It’s been a long seven years. Many things have happened and even more were lost. In my life I have lived in numerous houses, towns, cities, and villages, all because I am an orphan. At the age of fifteen, I moved in with my sixth foster family. I had no idea what I was in for.

My new foster parents were nice enough – but they weren’t exactly exciting. They worked day in and day out, so much that I don’t know why they really wanted a child, but I never questioned them. They hardly ever talked to me; they just fed me and bought me clothes; the essentials, and that was fine by me. They never struck me as the most interesting people to talk to.

We lived on a run down city street, in a large apartment building. I always found the graffiti splattered walls outside of it to be so intriguing. It was dusk, and the sky was just beginning to turn that indescribable color - the pinks and oranges, as the sun dips beneath the buildings. I walked along the building’s edges, my hand tracing over the rough painted bricks. Just about to turn the corner, a faint echo of music began ringing in my ears. Around the corner was a boy with a can of spray paint held firmly, earphones hung around his neck, booming with music in the alleyway.

It took him a moment to register that I was standing there. I saw his body grow tense as he stood, and warily he turned to face me. He was taller then I was, about five foot eleven. He appeared rather skinny, except for his slightly toned muscles. He sported blonde straight hair that hung delicately into his eyes, and got longer toward the back, brushing his shoulders. I liked the way he dressed tights jeans and black tee shirt.

Tension was growing between us, and I glanced nervously to his work of art on the wall.
“Don’t worry... I won’t tell anyone.” I said as my eyes met his large chocolate brown ones, which looked intently back at me. To my surprise a soft chuckle escaped from his thin lips as he walked over to the wall and added a few more lines of paint to his work.
“Ah, no one will care what these walls look like anymore. What with all the foolish words, and signatures and such; maybe my picture could brighten up this dull place.” His eyes then shifted to the canvas with a serious look, although a smile crossed his features as if he was content with his piece. It was pretty, and was well done thus far. As I surveyed the mural, realizing I hadn’t yet, I was taken back to the country. On the wall was a still frame picture of a meadow with deer in the distance, and a massive sun lowering itself below the hills. Then his voice entered into the air,
“ Sorry, you kind of surprised me. Usually I like to work alone, but today I wouldn’t mind the company.” He sounded confident in his words, and gave me a quick wink. I could feel my cheeks getting hot, but I told him it would be a pleasure.




The rest of my afternoon was spent in his company. His name ended up being Noah. He liked my name a lot, and repeated it after I told him, Monica. It struck me as odd that he liked it so much; he told me I looked like a ‘Monica’.

Noah was rather easy to talk to, and I enjoyed my time with him. When I told him I was an orphan, he showed compassion. I usually hated the sympathy I usually received upon telling people my parents were dead, but he just seemed to say all the right things.

Finally Noah stepped back from the wall studying it, looking content. “It’s finished,” he told me as I stepped back to glance at it also. It did seem to lighten up the area. All I could come up with, in my shock and awe was,
“it’s amazing. How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” he replied.
If he was this good at sixteen, he should pursue a career in some form of art, I thought to myself.
“This is amazing.” I repeated as if I didn’t believe what I was seeing. It was then that I noticed he was grinning ear to ear because of my compliment. After a moment he cleared his throat, “Anyway, Monica. I should be getting home,” he explained as he took a pen out of his pocket and grabbed my hand, scribbling his phone number on my palm.

Our goodbyes were somewhat awkward, but I tried to put off our parting as long as possible. I didn’t want to go back to my depressing foster family, but I knew it wasn’t escapable. I extended my hand toward him - he took it willingly and shook it.
“Hope to see you soon,” his voice rung in my ears, as he turned away and began to walk down the darkening alleyway. All I could do was stand there and smile to myself.

***

The next year and a half was filled with many ups and downs. I saw Noah almost every day, and we grew closer and closer. Our casual friendship slowly blossomed into something more, something beautiful. I will never forget the day he asked me to be his girlfriend. It felt like I was on top of the world.

The initial bliss of our relationship quickly faded when I started to notice odd bruises and cuts on Noah’s body. He would continually make excuses for them when I questioned him.

I finally figured out where the marks were coming from; his father. The first time I meet his father he gave me, an mediocre first impression, but it slowly turned into my hatred for him. Noah’s father, Steve, was an alcoholic, who essentially had a new girlfriend every other week.

At last I witnessed Steve abusing Noah. It started over a simple argument concerning
us being home no more than five minutes late. It seemed as quickly as the conflict started, Steve had hit Noah, and he was thrown to the floor - hard. Steve didn’t stop then, he started kicking Noah in the side. I was taken aback, to shocked to move as I watched in disbelief. Noah seemed to accept this “punishment”. Finally I grabbed a
small lamp and thrust it as hard as I could at Steve. It struck him right in the head, and he fell to the ground, out cold. I worried foolishly if I had killed him.

I ran over to Noah who was struggling to get to his feet. His eyes filled with tears that began pouring down his cheeks. I remembered him complaining about his side, and that he was sorry that I had to witnesses the scene. It took me about twenty minutes to get him out of his fathers trash hole house, let alone get him into my apartment building.


***

Noah was in the hospital for about a week. He had broken his rib cage, which made it hard for him to make even simple movements. I told my foster parents I didn’t know what happened to him, I figured that it was Noah’s right to tell people what he wanted. That is, until he became conscious, and told them he fell down the stairs. I felt like I should have told someone the truth, but I refrained from doing so.

Soon after, Noah’s wounds were fully healed, and he was back on his feet. The incident felt like one big nightmare. Noah reassured me that is was okay. I knew he was lying, but I respected his wish. I would not tell anyone about his father’s abusive ways. Today I wish I had, no matter how he would have reacted.


***

The days continued to go by, and then I finally had the pleasure of meeting Noah’s half sister, Tia. She was nice like him, but she saw her father in an odd set of eyes, which I could just not see Steve through.

Tia told me that her father had been through a lot in his life. His mother died of cancer when he was young. He grew up right though, I was told, and married his first wife whom he had Tia with. Tia’s mother wasn’t faithful and was having an affair with another man. Steve lost it, and she moved out of Steve’s house, which eventually resulted in divorce. A few years later Steve remarried, and his job was starting to get stressful. His second wife brought Noah into the world.

Tia described Noah’s mother as a beautiful a woman who was kind, loving and gentle. It didn’t sound like anyone Steve would have been married to.

One tragic morning Noah’s mother was found stabbed to death in a dumpster behind a restaurant. That’s when Steve really lost it; she was the only thing keeping him together. That’s when he became an alcoholic. Steve blamed Noah for her death, as if looking for an excuse for her murder. Noah was only nine at the time.

Tia tried to convince me to give Steve and second chance, and tried to get me to help him, but I would refuse kindly every time. Finally she just gave up. I thought no father
should have blamed his child for his wife’s death. Now I wish that I had seen where Tia was coming from - in a different light. She was trying to tell me that Steve needed help, and someone else to tell him that he needed it.

***

Life continued on, and Noah and I became closer than ever. I often pictured us in the future, away from the mess and hysteria of life. I was almost seventeen now, and he just turned eighteen. The beatings never stopped, but I learned to accept it. As it seemed Tia, and Noah himself had done.

I still have nightmares of one autumn weekend, which started off amazing, but would quickly snowball into the worst time of my life.

Noah was taking me to his cottage, with Steve and his latest girlfriend. Their cottage wasn’t really a cottage per say. The word “cottage” was a huge overstatement. I loved the season of autumn, when the brightly tinted leaves blanket the ground, before they become crisp and brown. The cottage was about a ten-minute drive away from the outskirts of the city, about a thirty-minute walk back to civilization.

When we arrived in Steve’s rusted brown car, (which should have been in a junkyard,) I glanced at the cottage in pure horror. It was a small run down trailer that was sagging dangerously low to the ground on one side. The color was the worst thing about it - it was painted the most ugly yellow. It made me want to vomit, just looking at it. Inside the trailer was a cluttered mess of trash, two sofas, a double bed, and the smallest television, perched on a stool. This didn’t matter to me though; being with Noah is what mattered.

After we got unpacked and settled in, Noah took my hand and led me out of the trailer, passing Steve who had started barbecuing. We walked over a gentle slope that lead to a dock, revealing a small lake with crystal clear water.
“This is the only reason I come here.” He said as we stood there at the end of the dock. I glanced across the lake; it was beautiful, I admit it. The tall trees with colorful tops made it look like a painting, but being with Noah is what made it really perfect for me. Smirking I had come up with a plan, a rude but playful one. Taking a step back I pushed him into the lake, and he fell into the water with a surprised look on his face, and then he pulled me in. I was alarmed how cold the water was, and how deep it was. Just at the end of the dock, the water must have been three feet over my head.

The rest of that day went by fine, and to my surprise Steve wasn’t drinking that much. Noah and I decided we would ignore him, and his girlfriend, and spent most of our day by ourselves. Thinking back, that was one of the best days of my life.

*

Morning came early, and I was the first to wake up. Noah rose about an hour later,
followed by Steve. Noah and I had been in a good mood until Steve got up. The first thing he did was get himself a drink, then sat and started rambling about how he and his girlfriend had a fight last night. We waited patiently for him to finish for about two hours. Finally Noah got fed up that Steve would just not stop, and was being a drunken fool. Noah told me to wait outside, and I nodded my head without question. As I left the trailer, Steve’s girlfriend got out of bed, and sat near him, as if the night’s events were forgiven and forgotten.

I waited, leaning against the gross yellow trailer, at first it was quiet, but after a few minutes voices were being raised. Noah was telling him that we wanted to go out and do something, but Steve was telling Noah he only wanted to leave because he hated him. After another moment a scream came from the trailer and I heard a large crash, and glass breaking. A minute later Noah smashed through the door, storming through it. Rushing off towards the dock. I stood there and watched him disappear over the gentle slope, and then quickly went after him; but not quick enough. The autumn colored trees seemed to be rushing past me, although I was rushing past them. I didn’t expect to see what I did.

Noah was standing there at the end of the dock, I wanted to run and comfort him, although I heard him yell at me to stop where I was. My heart sank when I saw Noah standing there, a small handgun held firmly in his hand aimed at his temple. I thought frantically of what of what to do, but he spoke first, interrupting my panicked thoughts.
“Don’t move or I will shoot.” He warned me, shaking slightly. I stood my ground and would not dare to move, as I pleaded him to stop. Then everything grew oddly quiet, he was still standing there with the gun still to his temple. I just stood there helplessly, trembling violently. I wished that moment could have lasted for ever, tears started to run down his cheeks, as did mine. I felt and odd closeness to him that I could not explain, and he gave me one of those famous smiles, even if it was weak, and said just loud enough that it was audible to me,
“I love you.”

The next thing I remember was a shot from the gun that rumbled in the distance, and my legs seemed to automatically take me to the end of the dock. Screaming ‘No’ as the trees rushed past me. Noah’s body floated around in the chilled water, and I leaned over struggling to pull him out and onto the dock. Once I had accomplished this, I was soaked and freezing. All I did was clench onto this body - this corpse - whose soul was once so precious to me. Whatever could have been, was now lost. I lay there with his body for what seemed like forever, before my tears of sorrow slowly changed into rage and anger.


I finally left Noah on the dock, and ran towards the trailer as fast as my legs could take me. Stumbling and falling along the way, I was weak, cold and wet, and I felt like I could murder someone. As soon as I got into the trailer, and almost ripped the door of its hinges, seeing a drunken Steve watching television on the sofa. I immediately lunged at him. Cursing at him in a loud voice, and yelled things at him like, “look what you’ve done!” and “this is all your fault! Go get him!” I could feel my sharp finger nails puncturing his neck, as a warm red liquid stained my fingertips. Steve’s girlfriend heard
all the commotion and came in; she was startled and threw me off Steve, yelling at me to get out. Before I left I looked back at Steve, I will never forget the perplexed, and confused look on his face, as if my attack came out of nowhere.

*

I stumbled from Steve’s cottage back to my apartment building, it took along time but I made it. Then I told my foster parents the story. They listened, and then offered if to move away from this area. I willingly agreed running away from my problems, seemed like the perfect answer.

When I got into bed that night, I wondered if I had failed Noah, if I wasn’t good enough for him. Although I realized, he just needed another to love and care for him, one was just not enough. He needed a strong family bond; Tia was there, just not enough.

**

My foster parents and I moved to a small town about an hour away from the city after Noah’s funeral. Only Tia and I showed up, that didn’t matter to me though, I would have been happy to be there alone with my sorrows, and thoughts.

The new house was nice enough; better then that small apartment. It had a lazy homey feel to it that comforted me in an odd way. My days went by slowly at first, but things slowly got better. I released my pain and anger into poems and drawings.

After about a month and a half of living in the house, I came to the slow realization that I was pregnant. Waking up with morning sickness and such. At first the thought of having a baby was horrifying. Although it slowly dawned on me, that this was my only real close connection to Noah. All I really had was a few photographs and gifts from him. I decided I was keeping this baby, no matter what anyone did or said.

**

Eight months later I gave birth to a healthy baby boy, I was seventeen going on eighteen. I thought I should have called him Noah, but I refrained from doing so; I would have broke into tears every time I had to say my son’s name. Instead I called him Jase after my loving birth father that died when I was only six.


After Jase was born, I mailed Tia about the news of his birth. The letters I received back from her were friendly, and she said Steve had been sober since I left the city. At the time I didn’t care what Tia had to stay about her father, I had my opinion and that’s all I cared about. Eventually I got a letter from Tia, saying that Steve wanted to see Jase and I. I refused over and over again until I finally gave into Tia’s pleading letters; she thought I should really give Steve another chance. It only took her four years to convince me.

***

Jase was four when I took him back to the city, the place that held so many painful and wonderful memories alike. It had been almost five years since Noah had been put to rest, and I was now twenty-one.

Before I brought Jase to Steve’s house we stopped at the work of art on the side of the apartment building that Noah created which seemed like forever ago. The paint on the wall had chipped and wore off some, but it was still beautiful. I could have stood there all-day and mourned, if Jase wasn’t with me. So I told him, “Daddy did this,” after I said this he walked up to the wall and touched it gingerly. “Pretty.” He said with a smile, and all I could do was stand there smiling back, holding back tears.

I admit that I was nervous going to see Steve. In Tia’s letters she said he had been sober for almost five years, I personally didn’t believe it. When we reached his house he was waiting for us in the window. When he first noticed us he rushed to the door, and kindly invited us in. He looked clean, like the house, as if everything was done over. It was shocking really; I didn’t expect this much of a change. He invited me to sit on the sofa, and then he sat across from me in a chair. I felt a grim satisfaction as Jase sat on my lap, glancing at this ‘stranger’.

After an awkward moment Steve seemed like he had finally gathered up enough courage to talk.
“Sorry,” he said in an ashamed voice, “Sorry that it took Noah’s life for me to realize I needed help.” He went on to tell me about his recovery in rehab, and that’s why he missed Noah’s funeral. He also told me about how he’d go to schools to tell his story, and about how important it is to get help when you need it, before you seriously hurt someone or yourself. I actually felt happy for him. I didn’t come here having planned it, but I couldn’t control it. Then he spoke in a voice, as if he was trying to hold back tears.
“Because of Noah… I have cleaned up my act. Even though the pain of knowing that it is my fault that Noah is dead, stings. I can’t bring him back, no one can. But please. Please let me have a chance with Jase, I want to show you who I really am. I want to be part of your lives.” Then it hit me, Noah did love his father, and he just pushed him over the edge, and the build up of drunken abuse over the years. I gave
Steve a smile and looked to Jase and said, “Jase this is your Grandpa Steve.”

The End.

© 2006 Maggie M.