You say we're both little people..., TheRoost [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

Step One; Realization

Every day is the same boring thing. I wake up everyday to the same, nasal ring of my alarm clock, and then I rub my eyes, dreary from the terrible night's sleep I always get. Then I hear Brian, my baby brother, crying for his 5 am feeding. I snap out of the bad mood I have in the morning and rush to feed him, not wanting the wrath of my foster father. Don't get me wrong, my parents are alive and well...I just have no idea who they are, or where they are, or why I was dropped off at Jordan's Valley Hospital, four years old, clutching my new-born brother, Mike, who is now grown and lives in Tokyo with his wife and three kids.

Anyway, after I feed him, I change him and put him in an adorable thrift store find that doesn't put too much of a dent in my minimal checks. Then I put on a black skirt, a pink blouse (because it's Friday), black heels, and my hair in one of the weird pony-tail-bun type of deal. You know what I mean; you set up for a pony tail, grab some claw thing, and bang

: you got yourself an acceptable bun thing. So after that, I grab a granola bar and banana, my brown bag that has my crappy lunch I made the night before, and hop on the bus that takes me to an even smaller town than Fulcrum, Wyoming; Kingsley, Colorado, where I work as a secretary from 6 am to 2 pm, and then I work at the only coffee shop in Teasdale, Wyoming from 3 pm to 9 pm, and then I go home, put Brian to bed, and finally, finally sleep, only to be plagued with horrible nightmares.

Most people would find my 'nightmares' funny; because they were never scary. Ever. No evil clowns, or giant spiders, or an old teacher saying you will never graduate. No, I don't get those. Instead, I dream of what could happen if we went to the Dicken's instead of the Monroe's; of what would happen if Mrs. Monroe, god bless her saintly soul, had decided to leave my brother behind; or if he had died while I was waiting on the door step for three hours

, waiting for them to hear my desperate knocks. I dream of that, and it makes me feel more alone than I already am.

It took me reflecting all this, on a pearly Friday morning on the bus, with its tacky orange seats and yellow carpeting, with the sun just able to struggle over the mountains, to realize that my life sucked...major...basketballs. I mean, I am twenty four, making my 'dad' pay rent, and taking care of my other younger brother, who was brought home by him not three weeks before, claiming that the 'orphanage called saying that they got a positive DNA match from the baby to us,' so he took it for me

to raise. God damn him. And, well, maybe it's time I leave.

Step Two: Confrontation

So, after work, Brian is sleeping soundly. I begin to pack my bags, brushing my brown hair gently out of my way, grimacing as Brian's baby supplies clashes with my bathroom supplies for space. As I finally zip the bag, my door slams open and Brian cries, right on cue. Like I needed more distractions.

Now, as I told you before, my life is mundane and boring; but so is my foster-father's. He gets up, drinks a vodka-martini, goes to work, goes to the bar, gets drunk, gets a cab, and comes home by nine-thirty, promptly waking both myself and Brian up. Sometimes there's a confrontation, sometimes he passes out on the couch, and very rarely, he's sober and can think for himself. Tonight, to my dismay, he was sober. And he had been looking at me through the crack of my door, watching me pack. And then, the jerk, he throws open my door, causing Brian to cry, and screams at me, if you can believe it, "What the hell are you doing? Why are there baby supplies in that thing?"

Really? Can you not see, you big piece of turd?

"I'm leaving," I managed to say without sarcasm. "Tonight."

"Why?" He screamed, pounding the wall, his face scrunched up and sprouting a pulsing purple vein. "Are we not good enough for you?"

"Of course not," I said. "It's just time for me to go. I'm twenty four, and I have own life to live; you can keep the house."

His ruby red hair was balding, revealing a now purple face full of rage. His green eyes sparked with madness, and I remember I was thanking God that I had already packed everything else. As I gathered my bags, his fat arm grabbed my shoulder, giving me a painful squeeze. It took most of my will-power not to cry.

"May I remind you," he hissed, "that by law, you are mine?

"

"And may I remind you," I hissed back, breaking free of his grip and grabbing my ticket, "that I am a legal adult and can come and go as I please?"

His fist slammed the wall, making the foundation crack and Brian scream louder. "You are just one small person in a big world. It's a tough market, a tough life. Do you really think you can get along without me?"

I pushed him away, putting Brian in his sling, having a suitcase in each hand, a purse slouching lazily on my back, a briefcase strap over that, and my ticket in my purse. I headed for the door, my glasses slipping slightly from the tip of my nose.

"Samantha J. Monroe," my no-longer foster-father hissed, his breath a tickle on my cheek as the night air rushed into the house. "If you leave this house, don't expect me to let you back in."

It felt damn good to slam the door behind him.

Step Three: Trying To Go Somewhere

Bang. Pop. Zzzz. Bang. Pop. Zzzz.

That's all the sounds I hear on the stupid bus as the inky night flashes by the windows. Bang

; the little tunnel at the end of the bus explodes with all the built up gas. Pop

; some annoying guy my age keeps popping his gum behind me. Zzzz

; the lights blinking on and off at the ceiling, barley giving me enough light to double check my documents. After all, I still have work in a few days; my bosses gave me the 'All clear' to get out of my house and settle down somewhere.

Bang. Pop. Zzzz. Pop. Pop. Bang. Pop. Zzzz.

Gum boy is really going at it. I adjust my legs so I can make Brain and myself more comfortable. Only he can get some sleep on this god-foresaken bus.

"So," a male voice says, his voice right by my ear, the smell of bubblegum tickling my nose, "what's a girl like you doing on a bus like this?"

I turn around, finally getting a good look at him. He's not that bad looking; vivid red hair in a bed-head style, sparkling blue eyes that seem like endless pools, light brown freckles dotting his cheeks and nose, a wonderful smile as he smacks a wad of pink right in front of me. Okay, forget the smile, it's gross now, but otherwise not that bad.

"I don't know," I say, smiling as I close up the documents. "Why's a guy like you interested in little ol' me?"

"Fair enough," He smiles at me again as he puts his gum in a wrapper and tosses it in the small waste can at the front of the bus. The lights Zzzz

, but it's not so annoying now. Weird how annoying things vanish when a hot guy tries flirting with you. "You tell me your story if I tell you mine?"

I laughed, nearly waking Brian, but he falls asleep again by the next Bang

. "How about I tell you why I'm here if you tell me why your so interested?"

Now he was laughing, but much more softer...and kinder. I really had no pratice in this. "You first, sweet cheeks."

I sighed as he puts a new wad of gum into his mouth. "I finally realized that I have to live my

life, to follow my

dreams. And I want Brian to do the same."

The guy nodded. "I'm interested because I have never seen a single mother have so much crap with her."

I roll my eyes and smack his arm; nothing hard, just a love tap. "I am not

a single mother, even though I am single. This is my brother."

"Ah," he said, smiling at me now. God I love that smile. Pop. God I hate that gum. "So, where's the parents? Shouldn't they be taking care of him?"

"Heck yeah, if I knew who they were, where they lived, or what they were like. The orphanage found a positive DNA match to me, and since I am a legal adult, they sent him to me. My other brother is married happily in Asia, and my foster dad is really abusive. So, it's up to me. I'm the only real family he has left." I fight back the tears as one slides down my cheek.

The guy, the complete stranger, catches the tear and hugs

me. Okay, weird 'o meter is going off the charts.

"It's okay, you know," He whispers as he holds me, carefully patting my head. "I can empathize. I was abandoned too. Unlike you, though, my foster parents were awesome."

I laugh, pulling away from him. "Yeah, that always seems to be the case with me."

"Hey, if you need a place to stay, you can be my roomate." He gives me a wicked grin. "No rent needed."

"Really?"

"Really really. Do you have a job?"

I pause. "Yeah, two. One in Kingsley, Colorado, where I work as a secretary, and then I work at the only