Another Place Another Time

by Katherine Han (10)

I was back there again. On that old-fashioned pump car. Except this car didn’t have a pump — just a white sail connected to the front. It was sitting on the railroad, in the middle of a long strip of land surrounded by water. I was sitting on the edge of my seat in the car with my backpack. There were three other people in the car with me, another boy and an old couple. The other boy was holding the strings that were connected to the sail. I assumed he was the driver.

“Where is this car heading?” I asked the boy, just like I did every night. My voice sounded like a faint echo.

“Another place, another time,” he responded in a gravelly voice.

Suddenly, a loud screeching arose in the distance. It shook the whole car, and I hung on for dear life. I squeezed my eyes shut.

This is where I wake up...this is where I wake up.

I felt myself slip and tumble towards the water. I screamed. *

My eyes opened and I bolted up in my bed. Cold sweat ran down my forehead.

“TRAVIS MORGAN! GET YOUR BUTT OUT OF BED RIGHT NOW!” my mother yelled at me from downstairs.

“AND TURN THAT AWFUL SOUND OFF!” my father added.

I reached my hand over to the screeching noise and smacked my alarm clock. The clock face read 7:15 a.m., Monday. I groaned and fell back into my pillow. It was time to go back to the hell they called school. It took me a good five minutes to find the motivation to get out of bed. As usual, my outfit for the day was folded neatly at the foot of my bed. I quickly got dressed and ran down the stairs with my backpack swung over my right shoulder. When I reached the door to the kitchen, I could hear my parents arguing inside.

“This is all your fault. You raised him to be a lazy airhead, just like you!” my mother screeched.

“MY FAULT?” A loud shushing. “My fault?” my father said again in a softer voice.

I sighed and put on my noise canceling headphones; I tried to remember the last time I had used my headphones to listen to music. Gently, I knocked my knuckles against the pale door three times.

“Shut up! Shut up!” my mother said to my father in a sharp voice.

The door swung open in my face and my father stormed out. The daily paper was rolled up in his hand.

“Morning, Dad,” I mumbled. He turned to me and smacked my back with the newspaper. I felt a sting shoot up my spine.

“Stop slouching,” he chastised me, then walked off to sulk in a corner.

I took a deep breath, straightened my posture, and headed into the kitchen. I made a beeline for the table, hoping that my mother wouldn’t stop me. I didn’t want to have to deal with two helpings of scolding that morning. But, since this is my life, I had no chance of that.

I heard my mother before I saw her. Her black high-heels made loud clicking noises against the kitchen floor. I kept my eyes focused on my bowl of cereal.

Stay calm, stay calm.

I stirred my spoon around and around the pool of milk in my bowl. A loud whack, and suddenly, my headphones were in my mother’s hands.

“What is this?” she hissed at me.

I gulped. “They’re headphones,” I answered plainly.

She put them on. “You can’t hear anything through these!”

She yanked them off, and with a large crank of her arm, my mother threw my only hope at peace across the kitchen. One side broke clean off. I bolted out of my chair.

“Mother! Uncle John gave me those!” I yelled, my voice shaking.

Mother shook her finger at me.

“I didn’t spend weeks of my precious time trying to get you out of foster care just so you could disrespect me like this!”

“But…” I protested.

She gave me a look that shut me up.

“Classic teenager! Classic!” my mother exclaimed, throwing her hands up in defeat. “Always trying to make the parents look like the bad guys! KEN! YOU’VE SPOILED THIS KID ROTTEN! HE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT RESPECT!” She stalked off, probably to yell at Dad again.

I ran my fingers through my dirty blond hair to try to calm my nerves. Slowly, I sat back down in my chair and poured all of my attention into my bowl of cinnamon Chex.

Stay strong, stay strong. *

Stay strong, stay strong. I repeated to myself as the bullies pushed me to the concrete floor.

My hands hit the ground first, the pebbles massaging themselves into the heels of my palms, and my body followed. The bruises from the last school day still ached. The bullies threw back their heads and laughed.

“Get up, Morgan! Get your lazy butt off the floor,” the Tall One mocked.

I kept my head lowered and my gaze fixed on the ground by my hand. The Tall One smacked the back of my head with a giant sweep of his hand.

“Are you deaf?” He laughed.

I didn’t respond. I could feel his breathing down the back of my neck.

“Hey!” he yelled. The Tall One leaned down to my ear-level, “Are you deaf?” he whispered in an eerie voice.

I felt my ears tingle, and I turned my head away. The Tall One stood back up and laughed, the rest of his pack laughed with him.

Stay strong, stay strong.

“Let’s go boys, Morgan is throwing a hissy fit,” the Tall One said.

Then, he leaned in and grabbed my two bucks out of my back jean pocket.

“I’ll take that,” he growled into my ear.

I waited until their footsteps could no longer be heard before I lifted my head. A flash of a head of short blond hair in front of me caught my attention. I looked up and my eyes met a friendly face.

“Oh my goodness! Travis, are you okay?” Shelby exclaimed, extending a hand to pull me up.

“I’m fine, they didn’t do their worst,” I mumbled.

“They shouldn’t do this at all,” she huffed, running her fingers through her hair.

A lock of blond hair came out with her fingers. Shelby sighed and threw the hair into a trash can.

“Every day I lose more and more hair...I don’t get why this keeps happening,” she mumbled, adjusting her pink glasses that were way too big for her small face.

Then, turning back to me, she said, “I’m guessing they took your lunch money again.”

I sighed, “Yeah.”

Shelby smiled, “No worries, I had my mom pack me an extra sandwich just for you! No crust, too!”

I laughed, “Thanks Shelb, I owe you one.”

“Actually, you owe me like…a hundred, but one is good,” Shelby said, giving me a wink.

I laughed and started walking to class, but Shelby stopped me.

“Hey, Travis. Stay strong.” *

I was back there again. On that old-fashioned pump car. But, this time, I wasn’t me. I was in the body of an older man. My hair had streaks of gray, and my sweater reeked of fish oil. The car rocked slightly, and I looked up. My eyes met…my eyes. I was face-to-face with myself. I quickly looked away and stared at the driver instead.

“Um, excuse me,” I said to

by Rosaline Qi (12)

the driver. My voice sounded like a bass drum. “Do you know why that young boy over there is on this car?” I pointed to Me.

The driver looked at Me over his shoulder.

“He’s heading somewhere far, far away. If there was an answer, he’d find it there.”

Suddenly, the car started rocking rapidly. I already knew what was going to happen, so I just cut out the middleman and jumped off the car myself. I dived into the cold abyss, and I felt my body evaporate into bubbles.

When I opened my eyes, I fully expected to be back in my room. Yet, I found myself in a familiar room. The walls were painted a light lilac color; there was a bed, a nightstand, and one window. The view outside looked dreary. Suddenly, the door to the room creaked open and in ran...Me. I was dressed in a daffodil t-shirt and tan shorts. My hair was tucked under a baseball cap.

“Travis! Get down here before I come up there and drag you down here myself!” a loud voice hollered from outside the door.

I took in a sharp breath. The memory hit me like a train.

This was my foster home.

I looked around the room. As I started remembering each part of the room, I started feeling the bile build up in my throat.

I need to leave.

“Travis Morgan! I’m coming up there!” The voice yelled again. Leave, now, now!

“Don’t make me get out the belt!”

NOW! *

My eyes jerked open and I sat up abruptly in my bed. I quickly slapped my alarm off before it had the chance to start screeching. My hands shot to my stomach, and I resisted the urge to throw up. Slowly, I inched one of my hands up my back. My fingers came in contact with one of my scars given to me by my foster parents. A cold tremble shot up my spine and I drew my hand away.

I lived in a foster home for the majority of my life. My foster parents were abusive, but I was always too scared to tell anyone. When my biological parents came to take me home, I was so happy. I never wanted to return to foster care ever again. The memories from that place scarred me worse than the marks on my back. Despite the way my biological parents were, I stuck with them. They were my family, after all, and family comes before anything. We just had to stay strong.

After a while of debating if I should get out of bed, I finally decided to head downstairs. I was surprised that both of my parents had remained silent that whole time.

Maybe they’re still asleep? Maybe…

I walked down the stairs very slowly. Every creak of the stairs made me cringe. The silence in the house scared me. I walked up to the door of the kitchen and knocked three times. The door slammed into my face and I flew backwards.

“Ow,” I mumbled.

My vision felt blurry for a few seconds, but I quickly recovered. When I was finally able to see clearly again, I saw a giant, blue suitcase sitting in front of me. I looked up and came in eye contact with my father.

“Are you going somewhere?” I asked, tentatively.

“Away. Far, far, away,” he replied, grumbling.

“Oh...okay. When are you coming back?”

“Never.”

Father grabbed the handle of the suitcase and stalked out the front door. He slammed the door shut behind him. In that small fraction of a moment, I heard a quiet, distant noise.

Is that...crying?

I rushed inside the kitchen. Mother was sitting at the table, her hair a mess, and her head buried in her arms. She was crying. Never before have I seen my mother looking so defeated and weak. I almost didn’t recognize her.

“Mother?” I asked, my voice coming out in a squeak.

Her head shot up, and I recognized that dead look she gave me.

“What do you want!” she yelled.

“What happened?”

Mother’s hand instantly covered the sheet of paper in front of her. I was able to catch a glimpse of the content before she covered it.

“Are you and Father...getting a divorce?”

“This is none of your business!” Mother screamed at me.

“I’m your son!” I protested. This time, I wasn’t going to back down.

“Not anymore!” Mother retorted.

Shocked, I took a step back.

“What...do you mean?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“You’re going back to your old foster parents,” Mother replied, plainly. “From now on, you’re their problem. Not mine!”

Her words hit me like a bullet through the head. I felt a sudden rush of dizziness smacking my body at full force. My hand clutched the table to keep from falling over. I fell to my knees.

“Please! Please don’t make me go back there!” I begged.

Mother gave me the look again, but I wasn’t going to shut up.

“Mother, you can’t put me back there!”

“I’M NOT YOUR MOTHER!” she yelled.

I shut up.

Mother gently massaged her temples.

“Get out of my sight,” she spoke in the softest voice I had ever heard her use.

When my legs were able to move again, I bolted up and ran upstairs. I threw myself onto my bed and wept. All of the memories from my foster home came flowing back like a river. The belt...the punches...the scars... the bruises. I couldn’t go back there. I refused to go back there.

Suddenly, it was as if a lightning bolt had struck me. My tears dried up, and I felt a weird kind of confidence returning to my body. I would run away. I would pack up my stuff, and run away. I couldn’t face my problem, so I had to escape it. But before I could leave this place for good, there was one last thing I had to take care of. A debt that I had to repay. *

I knew exactly where Mother kept all of her money. She always kept it in the safe on top of the fridge. I knew the code too. So, I grabbed ten dollars from the safe and I was on my way.

The sandwich shop always opened at 8:00 a.m. Getting there at 8:00 a.m. would mean I would get the freshest sandwiches they had. I got there right in time. The owner had just opened up for business.

“Can I have five of your classic sandwiches to go, please? And no crust,” I said to the owner while handing him the ten dollars.

I knew it wasn’t practical to buy Shelby one hundred sandwiches, so I went with a more reasonable number. I could already see her excited face when I would give her those sandwiches. She would probably smile so brightly that her oversized, pink glasses would almost fall off her nose. The owner packed up five sandwiches in a paper bag and sent me on my way. When I turned around to leave, I found myself face to face with the one person I dreaded the most.

“Fancy finding you here, Morgan,” the Tall One said. His little chorus of obedient followers watched on from behind him. I ignored the Tall One and his crew and just walked out of the store. They chased after me.

“Woah there, Morgan! We just want to have a little fun!” he taunted.

I kept walking.

“Hey! What do you have in the bag there!”

The Tall One grabbed the paper bag. My fist clenched tight, and the Tall One yanked the bag out of my hands.

“Five sandwiches!” he gasped, “That’s enough for the whole crew to eat! Thanks Morgan!”

“Give that back!” I yelled.

An anger burned inside of me like a black fire. I was fed up with their bullying, and I was fed up with my awful life. I jerked the bag out of the bully’s hand.

“That’s not for you,” I growled.

The Tall One’s face darkened.

“Well, looks like little Travis Morgan hasn’t learned his lesson,” he spoke in a voice deeper than a dragon’s.

“Get him, boys!” He yelled.

The gang rushed at me with fists, feet, and heads. I was instantly on the ground, screaming and crying for dear life. Their attacks hit my head, my chest, my gut. I felt a pounding in my head. Everything in front of me was a blur of punches and kicks. I saw red in front of my eyes, and I felt red in my hands and in my head. A loud shrieking noise arose in my ears. It came closer...and became louder…and closer…. At the moment, I didn’t even recognize that it was the sound of sirens. I didn’t know that the police had arrived until they grabbed the bullies and dragged them away from me. The only sound I remember hearing was the sound of the clicks when the handcuffs went on.

“He’s bleeding profusely! We need to get him to a hospital or he’s going to bleed to death!” I heard one of the men say.

One of the police came up to me and put me on a stretcher.

“Who are your parents? Can you help us contact them?” he asked me.

I slowly shook my head.

“I don’t have parents, sir.”

The police officer nodded gravely.

“We’ll put you in foster care then, okay?”

Foster care…

The words echoed in my mind.

Foster care...

“No,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry?” The officer asked.

I bolted up straight, despite the pounding in my head and the blood running down my face.

“You’re not taking me back to foster care!” I yelled.

I jumped off the stretcher and ran. I could hear the officer yelling to me in the background, but my mind was only focused on getting away.

I’m not going back there. I’m not going back there.

I ran as hard as my legs allowed me to run. I had to get away. I had to escape everything. I saw a blur of trees, and I stopped. My legs collapsed under me automatically. All feeling had escaped my body. I had become a dead weight. Nothing was going to move. While I lay helpless on the ground, I realized the sandwich bag was still tightly clutched in my hand.

I’m sorry, Shelby, I thought.

Blood poured out of my head and onto the ground next to me. It was a dark, ruby red color. And it was the last color I ever saw. I closed my eyes and felt the world disintegrate around me.

Stay strong, stay strong.

I was back there again. On that old-fashioned pump car. Funny thing was, I wasn’t dreaming, and I wasn’t asleep. I looked to my left and, instead of the old couple sitting there, I saw a bald girl who wore pink glasses that were way too big for her face. She looked familiar, but I could not seem to remember who she was. Suddenly, I felt the urge to feel my head. There was no more blood. Confused, I tapped the driver on the shoulder.

“Where is this car heading?”

I asked, just like in every dream.

“You’re about to find out,” he replied.

I could’ve sworn I saw him wink at me. The car started to rumble and shake, but this time, it was just the engine.