𝘾𝙍𝘼𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙊 𝙔𝙊𝙐 ↣ 𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉

EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU

The thing about talking to the boys, telling all the things I could manage saying out loud, was that it really got me thinking.

Thinking about who I could have been.

My mother named me McKenna. It was a soft name, a name of a girl taken care of.

The nickname Kenni was given to me by somebody. I don't know who. It never mattered to me, it was just what people had called me my whole life.

But Mickey fit much better.

I tossed thoughts like this around in my head instead of sleeping. It was almost five in the morning, too early to try to fall asleep.

All I had to do was think.

As it often did, my mind wandered back to the letter sitting in the old book bag in my closet, untouched.

It hurt to even look at it, honestly.

But, the more I thought about it, the more I got desperate for answers.

I'd met the woman who abandoned me.

My mother.

I met her and she was kind to me.

I laid there, eyes closed, thinking so hard about a night when I was fourteen that I could almost see it.

-

That night, like most others, I had to go back to the orphanage. Lizzie was driving her mom's red sedan, since she had her permit. Her mom was sitting in the passenger seat and I was looking out the drivers side window, watching houses roll by.

I thought about being almost fifteen.

Fifteen, huh?

As we drove, I tried to recall previous birthdays.

When I turned fourteen, I was with Lizzie. Her mom baked me a cake and I stayed at her house for 2 days, the entire 24 hour span of my birthday.

Thirteen, I spent in James' basement. Cold, hungry.

Twelve, I was somewhere with someone. I had no more details than that. The day I don't remember but when I learned the date after leaving human trafficking, I realized I was a year older.

Eleven, I was in the foster home. Mr. Hart wouldn't let me go to Liz's house, I remembered, and I was spiteful.

Ten, I was at Lizzie's. Mr. Lancaster bought me a bike.

Nine, at a man named Ryan's house. He gave me a shirt that said daddy's girl and a cupcake I couldn't stomach.

Eight, I was with Lizzie again. It was the last day the Zoo was open so her parents loaded us and her older brother Nathan into the car and brought us. Nate was six or seven years older than us.

Seven, I couldn't remember.

Six, either.

Five, I could recall, being hit so hard I lost a baby tooth.

Four, in that awful closet.

Three, two, one, who can remember those, anyways?

The day I was born. I often wondered about that. I had taken care of plenty of orphaned babies at the orphanage I stayed in. I taught them their colors and how to wave. That wasn't my place. I wondered what made my mother give up her place to see those miracles.

There was a letter in my dresser that probably had the answer to that question, but I could never quite get myself to open it. Not even a rip in the envelope.