My name is Sarah Bonnefoy, and I am twelve years old. For two years straight I had been moved between orphanages until I finally ended up at Jones Orphanage, in a town I didn’t know. I was five by then, my last name was ‘Oak’. The orphanage was girls only, so there were no boys to stare at my awkwardly alreddy-developing chest.
I’d met another girl with my problem and we became friend on my first day. Her name was Jezabel Canton. No one else seemed interested in being our friends, but that was okay. Jezabel taught me to braid hair, and she painted my nails a pretty pink. That was on my second day.
My third day landed upon a Thursday, and all the girls seamed so excited. I was confused at first, but Jezabel excitedly told me to wait. She helped me get my training bra on, slip on a nice red blouse and comb my hair. Then she helped tie my shoes—something I never learned— and sat with me in the play room with ten other girls.
The man who walked in was rather tall, but not so tall that he had to bend to get through the door way. He had long shoulder-length blond hair and pretty blue eyes. He wore dark colored blue-jeans, black boots that went up to his knees, a purple t-shirt with long sleeves and a matching cape.
All the girls went crazy, screaming excitedly and rushing to hug him. But Jez stayed calm, holding my hand as we sat on the large couch. When the crowd died down she helped me to my feet and tugged me over to the man.
“Hello Mr. Francis!” She giggled. He looked down and a wide grin spread across his face.
“Bonjour Jezabel!” I wasn’t sure what language he was using, but I thought it was French, maybe German.
“Mr. Francis, this is Sarah, she came here two days ago!” She pulled me forward so I stood in front of the tall me, and I had to crane my neck to look up at him. “Say hello Sarah.” Jezabel requested.
“Hello Mr.” I said quietly. He let out a strange sounding laugh before bending over to pick me up. This had happened many times, so I didn’t struggle or flinch. But all the people who pick me up are usually short ladies, so the height difference kinda scared me at first.
“Well aren’t you just so cute. My name is Francis Bonnefoy. Your name is Sara Oui, or was Jezabel lying to me again.” Jezabel giggled from below us.
“Yes, Sarah Oak.” I remember messing up on my pronunciation of my name saying ‘Stare-a’ instead of ‘Sare-a’.
He didn’t make fun of it though, just like Jez. Others would laugh their butts off. He simply nodded.
“Well, Sarah today is a special day. The day I come and play with zhe little ones for a few hours.” He smiled and I found myself smiling back. He set me down and Jezabel grabbed my hand. Francis sat onto the ground and the little girls came back, some carrying make-up kits or hair-ties.
They spent hours making Mr. Francis look ridiculous—one girl smeared lip-stick across his four-head instead of his lips—, and some playing with his hair, others painting his nails different shaded of pink purple and blue. Then as the crowd died again, and Mr. Francis had wiped off most of the excess make up, he motioned me over.
I waddled/walked over to him and he sat me in his lap, my back facing him. And to my surprise he began to braid my hair. He’d alreddy braided some of the other girls hair, and it felt nice. Jezabel sat cross-legged in front of us and took my hand. She began to re-paint my alreddy chipping nail polish.
“Mr. Francis taught most of us here how to braid hair.” She said, then smiled over my shoulder to what I guessed was a smiling Mr. Francis. “He comes here every Monday and Thursday and sometimes on Sunday to pray with Linda, Sally and Carrie.” She began to blow onto my nails, and the wind tickled my fingers causing me to giggle. Mr. Francis finished off the brain and just sat there with me in his lap and Jez painted my nails.
I couldn’t say I wasn’t sad when he left—today was a lot of fun. But just as Jez said, he came every Monday and Thursday. Days turned to months, and then those months turned into years. This was the first orphanage I’d stayed at for three years. Three long years—and I was alreddy wearing sports bras like Jez. It was on my eighth birthday that Francis gave me the best birthday present. He gave me a real family.
On November Tenth, Francis Bonnefoy adopted me, Sarah Oak, and Jezabel Canton (Who was nine). I had a family—even had ‘uncles’ named Antonio and Gilbert. I met Antonio’s cousins Feliciano and Lovino, and Gilbert introduced me to his brother Ludwig who introduced me to Kiku—whose personal space I respect—, and then he introduced me to his half-brother Yao, who introduced me to a man named Ivan, and then I met Arthur Kirkland and his wife Yazzy and their child Matthew (Who was my age). And then Arthur introduced me to his half-brother Alfred and his wife Kennedy and their child Izabel.
I had a family now—it’s strange, and it’s large, and it can be crazy and loud and stupid. But it’s mine. I have a sister, I have a father, and I have a soon-to-be mother named Jazzy.
Everything was perfect. And it all began with the strange blond Frenchman who visited orphanages just to cheer up little kids. And he still dose—with my help, and my sister’s help.
My family isn’t perfect. But it's mine. And I will never let go.
