The Boy I Still Love | Teen Ink

The Boy I Still Love

October 27, 2021
By Anonymous

Author's note:

This story is coming from my 3rd grade perspective but finally put into words by my 8th grade self.

I know it’s been a while but I want to share my story. The truth. What I remember.

 This I believe, Vincent. 

To start off, everyone is going to have a time in their lives where you feel like the world is caving in on you, and only you. I didn’t know I would have to go through that pain in third grade.

He had hazel eyes, a warm smile, perfect golden curls, and a vivid imagination. I guess you could say he was like me in a way. We spent every moment together even in these complicated times. It was me and Vincent. Vincent and me.

One morning, Mom got off the phone and said we needed to have a family meeting at dinner. Why? We never have family meetings. This must be important. Later that evening, we all sat down at the dinning room table. The kitchen smelled of freshly cooked chicken and broccoli pasta. Ew, I hate broccoli. Who decided to mix vegetables with pasta? Madelaine, Mason, and I all sat down with confusion. Mom explained how she wanted to foster a little boy. Foster? I really like kids but that doesn’t mean I want another sibling. Madelaine and Mason didn’t think much of it. We have already fostered around ten kids before him so why did Mom need more? I remember her coming home to us one day, straight from the hospital with him in the new stroller she had just bought for him. He was just a newborn baby. I couldn’t have been more excited. And from that moment on, I wanted to be the best big sister ever. I layed with him when he was sad. I held his hand when he was scared. I loved him when they didn’t. I was his family even when I didn’t know it. After all, it would only be for two weeks. What’s the worst that could happen?

 Everyday we spent together. Everyday I cherished with him for the two weeks he would be staying with us. Two weeks? In my dreams. Mummy got phone calls all the time and constantly left the house with him. I didn’t know why. Two weeks turned into four weeks. Four weeks turned into six months. Then eventually, six months turned into three and a half years. Years? Why is this kid invading my life for three and a half years? Why can’t we go back to normal? I punch myself everyday for even thinking about those questions. I loved him, I really did. Sure we had our ups and downs, our highs and lows, but no matter what, it was me and him. Him and me. 

I don’t remember much, but the things I do, surely I'll never forget. I remember his first Christmas, he spent it with us. I remember when he called me “sissy” for the first time. I remember our secret handshake. I remember sitting in the car when he heard music for the first time. His favorite song was “Honey, I’m Good” by Andy Grammer. The only part he would sing was, “ah baby nah baby…” I remember it all. Every moment we spent together for the next three and a half years of our lives. I also remember things I want to forget. I can’t. No matter what I do, I just can’t.

It happened before our birthdays, March, and May.  The weather was getting a little nicer and the snow was starting to melt. He loved playing in the snow with me. 

We were a couple months away from adopting. I was looking forward to calling him my brother forever. I was ready to have a family of 6. I was ready to build another room in our house just for him. I was ready to be the best big sister he ever had. I was ready to adopt him. No, I guess that was all a fantasy. Mummy got a phone call, she wanted him back in a couple weeks. What? I was confused and filled with questions. Why? Why did she want him back? Why now? After three years of not wanting him? Mummy, Dad, and Vincent went to court the next week. It was true, he was going back to them. His real parents were going to get him back after all of years of wanting nothing to do with him. No, I’m his real family, not them. I took a bullet to the chest after hearing that. But I couldn’t do anything about it. I was crushed. As I lay on my bed, tears rolling down my face, I prayed he wouldn’t go. I prayed it was all a dream and how I would wake up soon, I was wrong. I couldn’t believe it. A fire built up inside of me and I couldn’t do anything to put it out. I was speechless.

A couple weeks later, the car pulled in.  The car that I never thought I would see. The car that would change my whole life forever.  I yelled at mummy. No, this can’t be happening!! “Don’t let him in that car!!” Those were my exact words. I stood there and watched the car slowly pull out of my driveway and leave with him. He was in the back looking out the window. I watched the tears fall down my parents' faces. Even my dad was in tears. I had never seen him cry before but this broke all of us. I was silent. And yet again, I was shot. But this time, right through my heart. I felt a pain that I never knew I would be feeling. I was in tears.  I was more upset than I had ever been in my life. My lungs were closing and I couldn’t handle anything. I ran inside and cried my heart out. I cried until there were no tears left in me. I didn’t think this would ever happen. Especially to me. He left faster than I knew, in a blink of an eye. I couldn’t believe it, I would never be able to see him ever again. Why? Why was this happening to me?  Why now? All of this was happening at the wrong time. 

I had to go to school right after he left but I couldn’t. I didn’t want the attention from everyone asking me what’s wrong.  I didn’t want to tell anyone anything.  I didn’t want to show my feelings.  I wanted to hide.  I wanted to follow the car that took him away and take him back.  I wanted to cry, but I was numb and out of tears. 

Mom dropped me off at school two hours late. I didn’t want to go at all but I didn’t want to be home. Throughout the entire day, the only questions I was asked were “What’s wrong?” and “Are you ok?” I fell into a black hole and wanted to escape but no one had the strength to pull me out. I couldn’t bear the thought of him right now. I just couldn't do anything. I kept my head down, and stayed silent. And felt numb. My teacher knew something was incredibly off with me. She gave me a blank book with thin pages and some colored pencils. I still have them both. She told me to write down how I felt. Instead, I drew all of my favorite memories with him. I wish the book had more pages. I could have drawn in that book for hours everyday. The pages are filled, and some notes and pictures are in there too. Everyday I took that book to school with me. The second someone tried to touch it, or look through those pages, I just broke. Why doesn’t anyone understand that this is personal? Those were my memories and the only things I had left of him so why can’t people just leave me alone?

Everyone knows I miss him, but no one knows how it feels. I felt trapped. I felt anger. I felt hopeless. I feel betrayed. 

The author's comments:

I'll never stop loving him.

I have her phone number. I always call it knowing that she changed it. I know why she did but that’s the only thing I have. Why does she have such a big problem with his sister trying to call? Is it because she doesn’t want him knowing she left? Or because she didn’t know how to love her own child? Maybe it was because she was afraid he wanted to meet us again. Afraid of rejection from him. Afraid it will mess everything up again. She’s a coward.

I have her address. I want to drive myself there when I'm sixteen. People have asked me, “where are you going when you get your license?” Truthfully, I’m going straight to his house where that car took him. Straight to the place where he was told he wouldn’t be seeing us ever again. How confused that 3 ½ year old must have been after having to leave his only known family. That breaks my heart.

I can’t type out my pain on a sheet of paper. I can’t try to explain. All I can do is write this. And all I can do is pray. Pray for him. Maybe he is doing well now. Maybe this was all for a purpose. Even if I don’t get the answers I’m looking for, maybe it’s for a good reason. Either way, that’s my story. The truth about what happened.



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