Sand dollar Read online

  Thank you to my biggest fans… …my family. Love you!

  Part One Abandoned

  They hated me. They hated that I talked like a Texan. They hated what I had to say. They hated that I had to share their space. They hated everything that encompassed me. Their beady eyes condemned me into silence and scorned me with heated hatred that forced me to disappear. My life became muted grays in a world of vivid color. They broke me.

  They were my parents.

  -Cloe’s diary

  Chapter 1 CLOE’S BACK LEANED against the cold wall in the tiny gray room with no windows. Her knees were drawn up to her chest as she stared sightlessly while in deep thought. She hated this place. She had wasted so many hours in this grungy room, in the same position pondering the same thing: was it possible for a person to be an orphan if one was living with their biological parents? She always came to the same sad conclusion, it was impossible, but it was exactly how she felt. She was an unwanted orphan, an inconvenience to two parents who barely knew her and obviously didn’t want her.

  The only sound in the tiny room was the wind whistling through the poorly insulated walls. She squeezed her knees to her chest trying to suppress what little warmth she had.

  It was another sleepless night.

  She eyed the ill-fitted door hatefully. It had offered her no solace from the cold or what lay outside of it. She closed her eyes as another involuntary shiver racked her body.

  She had only lived with her parents for the two semesters of her junior year in high school, which was one semester longer than she thought they would last, and two semesters too long for her.

  She sifted slightly hoping to avoid the draft from the gust of wind whistling under the door. Her heart pounded frantically and her eyes sprang open when a thud intruded the silence in her room. Her body clinched painfully, the muscles in her neck strained and tense as she scanned the tiny room. It was a chip of plaster that had fallen on the floor. Her eyes immediately darted up the wall to the gaping hole in which the chip originated.

  Years of decay and neglect had caused bits and pieces to fall off the mold encrusted walls leaving a hodgepodge of random cracks and exposed brick. She could relate to that wall. She imagined it was a reflection of her inner soul. But instead of plaster, it was nuggets of her soul crumbling leaving exposed bone and nothingness. The wall’s decay must have taken years, but her soul had taken merely months as her parents ruthless picked it like a bothersome scab. It seemed they took pride when another piece was peeled back, slowly killing her spirit, her identity, with one crumble at a time.

  What she felt for parents went beyond hate and disgust. They were heartless creatures, barely human, but perversely, she wasn’t afraid of them. She was afraid of where she would go if they ceased to exist because she was out of options. Therefore, she didn’t ask questions and she didn’t talk. She made herself not exist in their eyes. If she was invisible to them then maybe she could ride out her senior year in Germany and leave to go to college anywhere else.

  That thought got her blood pumping and her body moving. Placing her palms on the soft tired mattress she hefted herself to a standing position and made her way to the pathetic excuse of a suitcase that stored her clothes.

  She pulled out a sweatshirt a neighbor had thrown away and squeezed into a pair of jeans she had nearly outgrown. Finally, she laced up the shoes that were a size too small. At least they were clean, she thought. She made sure everything she had was clean. It was her way of fighting the poverty they subjected her to. She’d be damned if she were poor AND dirty.

  Fully clothed, she stepped out of her tiny closet room into the living room bypassing the yellowed mirror. She never looked at herself. Her blonde wayward hair was always frizzy and her clothes never fit right, but it was her nondescript gray eyes that reflected emptiness that she avoided the most. They showed the lifeless shell she had become and that haunted her more than anything.

  Her body slowly relaxed when she realized her parents had left sometime in the night. She picked up her tattered backpack and opened the front door where a blast of freezing air slapped her face.

  It took everything to fight the urge to recoil back into the lukewarm apartment. She hugged her body to compress her body heat as she stepped forward firmly closing the door behind her and began the three-mile trek to the American school located on a military installation. She loathed snow, she loathed the cold, but neither compared to how much she loathed her school. She almost hated it as much as she hated her parents.

  When she arrived at the school half frozen, people chatted in the halls and signed each other’s yearbooks.

  Eyes downcast she moved to her locker, alone. She didn’t have friends, but it was okay. Friends were complicated and asked questions. She hated questions.

  She ignored her classmates as they walked around her never making eye contact. It was as if they looked at her, they would have to acknowledge her. But that, too, was okay, because if she didn’t exist then she couldn’t feel, and if she didn’t feel then her stomach wouldn’t hurt.

  As if on cue, a sharp pain stabbed her stomach. It felt as if ragged sharp rocks rolled around piercing her stomach lining. She imagined her stomach filled with blood from the cuts giving her the feeling of never really being hungry. When the pain hit and if it was possible, she would curl into a ball on the floor and beg for the pain to stop. When she couldn’t, she simply blanked out.

  The theory was if she thought nothing and spoke nothing it wouldn’t hurt as much. That is what she strived for. She spent her days at school as nothing, thinking nothing, being nothing.

  She glanced at the happily chatting crowd. Today was the last day of school and everyone was happy, except her.

  When the final bell rang, the people cleared out quickly and all was left was a trail of trash. She, however, stood at her locker cleaning the hoards of papers she had collected. One paper at a time, she neatly packed her backpack. She knew she should throw them out as they were inconsequential nothings but for some reason they were real and she didn’t want to discard them just yet. She had precious little left in this life and what was hers was important, even if was just notebook paper.

  She was stalling. Not because of the cold, although the thought of it made her never-quitethawed fingertips hurt, but because she had mixed feelings about going home.

  What was she going to do? How could she possibly be invisible to her parents if she didn’t have a place to go in country that she didn’t speak the language? Once school ended she wouldn’t have access to the military installation and everything she understood. She slid another sheet in her backpack when she felt someone watching her. She glanced up to the eyes of a disgruntled janitorial staff. He sent her a dirty look. Damn.

  Knowing she couldn’t procrastinate any longer she shoved what remained of her locker into her bag. The final shut of her locker door resounded off the empty walls in the empty school, in her empty soul.

  Even though it was cold outside, she purposely took the long way home, as she always did. She never knew when her parents were going to be in the apartment and the fear that they were there kept her out longer than necessary.

  As she meandered through the streets, a lovely fur-lined jacket displayed in the window caught her eye causing her to stop. She put her frozen hand up to the glass, closing her eyes briefly, imagining how it would feel on. It looked so warm. She dropped her hand and turned away. No need coveting something beyond her means. Besides the sun was beginning to set and she needed to get out of the cold.

  She walked faster as the coldness seeped deeper into her bones. Snow had saturated her canvas shoes and the bottom of her jeans. It was definitely time to return to the place she slept. It was not home.

  When she arrived at her pare
nt’s small apartment she noticed the door was left slightly ajar. At first she thought it odd but as she walked closer, panic began to strum through her. She knew she securely shut the door before she left and her parent’s car was gone. What if they had been robbed? What if they were still in there? Indecision kept her staring at the door until a large gust of wind pushed it further open. She stood frozen, unbelieving. She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t breathe. Sharp pains in stomach nearly made her fall to her knees.

  The backpack slid off her shoulder to the ground as she numbly walked into the apartment. Trash was strewn throughout but otherwise it was empty. She walked toward her two traveled-warn bags positioned in the center of the room with a note taped to one.

  She stared at them realizing her worst nightmare came true. She was abandoned once again. With shaking fingers she reached for the note, tears blurring her vision, her stomach turning, and her entire body began shaking. She had to wipe her sodden eyes before focusing on the hurriedly written scribble.

  It simply said:

  Had to go. A plane ticket to California is in the front pocket. Your aunt will pick you up at the airport.

  There wasn’t a signature or anything else. She turned the paper over, nothing. With trembling fingers she pulled the unzipped front pocket of the luggage and thanked God when she found a plane ticket to Los Angeles. Like the plaster on the wall, another piece fell inside her and she collapsed to the ground sobbing.

  I hurt. Most people would have begged for death, I begged for salvation.

  -—-Cloe’s Diary

  Chapter Two California The sting of his back of hand connecting with her cheek still burned hours later. She was shivering in the corner of the room watching her mother wearily.

  “Why do you have to be so stupid,” slurred her intoxicated mother. She pointed an unsteady finger at Cloe. “You ruined our lives, ya know? If I hadn’t gotten knocked up with you, life would’ve been cake.”

  Cloe didn’t say anything. She refused to speak to these monsters. Whenever she had opened her mouth her father slapped it shut anyway. Now he just slaps her for his amusement.

  “If it wasn’t for those tidy little social security checks the government sends us, your ass would have been gone long ago. We never wanted you, we still don’t.” Her mother took a swig of the beer in her hand weaving slightly. It was if all the insults made her thirsty.

  Her mother could have been beautiful at one time but cigarettes and life had taken all her beauty away leaving a wrinkled craven capsule.

  “You’re wasting your breath, darling,” Her father leaned against the opposite wall. His blue eyes were dulled from drink. His tattooed arms exposed under the dirty t-shirt. He disgusted her but it was the stale smoke the seemed to follow him around like a cloud that revolted her.

  “She’s dumber than that retard across the hall. It’s obvious that all that pot we smoked back in high school made our daughter stupid.”

  He took two steps closer leaning over until his face was mere inches from hers. She cradled her legs to her chest.

  “Why are you so dumb? Dumb-dumb?” He taunted. She tried to breath through her mouth but his unclean body assaulted her nose so she put her head down to her knees to repress the urge to gag. The movement must have offended him because he raised his hand unsteadily only giving her just enough time to tense and prepare for another blow. His hand swiped down slamming into the side of her skull. The force jolted her head into the wall. He laughed. She hated laughter.

  Her fists clinched. She wanted to retaliate. She wanted to beat him, but she didn’t know how, and she was afraid. She was always afraid. She stayed against the wall, the cold air from outside seeping into her bones until she shivered uncontrollably. She refused to move or to say anything. If she didn’t engage, they’d get bored. Her father was on the other side of the room fondling her mother. The shivers wracked her body but she didn’t move. She closed her eyes and willed herself to disappear. Please, she begged, please make me disappear.

  The icy floor burned through her clothes penetrating her skin but the stomach pain reverberating through her allowed her to ignore it. She had spent the night on the floor of the abandoned apartment clutching her stomach. The plane tickets had been for the next day and it was barely warmer in the apartment than it was outside. The bastards had turned off the gas heat along with the electricity before they left.

  It was useless to stay and before dawn she made her way outside, down the street, and to the train station. She used what little money she had to take the S-Bahn, Germany’s version of a subway, to the Airport. The warm terminal was littered with homeless people that she now had a new respect for.

  Taking the escalator to the main level of the airport, she walked listlessly through the gaping terminal corridors taking her time to locate her gate. Fatigue had set in and…

  Her stomach hurt.

  She knew she couldn’t roll in a ball, or scream, or anything that she wanted to do for fear they might not let her on the plane, so she endured. She shook with the will to stop the ache. It got worse. A thin veil of sweat covered her forehead as she noticed people watching her suspiciously, pulling their children closer to their bodies. They probably thought she was high on drugs or something.

  Finally, she located the correct gate, thankful there were plenty of seats, and sat. She drew her legs up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, trying hard not to rock but sometimes the pain in her stomach would stab her so violently it was the only thing she could due to stop the scream building in her throat. She put her head down compressing her eye sockets into her knees trying to relieve some of the pressure.

  Her thoughts came fast even though she tried not to think. The truth was she didn’t know if she had an aunt. No one ever mentioned one. She didn’t know if there was anyone waiting for her in California.

  Since her parents had unloaded her since she was an infant, they probably thought she was old enough to be on her own. The only comfort was she would finally get back to the stateside, not exactly Texas, but California was one step closer.

  Another stab of pain had her nearly falling from the chair. A tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped against her jeans.

  She was trying so hard to deal with the pain that when the flight attendant called all passengers to board the plane it jolted her. The sweat that had saturated her clothes left her cold and shivering. She hoped people would dismiss it as preflight jitters and not some contagious disease. She straightened and tried her best to look at least coherent when she presented her ticket to the attendant and walked down the skywalk. With her head down avoiding all eye contact she slid into her seat and promptly fell asleep.

  Whisperings, they were everywhere. She hated whispers. People always whispered around her. She moved closer to the closed door in the small bedroom. The cold bare wooden floor stung the bottom of her feet as she silently padded across the room. She needed to be careful not disturb the three other children sleeping in the double bed. She pressed her ear to the compressed hollow door.

  “I can’t afford another mouth to feed. I get assistance for the children but this girl is getting me nothing.” She recognized the masculine voice of Jed, her friend, Marie’s father.

  “Cloe helps around the house and takes care of the kids. Isn’t that enough?” Marie’s mother whispered quietly.

  “The right thing to do is call the state. She’s not our responsibility, besides we can’t afford her.”

  “Posh. You’re just afraid of the insane grandmother of hers.”

  “Call the state tomorrow. End of discussion.”

  Cole heard their footsteps walking closer. She ran to the make-shift bed on the floor and climbed under the covers. This had been her third home in three months. School was starting soon and if Marie’s family couldn’t keep her, she didn’t know where to go.

  It was morning. Marie’s mother, Ester, sat her down on the warn-out secondhand sofa. Her dark brown eyes gazed at Cloe with sympathy a
nd pain.

  “They’ll find you a foster home to stay in. I am sure they’ll be able to get you a bed and not so many children. It will be fine.”

  Cloe remained quiet. It was shocking, in a way, that she didn’t feel anything. It was as if all her emotion was gone. Dead. That was it exactly. It was if she was dead.

  The Texas sun beat down relentlessly by the Children’s Protective Service walked into the small 700 sq feet house. Before dusk she left the little town she had grown-up in never to return. They drove her to an office an hour away. When she walked into their building, she felt suffocated. The office was crammed with desks, papers, and people.

  Everything blurred around her. They didn’t look at her with sympathy or pity. They looked at her as another one. Another number.

  They tried to talk to her but she had nothing to say. They wanted so many answers. Answers she didn’t know. It was dark, late, and the workers looked tired. They put her into another car to another building.

  They arrived at a facility. It looked institutional. The long corridors of hallways haunted her. Each door she passed housed teenagers, all sizes, shapes, colors with the same empty expressionless eyes reflecting hers. She kept walking down the halls. All of sudden she was alone. She heard their whispers. She could feel their sneers but she couldn’t see them. Soon everything began to blur, the iridescent lights beat upon her reflecting off the whiteness of the hallway, blinding her. When was this walk going to end? She was tired, so tired. She heard more whispers. She wanted to scream, to scratch her ears. No more whispers. NO MORE!

  “Ma’am”

  Cloe eyes sprung open.

  “I am sorry ma’am but I didn’t want you to miss your supper.” She turned her head to the well-dressed flight attendant with overdone makeup.

  Cloe nodded. The lady put the tray in front of her. Even as her stomach hurt, she needed to eat. She didn’t know when the next opportunity to do so would come up again.

  After two flight changes in Atlanta and Chicago, time became incomprehensible. When the plane finally landed in Los Angeles, she remained in her seat not wanting to get off. Facing the future had become a problem since her grandfather died and all the events that had led up to Germany. Routine became a form of survival and change became her enemy. This was more unwelcomed change.