Vacant Chapter 1 Alone

I grew up in a beautiful house in a lower-class neighborhood, just my dad and me. My ancient man worked a blue-collar job with shit benefits. I cant kvetch too oft though, because I never went hungry and always had a roof over my head.No, my dad didnt hug me either night or read bed epoch stories by the glow of a nightlight, yet he cater me, clothed me, and didnt knock me around. Thats more than any(prenominal) of my friends had, so I was grateful. I hadnt known then, growing up, that in that respect was anything more in liveliness to want.I was fifteen when my father left just after dinner to corrupt a pack of cigargonttes. He never came home.My dad was spear in a convenience store parking lot after he gave the wrong guy the wrong look. He walked down to invite both(prenominal) smokes and didnt take his wallet, just five bucks for the cheapest pack he could get. He was shot at point-blank range, no cigarettes or money found on his person.He was listed as a John Doe at the morgue. at that place was no burial and no identity when he moved from this support to the following.I was on my own for a week before anyone realise I was alone. I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut, to get up and go to school every day while. I figured I had at least three or four months before a bill collector came knocking, but the nosy bitch across the driveway hadnt seen the old man in a week and was worried.Thats when I began my life in the system. Its non similar on TV when youre an orphan in an after school special, they ship your ass off to a coitus and everyone lives happily ever after. In real life, though, if you dont render family that wants you or family at all, you become a ward of the evince. Sure, they strike foster homes and pretend families that some(a) kids get to live with, but there are a shit-ton of stateless kids and few foster families available. Many foster parents are in it for the money, so they arent exactly the best option, either . Typically, youre stuck in a group home with other kids in the same messed up situation as you and a revolving doorstep of caregivers. However, I had a bed to sleep in, clothes on my back, and I was not a victim of abuse. It wasnt all that different from living with my dad.At eighteen, Childrens Services kicked my ass out. there were lots of kids to take care of and not a lot of money. Luckily, Id gotten a job at a market store as a bag boy at sixteen and began saving. I wasnt stupid or naive enough to think the state was going to take care of me forever. I was fortunate enough to switch graduated from high school before I got the boot some kids had to worry or so finishing school in addition to cosmos homeless. My father told me many times I couldnt depend on anyone but myself, and I never realized how right he was before the day I was truly on my own.With my savings in hand and a promotion to stock-boy, I got my first place. It was the cheapest place I could find in a neig hborhood without bars on the windows. It was small and dirty, but it was mine. There werent gunshots whizzing by my windows or the sounds of screaming every night, so I wasnt about to look a gift horse in the mouth.My life hasnt changed much in the past three years. I get up every morning, walk to the grocery store, clock in, work a ten instant shift, clock out, come home, mind my own business, and do it again the next day.I dont have friends because they create lots of complications and drama. I spend my time at work smiling at the customers and doing my job. Co-workers ask me out from time to time, but the truth is I dont have extra money to have a few beers with the guys or take a girl on a date. Im always careful with my rejection. Theres no sense in nuisance anyones feelings when its not necessary. Plus, it would lead to questions Im not willing to answer.Im sitting alone at my thrift store kitchen table, staring down at a day-old cookie. Its my twenty-first birthday today. I dont have any plans, and there are no cards in my mailbox. Im having dessert for breakfast, a treat to myself, and Im glad for what little I have.Its sad as hell, but I dont have any candles so I light a match and drum it in the middle of the damn cookie. I dont even make a wish before I blow out the tiny irrupt so it doesnt burn down and ruin my treat.No sooner than the flames gone out, theres a knock at my door. I look at my dollar bill store wall clock and see its only nine. I cant estimate who would be at my door this early on a Saturday morning. just about of my neighbors sleep in after a late Friday night.Even though Im twenty-one, I tend to think of myself as more mature than almost people my age, so when I open the door and see a girl, petite and fragile in appearance, I automatically think shes young. She may even be my age, maybe younger, but my experience makes me feel like Im over thirty, so she seems like a girl to me.Shes standing there smiling as if she does nt have a care in the world, patently not knowing people around here dont smile. I mates at her through the ripped screen of my front door as the warmness and humidity of the day filters in.Hey, whats up? Im Emily. I just moved in next door.