I grew up in foster care. My mother didn't want me. She made it abundantly clear, in no uncertain terms, that I was the devil spawn. I couldn't go live with my father because his 18 year old wife was convinced a boy belongs with his mother. Yeah, so that was not an option. My grandparents did not want me either. We're talking both sets; maternal and paternal. Thus, exhausting plans B through D, that only left child welfare services. I had two parents and four grandparents yet for all intents and purposes I was an orphan.
As a pseudo-orphan you might imagine I was an angry kid. You would be right. If you were psychic you might imagine I also had very big lips. On that front you would also be right. Now to be an angry pseudo-orphan with very big lips is definitely not a chicken or egg scenario. And in case you are saying to yourself, "How big could this fuckin' kid's lips have been," ponder no further for I will tell you just how big.
I am not talking about some garden variety Mick Jagger lips here. I am talking about some creepy National Enquirer fucking botox gone bad lips. Now when you are a kid who sports BALs you can bet the farm other kids will ridicule you for it. And if you happen to find yourself in foster care and shitty schools well then you can up that ante just about anytime big boss man.
And while kids never missed an opportunity to torment me I will tell you this straight up 9-5; they always regretted picking on my big ass lips.
Most of my wayward youth in the system went a little something like this. Get placed in shitty new foster family. Start shitty new school.
On first day of shitty new school arrive to class. Shitty new teacher introduces me to shitty new classmates.
At this point everyone in the class says, "Hi. Welcome. We're all gonna get along swimmingly and start a dick sucking train. And then we're all gonna eat homemade cookies my mom's baked and drink some ice cold refreshing lemonade!"
Yeah. right.
What actually transpires is this:
"GAWWWWWDDAMN-DAT-MUTHA-FUCK-AHHH GOT SOME HUUUUUUUUUUUUGE ASS LIPS!"
Class erupts in laughter. Teacher tries unsuccessfully to regain some modicum of control. I exploit the chaos to scan the shitty classroom. I am always on the hunt for the same thing. The biggest toughest mouth-breather who is enjoying my misfortune.
In my world schadenfreude comes at a price not unknown to induce sticker-shock.
I walk to my seat. I do not sit in it but rather lift it gently. I calmly approach my mouth-breathin' mark. They always give me the same look, the look that says, "What you gonna do boy?"
Inevitably, having their smarmy mugs bashed to a pulpy mass with a standard issue public school chair satisfies that query most definitively.
You don't wanna give the devil hell anymore than you wanna give me lip.
Rest of shitty first day at shitty new school would go like this:
Taken to some shitty adult's shitty office that may or may not have a shitty looking plant that may or may not need watering and may also have some shitty posters on the shitty wall that was usually painted a shitty green color.
Then they'd ask me the eternal question:
"Why'd you do it?"
I inevitably replied with the eternal answer:
"I saw my Mother's face."
Well that all changed when I was placed with Ignacio and Dawn Acevedo. They knew all about my situation and still took me into their family with open arms. And it was a real family. Not just a shuck and jive for the benefits. Ignacio owned his own business where he built custom motorcycles. Dawn also owned her own business placing private nurses and shit like that.
I knew things would be different right away because that very first day Dawn took one look at me and said, "Iggy those are the sexiest lips on a white boy I ever seen!" And then she kissed me right on them. It was the first time I had ever been kissed in my life. I still remember what the lipstick tasted like. I also remember blushing. That made Dawn laugh. I liked her laugh.
Iggy and Dawn had no kids and lived alone in a pretty cool house. They did have a lot of friends and every weekend was a non-stop party with Salsa music and lots of delicious food. For a while I wanted to not trust them. I wanted to hate them. But truth was I fell in love with both of them in a heartbeat. They made me feel safe and wanted.
The next few months were pure bliss except for one little problem.
I wouldn't eat my vegetables.
"Eat your vegetables," Dawn would say. "They're good for you."
Finally this became a bone of contention with Dawn. After a long heart to heart I finally confessed that my shitty mother used to beat me sideways for not eating my vegetables just about every single shitty night. When I finally worked up the nerve to tell my shitty father he just got angry and said, "Why don't you just eat your fuckin' vegetables?" That's when I swore to myself I would never eat vegetables again. Sometimes it's worth the pain.
When I was done telling my story Dawn simply raised one eyebrow and nodded her head; once.
Then she kissed me on the forehead and left the room.
After that little meeting of the minds there was no more talk of me eating my vegetables or how good they were for me. In fact, the next few weeks I distinctly remember thinking life was pretty fucking awesome. Iggy would take me for rides on his chopper and we would play games and watch TV and shit and he even taught me how to shoot pool and box. Dawn taught me how to salsa dance and chacha and assured me that by the time I finished growing up women would be fighting each other over me.
You can say I owe them a lot. You would then be guilty of perhaps the grossest understatement ever.
It was about four months later that child services reared their ugly heads, disrupting my newly found domestic bliss. It turned out that my grandfather on my mother's side was really my step-grandfather. It further turns out that my real grandfather had hated his wife and my shitty mother so much that he had moved away to Argentina before I was born. It also turns out that in Argentina he had struck it rich. And finally big grampy warbucks had done gone and bit the big one in a boating accident leaving everything to his first born grandson. I believe the exact figure was just south of fourteen million dollars.
Now it also turns out that my shitty mother had suddenly experienced a change of heart and wanted to be a "mother" to prince lippy once again. Unbeknownst to yours truly, the family that had pseudo-orphaned me had retained counsel, and after some legal maneuvering some shitty judge ordered that I would be moving back in with her the following Tuesday.
If you imagined that I was deeply distraught you would be right. My brain once again became a hotel for shitty black thoughts and you'd be hard-pressed to find a vacancy even if you were the second coming himself. If you further imagined that I immediately began a serious meditation upon the merits of murdering a bitch with a chair twice, you would, once again, be entirely correct.
However, as it turns out, the following Tuesday came and went without any shitty social workers, let alone my cunt of a mother, arriving to take me away from my new home with Iggy and Dawn. As I was sitting down to what young me believed was the "last supper" a rather odd exchange transpired.
"Why so down champ," Iggy asked.
"You know why," I said into my plate of macaroni.
"Iggy. We better tell him."
"Tell me what?"
"It seems your mother had an accident yesterday."
I looked up from my mac and cheese.
Iggy put an arm around my shoulders. Dawn pulled up a chair close to me.
"Your mother. Yeah.... Well..., she choked to death on a piece of broccoli baby."
Were they shitting me? That would be too cruel.
Dawn ruffled my hair.
"Fucked up, right?"
Iggy gave me a wink.
"Bitch shoulda never ate her vegetables I guess..."
After that Dawn never had trouble with me not eating my vegetables again.
Originally posted on r/nosleep under the pen name Krafto Matix.
