see through my sleepy hazel circles is the man I depend on. As I start to focus through the darkness in my room, I look harder and see six men surrounding my bed looking at me with judgmental eyes. This scares me more as the woman in the driver seat starts to speak, bringing me back from my terrifying memory, but I am not able to understand what she’s saying; her voice sounds muffled. I don’t feel the need to speak, so I just squeeze my brother’s hand as she turns onto the gravel road.

This path continues in my tiny little mind for what seems like ages. On this dirt road I see two spots of light: windows. Its midnight all around my brother and I, how could my father let this happen? The woman says something that sounds like, “Here we are”, but then she could have said, “It’s only for a little while”. Either way I wasn’t concentrating on her, my brother beside me was shaking just as bad as I was. This was something new and scary for the both of us; I couldn’t look at his face in fear of falling apart when I had to be strong for him. In this moment in time I knew I had to protect him from any danger, I would blame myself if anything happened to him.

The stranger opened my door and signaled for me to leave her car, my brother scooted after me through the door. I grabbed his hand and we walked towards the open door of this scary house. While I stared at the woman at the door she looked at us, and then the woman who drove us looked happy, like she had just won something. The two adults talked and the woman who let us through the door called herself Kathy. This new stranger named Kathy took my brother and I to our rooms where we were to finish sleeping. The hardest part was trying to let go of my brother’s hand, I feared he would disappear and I needed him just as much as he needed me. I, being the oldest, had to show no weakness.

I entered the room Kathy had for me and I looked around noticing all the little kids’ toys in a box at the foot of the bed. I didn’t want them; I wanted the toys my family got me. I didn’t want the bed; I wanted my bed in my house. Tears started swelling up and I pushed them away, hiding my weakness as Kathy pulled the sheets back for me to lie down. Fear was drowning me without knowing whether I would see my sweet, innocent, seven-year-old brother.  At this point nothing meant more to me then keeping him safe.

That night in my nightmare, I saw everything that had happened as the men surrounded my bed. My father had me put clothes in the brown sack he had in his hands. I felt confused, dazed, and very sleepy. I packed un-matching clothes and he handed me my toothbrush. The men in my room I now could identify as cops. This was even scarier as I realized I might not ever come back here. Looking at my father's face I saw tears run down and he wiped them away hoping I didn’t see; but I did. My grandmother, who I call my mom, hasn’t come in my room yet. This dream is slow motion compared to the tarnished vision, as everything was chaotic. It continues…my father leaves my room with two cops and they talk to him in stern voices; I’m alone. Well as alone as I felt even though four cops were staring at me with sadness in their eyes. I can see they feel sorry for what they have to do, but sorry, in my case cannot bring me back to my family.

I walk down the hall of my house of what could be the last time I feel at home. With W- and I walking hand-in-hand down our hallway we see our parents being handcuffed, I have to cover W-’s eyes immediately. That vision alone would scar him for life, me as well. Our house is being torn apart, and the woman who drove us is waiting. I look back to see my family for what could be the last time. Then we leave our comfort and our family and are forced to get in the car and ride with this woman to a new family.

I wake up expecting it to be a big nightmare and go down the hall to my family watching news and eating breakfast. But I wake up in a frightening new room in a bed that’s not mine and toys that I have never seen before. The only thing familiar is my clothes in the brown paper sack I packed last night. The memories flood my every thought as I walk down the wide hall to the noises that I can’t quite understand. My brother is sitting at the table eating waffles and smiling, I am confused at this point. Doesn’t he know what had happened? Didn’t he care that we may never see anyone we know again? But then I remember he is just a seven-year-old. I will let him smile and be remember, is setting a plate for me, and smothering my pancakes with syrup. I can’t speak…it’s been so long since I have spoken, maybe I forgot how. The nightmare I had last night was so surreal, and thinking about the look on my father's face breaks my heart. Although I am just ten, I understand why we were taken from our home. Our family does drugs, they sit in the living room and put marijuana in a big cup and make the lighter bright against the metal, and the green disappears.

Our birth mother gave her rights to us away, so we could have better homes. I consider us lucky because through all these changes and difficult times we are still together as a family; however, for now this family includes just my brother and me. So coming back from my epiphany, Kathy was busy introducing her husband to us. She was staring at me as if I was some kind of alien; I guess she had asked me a question. I was still not willing to speak, although we knew their names now, they were still strangers and unwelcome people invading my life. After breakfast Kathy took Wesly and me to DHS, which stands for Department of Human Services. This place handles children like me everyday; children who are ripped from their loved ones and forced to sleep in a stranger's bed. Everyone there is very nice and admires my name although I never told them it. Considering the town I live in I guess names and news floats around pretty fast.

I was ripped from my brother’s hand and taken into a little white room with a glass window that was more of a mirror, but I could see the little lens behind the mirror. I knew they wanted me to talk but I couldn’t do that, literally, even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. A woman entered the little room and asked me a bunch of questions about my families’ doings and I didn’t answer, I stared at her blankly trying to tune her out. After she got tired of asking unanswered questions, she said I could leave. I stepped outside the door and before I could search for my brother another woman dragged me into another room with a couch; they called this counseling. As if I had problems or something. It made me laugh inside because I wasn’t going to talk; I was a brick wall.

The new woman sounded sort of muffled like a motorcycle exhaust, but more of a grimy voice. I drowned out all her weird noises and relaxed on the couch as if she wasn’t there. I was getting used to tuning everything out and it was working nicely. I acted normal for my brother and when I spotted him I noticed he wasn’t looking for me, he was looking for mom and dad. It broke my heart to have to tell him we might never see them again or each other if we were split in different homes later on. W- started running towards the doors and I chased after him, stopping dead in my tracks I saw through those doors…our mom and dad. I started crying hysterically and running with all my might towards the ones I loved more than my own life. This was the happiest day of my life, but I knew it was going to end; it had to.

We only got an hour together and we couldn’t leave the DHS building, but it was still a good hour out of the 23 bad ones we had today. Mom and dad told us we only got to see each other once a week every Sunday, and I was sad but was still happy that we get to see them once a week. The days dragged on, as I was silent and sad, but covering up every emotion and being the strong big sister my brother needed, made me an even stronger person; I am his shield. The only thing I care about is keeping him safe; even if it takes everything I have, figuratively speaking, even if it kills me.

Three months go by and my brother and I are still living with these foster parents and seeing our parents once a week; it’s a tiring repetitious circle. Then something happens that’s more dramatic than expected, our aunt and uncle come to the DHS building the day of the family meeting, and they say they are coming for us and taking us with them to Prineville, Oregon. So we went, traveling almost three hours to the place we will start school and acquire new friends, who knows when we will be able to go back home, or if we ever will. When we start school I am in 5^th grade, it was the most terrifying experience. Everyone stared at me and whispered to their neighbors, I sat there silently as I had been all these months.

I only went to school there two weeks before the most incredible thing happened to us: my brother and I were allowed to return home! The first thing our dad said to us was, “We quit smoking, and we promise this will never happen again.” We started school in our hometown and no one ever asked us about what had happened, but that was probably because they already knew.

John Day is our hometown; here everyone knows everything about everything, and its very annoying having everyone know that W- and I were taken brutally from home. Now I am eighteen-years-old and through all my adventures, being taken from my home was the most shattering of them all. When going through every little detail I realize how strong it made me. In my today, I can live through anything and know that I am strong enough to handle whatever happens; nothing can make me break under its powerful force. I am more protective and since I have my whole family, I am very protective of them all, not only of their honor but of their well-being as well. My birth mother is my best friend and has grown into a better mother than she ever was. My brother became a lost cause because he went into the druggie world, even though he is a stupid fifteen-year-old, he is still my little brother.

I wouldn’t change that night; I became a woman, although I was only ten, I grew into someone my family could be proud of. The fear that stirred inside me became rage and with that rage it formed into strength, I became the “rock” and a dependable person. So, here I am, growing stronger everyday and protecting everyone who matters in my life. Some people don’t like me because I look mean, or I intimidate them, but they just never wanted to know me because if they did they would know that I am just a hard shell, with a soft center. Maybe I’m an acquired taste, but either way they judged and that in itself makes me stronger every second.