Living With Boys

Family dinner

Apparently normal families, or families pretending to be normal can't quite tell yet, eat dinner all together and talk about their days which includes me.

So when I went up to eat I was surprised by two things. One that we were eating order in greasy pizza, this did not seem like family to do that. Two that we were supposed to all eat at the table and talk about our feelings and lives.

At first I tuned them out nibbling on a piece of pizza, but eventually it came around to me. They all wanted to know about me and where I came from and why I was in foster care, this time.

I tried to keep the answers simple, parents were druggies, I grew up on the road, things like that. But then little Even asked something that set me off. He asked if I was like my parents.

Hereing the question I couldn't help but draw similaritys between me and them. But I couldn't be like that, I would NEVER be like them. Without answering the question I picked up my plate which still had a few pieces of pizza on it and walked downstairs to the basement. Leaving behind me a group of gaping boys and scolding parents yelling at Even.

I sat on the bed and ate the pizza I had brought down with me. Though once I finished I finally reacted. I threw the plate against the wall causing it to shatter, although they probably didn't here it over my scream. I laid down letting tears stream down my face as I clutched my broken wrist to my chest.