Lovely Blood
Kristen Poitras, 16
California
As I was sitting in the crowded front office, I could feel my leg begin to shake. Tap. Tap. Tap. I was nervous, I couldn't deny that. Would he look
different when I saw him?
Would I even recognize him? I looked around boldly at everyone else in the room, daring them to question my right to be here. But no one noticed;
they were all too busy looking at the floor. I turned my focus back to the receptionist in the front of the room. She was typing something on her
little computer and she would glance at the clock every five minutes or so. Her typing made a clicking noise almost in sync with my tapping. She
had long pearly pink fake nails. That reminded me of some woman. Who was she? Oh, yes, one of those women.
When I lived with my father before he went to prison, he used to bring all these different women home, flavors of the week, month, at the most.
Each one was the same. They were all optimistic, young girls who saw the injured puppy dog in my father. They all wanted to be the one to save him.
Who were they kidding? What was worse is that they all thought they could be my mother, too. One even came close, but in the end none of them really
knew what family meant. They were all living in some ideal dream bubble, and my father was going to be the one to come along and pop it. They weren't
used to his moodiness, the way he got drunk every day without fail, the crashes in the middle of the night. At first they'd let it go, trying to
convince themselves that it wasn't so bad, that they could break him off this habit.
Then he'd start hitting. Sometimes this was enough for them—they were out the door and into their bubble gum Volkswagens. Some of them took a
little longer to catch on.
My father always had a way with anger. It was called hitting. I had learned what to say and what not to say to set my father off by the time I was
five. By the time I was ten I knew I could say what I wanted as long as I could duck and weave.
I know that my dad isn't the kind of guy you'd admire. But hey, he's family, right? I still sent him letters every day after he got locked up, even
when I started living with my neighbor.
Fran's been great to me, she has. She never tried to act like my mother. She's just there as a friend. Fran didn't want me to come see my father today.
She said she didn't understand why I had to do this. She said that I had her now. But she's not family and I told her that.
As I sat there, waiting, drumming, listening, a large woman with big blond hair sat down next to me. The bare skin on her legs stuck to the blue plastic
seat as she tried to move around.
"Hi," she said with a big smile, "My name is Lori." She stuck out her hand.
After a slight hesitation I said, "Katie", and returned her hand shake. I looked away hoping to indicate that I was done with the conversation.
Who introduces themself in a prison waiting room?
"Who're you here to see?"
I didn't reply immediately and she kept going, "I'm here to see my son. Poor boy just got mixed up in the wrong thing. Drug dealing don't you know,
but it wasn't his fault." She looked at me conspiratorially as if to suggest I knew just what she meant. "I'm not saying I'm proud of what he did,
but hey, he's family, right?"
I nodded my head in agreement. That is why I was here, wasn't it? She continued, "I mean, if you can't count on family, then who can you count on?"
She smiled.
I sat still; I felt as though I'd just been pummeled by a round of basketballs. Who could I count on? It wasn't my father. Fran was the only person
in the world that I could truly count on, and she was definitely not family. I stood up. What was I doing here? Why was I supporting this man who
had never once supported me? I thought about Fran and I realized that she was the family that I believed in so much, not my father. So then, maybe
blood wasn't the ingredient to a happy family; maybe it was just love.
I turned and walked out of the waiting room into the hot Florida day. I kept walking and never looked back.
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Visit the bulletin boards and see what other teens have to say about our topics.
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For More Info:
•Stepfamily Association of America
Saafamilies.org
•COLAGE: Children of Lesbians and Gays Everywhere
colage.org
•Biracial Family Network
773-288-3644
•That's a Family!
A film for kids about family diversity
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