Vacant Chapter 1 Alone

I grew up in a small house in a lower-class neighborhood, just my dad and me. My antiquated man worked a blue-collar job with shit benefits. I cant complain too much though, because I never went hungry and always had a roof over my head.No, my dad didnt hug me every wickedness or read bedtime stories by the glow of a nightlight, still he fed me, clothed me, and didnt tapdance me around. Thats much than near of my friends had, so I was grateful. I hadnt known then, growing up, that at that place was everything more in tone to want.I was fifteen when my tyro left just after dinner to buy a pack of cigargonttes. He never came home.My dad was shot in a convenience store lay lot after he gave the wrong guy the wrong look. He walked down to get some smokes and didnt dramatize 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. There was no burial and no identity when he moved from this life to the next.I was on my own for a week before anyone realized I was solo. I was smart enough to note my mouth shut, to get up and go to school every day. I figured I had at least three or four months before a bill collector came knocking, but the nosy bitch across the street hadnt seen the old man in a week and was worried.Thats when I began my life in the system. Its not like on TV when youre an orphan in an after school special, they charge your ass off to a relative and everyone bangs happily ever after. In real life, though, if you dont draw family that wants you or family at all, you become a ward of the state. Sure, they have foster homes and pretend families that some kids get to live with, but there are a shit-ton of homeless 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 messe d up situation as you and a revolving door of caregivers. However, I had a bed to catnap 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 grocery 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 have graduated from high school before I got the boot some kids had to worry about finishing school in addition to being homeless. My father told me many times I couldnt depend on anyone but myself, and I never realized how salutary 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 neighborhood without proscribe on the windows. It was small and dirty, but it was mi ne. 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 previous(prenominal) three years. I get up every morning, walk to the grocery store, clock in, work a ten hour 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 on the lookout with my rejection. Theres no sense in hurting 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 mail box. Im having dessert for breakfast, a treat to myself, and Im thankful for what little I have.Its sad as hell, but I dont have any candles so I light a match and jam it in the middle of the damn cookie. I dont even make a wish before I blow out the tiny beam 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 store wall clock and see its only nine. I cant imagine who would be at my door this early on a Saturday morning. Most 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 most good deal my age, so when I open the door and see a girl, piddling 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 doesnt have a care in the world, obviously not knowing people around here dont smile. I peer at her through the ripped screen of my front door as the heat and humidity of the day filters in.Hey, whats up? Im Emily. I just moved in next door.