For Every Missing Shade

Entry 11

I woke up at 5:00 the next morning. I also woke up at four, twice at three, and once at midnight. This time I deemed it late enough to start my day, so I got up and took a shower. I couldn't shake the thought of her.

I didn't know what to think. The more she told me just showed me how much more I needed to figure out.

I wasn't sure of what else to do, so I started writing

I wrote about her, about me, about us. Every song I listened to had another word I wanted to say to her. Each story I wrote gave me a little more insight.

Only one thing remained in my mind through it all:

I need to see her again.

I tried to call her, but she didn't pick up. I left a voicemail that if I didn't hear back from her, I would be at her house in an hour. I wasn't sure if I should be candid or serious about it all. I didn't know if she wanted to talk to me about it or if she wanted me to figure it out on my own. Maybe she wanted to scare me off. Perhaps this whole situation was her trying to push me away, or maybe she wanted to know if I was serious about her. Either way, I wanted to see her.

She called me back when I was eating my lunch.

"Hello?" I said with a mouth full of panini.

"Hey."

"How's it going?" I asked.

"Fine. I'm a little more interested in how you're doing though."

"A little confused, a little overwhelmed, but I'm alright."

"I hope I didn't scare you, I really do. It's big stuff, but you deserve to know some of it. I'm glad you called."

"That's actually why I wanted to call you. I want to talk about it more."

"It doesn't really make for good conversation."

"Good conversation is hard to come by anyway with me."

She chuckled. "What do you want to do while we talk?"

"We can just drive. I'll pick you up in about fifteen minutes?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. See ya then."

I walked downstairs to see my parents in the kitchen talking. I wanted to thank them for what they did, but it felt odd to get the words out.

I walked into the room. "Hey, so Emma and I are going for a drive."

My dad spoke up. "That's great, how's everything going with her?"

My mom looked sympathetically at me after he asked like she was watching a dying puppy.

"Yeah, uh, I think we're doing better." I tried to ignore my mom's stare, but she was trying to pierce into my soul. I didn't like where this was going.

"Well honey," my mom started, "we're always here for you when you need it."

Barf.

"Yes," my dad agreed, "just a conversation away."

That was somehow worse.

All I could get out was, "yup," before I left to see Emma.

Her house was decorated for the holidays even though it was only mid-November, but Emma seemed proud of it as she walked out. She got into my car and I put it into reverse.

"So what do you wanna know?" the words were labored coming out of her mouth.

"I just want to talk about it. I don't want to be an idiot anymore."

"An idiot? I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you with that."

I laughed and the energy in the car started to become normal again "It's something my dad said. I talked to him about this whole situation, and he basically called me and everyone else an idiot... well, except for you."

"Man, your dad sounds like the type of man I need to start surrounding myself with. I should just date him instead."

"Ugh. I knew that you'd find someone else. I guess it was only time."

She started to settle into the car like she used to. "Okay, let's just rip off the bandaid." She took a deep breath, "yes, I was in foster care."

"You don't have to share it if you don't want to," I quickly interjected. "It's not my story to tell."

"No, it's fine. I've lived with my story for this long and I should get more used to telling it. Maybe one day I'll get on Oprah or something."

"Okay just tell me when I go over the line."

"Sounds good. So basically, my dad left my mom when I was too young to remember. I don't know when, but it was soon after my birth. After that, my mom really had no way to feed or clothe me because my dad had the only job that actually paid for anything. I don't know where she worked, some part-time gig."

"When did you get moved to foster care?"

"Before I was in kindergarten. Around four years old. I got put into a group home with about eight other girls in the wonderful state of Arizona."

"What was it like being in foster care?"

"Just imagine what it would be like to have to convince people to become the parents you don't have. There was no hope for me to be put back into my mom's care because of everything, so I had to search for new parents. It was weird. I watched kids come in and out of my foster home, getting picked up while I stayed behind. Most kids only stay in foster care for a couple of years, but I stayed for almost ten. It made it hard to find any real friends."

"Do you still keep up with any of them?"

"Most of us are friends on social media and some of us call every once in a while. It's just hard, though, because most of them still live in Arizona.

"When did you find the McKenzies?"

"About three years ago. I honestly don't think they would have adopted me if they didn't feel bad for how old I was. I'm happy here, though, and my parents are amazing. It makes me wonder if all of this was worth it - all the pain for this great result. I moved in with them in Phoenix and then we moved to Saint Louis a couple of months ago."

"And then you met me!" I said cheerfully, trying to break the tension.

"Yes, then I met you. That's when it went to shit again," she deadpanned.

"Look, I know that I messed up, and this is way over my head. I want to be with you, though, and I meant every word of my letter and everything said last night."

She cracked a smile but didn't say anything back. She just held my hand that rested over the gear shift, and we drove for a little while longer.

Not talking,

not listening,

not caring.

Just existing in our own reality, above everyone else.