Ward of the state
Martin Hannah
The smell of the polished linoleum a foot from my nose, hanging my head over the side of the bed, soaking in the room, eyes wide my head upside down, the pressure of blood puffing my face. My stuff's packed into a small box under my bed, I touch it to see if its real. The shadows from the trees outside ebb and flow over the floor and the other seven beds. Their occupants sleeping, I feel like the only person in the world who's awake, how could I sleep? Saturday tomorrow, will I look different?
When I go to school on Monday will a girl look at me and think, I can have him, I always wanted to go with him but my Mum and Dad wouldn't have like it, but now it's okay. When I get home will there be a surprise party! The thick cotton pyjama trousers held firmly in place with white rope cord curl close as my legs run flailing under the covers with excitement.
No friends to miss, but friends to make, no more shoe polishing, being able to turn over the TV, no warden watching us change in the boiler room at the local swimming baths when real people get a cubical. A pair of wrangler jeans, I want to get a pair of Wrangler jeans. No queuing for a shower beside the pee-the-beds covered with their bed sheets over their heads like smelly ghosts, a bath I've always wanted to have a bath, lie for hours till I turn into a white prune, toothpaste in a tube, stuff the tinned chalky tooth powder scraped miserly onto a toothbrush by the warden. Soft soap!
Sitting in the dark on the side of my bed, feet planted firmly trying to cool my ardour on the cold floor, this is not a dream, the quarter of the jam sandwich I had sneaked into my pyjama jacket pocket washes my mouth sweetly, my heart won't slow down.
Tighnabruiach, I liked that place, the Home went there for a week's summer holiday a couple of years ago, thirteen of us sleeping on cot beds in a school classroom, I could go back there, tomorrow if I wanted, I could stay in a hotel!
Will my room be decorated, how will I make friends? Nobody knows me! A bike I want a bike I could cycle anywhere, stuff the hotel I want a tent, me and all my friends could go to Tighnabruiach and camp out, no, me and all my friends and my girlfriend would camp out.
Nearly ten years,
It seemed like nothing to them, they called me back into the room Like they had done all the other times, but this time they said they had decided "that as I was old enough and with my mothers support", I could go home, they weren't excited, they then told me I'd have to wait till Saturday, "it wouldn't be right for you to take two days off school", even when they give you what you want they still make you wait. Mum was crying, her fingers wrapped tightly around my right wrist. Why couldn't I just go home now? Why did I have to come back here? I'm not a homeboy anymore; they said I could go home. I wasn't theirs anymore!
I slip my feet deep back into the warm bed and pull the covers to my neck. What's it going to be like, I'm all nervy, and I've had the odd weekend out, but to live with her for-good. She went up to the shop and phoned tonight, they told her not to come before nine in the morning, then they let me speak to her, I wonder if she's exited and awake just now, will we just be able to leave in the morning and get on the bus home? Or do you have to do something?
Hot, I push the bedcovers to my waist and unbutton my pyjama top, lying on my back I expose my chest bare to the night air. Someone else will be the longest in here after tomorrow, do I get to keep the clothes or does my Mum have to get me new ones and bring these back? Tomorrow night I will be sleeping in a different bed, my own bed.
Will I come back and visit, imagine walking in the front gate and being able to walk out again when I like. Probably half of them will have gone and it would be weird. I'll need to tell people at school no one will know otherwise, I wonder if they'll think different about me, being like them, not being a homeboy anymore.
A bed creaks and feet slap on the linoleum as someone gets up and staggers like a zombie out the door to the toilet, I hold my breath and lie still waiting for them to return, this is my moment I don't want to share it. Will anyone notice when I'm gone?
A small pool of cold sweat has formed between my ribs, I touch it with my finger. My last night in this bed will someone else sleep in it tomorrow?
The warden wrote a letter to my mum and gave it to me to give to her, it says "I am no longer a ward of state under the care of Glasgow City Council", I wasn't supposed to, but I opened it.
With my head held high, I'm going to count every step I make up to the front gate then leave without turning around, I won't cry, I did nothing wrong. I've seen so many other boys getaway, I gave up a long time ago thinking this day would come, then it came, it doesn't seem real, I want to keep this memory. Tomorrow will be the first day, the best day, of my life. It's a Saturday I wonder if they'll give me my pocket money before I go?
