Fool's gold

The sun had painted gold across the yard like Midas. It reflected off the pavement, the marble, the gravel, and even our skin. I held his hand, trying to be brave for him, and for myself. His sister was sobbing in the doorway. He turned, his little face solemn, and slipped his hand from mine.

"Don't cry, 'ranna. Everything will be alright." I heard him whisper as he patted her arm. My ribs seemed to tighten around my heart and lungs. What kind of world was this, that a four year old boy had learned to use those same, futile, haunted words adults so often uttered? My eyes burned. I forced myself to move, despite how I seemed rooted to the ground.

"I love you two. I always will." I whispered to them, pulling them both against my chest and holding them. It was all I could think of to say, the only comfort I had to offer. The last of the boxes were being loaded into the back of the white truck. The place behind my sternum, where my heart used to be, began to ache like a black hole in space... trying to pull me in from the inside out.

Despite his words of comfort, Jude didn't seem to have the same desperate understanding his siblings did. John had been acting up since Friday, when That woman-- I couldn't even think her name without a thrill of hatred burning down my spine-- had given us the news. Miranda hadn't stopped crying. Neither had I, for that matter, but I did my best to hide my tears from them. I wanted to make this as easy as I could for them... a small effort, considering we all knew the truth. They were being ripped from our arms, the only real family they had ever known.

"Okay, that's it." She sounded so cheerful, damn her. I wanted to punch her, scream at her, ask her why she did what she did. Instead, I squeezed them one last time.

"I'll be here, even if we have to wait until you're eighteen for you to come back." I promised Miranda, letting my arms fall to my sides.  She, all of seven years old, trudged toward the truck with her baby brother by her side. Steven hugged John one last time before he too climbed into the truck. They began to cry in earnest now, wrenching what was left of my heart out of my chest.

"I don't want to go." Miranda wailed. Jude echoed her plaintive cry, his pleas squeezing the light from my soul. I wanted nothing, nothing more than to seize them both and run as fast and as far as I could. Where, though? What could I offer them? Where could I go? As much as I hated it, I knew the new foster home would give them more than I could if I took them with me. I was only twenty-one, not yet graduated from college and with only a part time job.

"Time to go." The "case worker" smiled despite their tears. I knew then, really, truly understood, what hate was.

I hated the system. I hated DES, the very people we had once believed in. The very people we had joined to help. Was this really any better than the orphan trains of old? The orphanages? They inflicted just as much emotional pain, if less physical.

These were the people the nation trusted to look after their children.

How wrong, how terribly wrong they were.