Anak Haram (2nd excerpt)

I was sent to live in a foster home when I was just over eight years old. It was done quickly, quietly and illegally. Everything was settled with under-the-table money that Adlin had borrowed from a loan shark since she couldn’t afford the fees that came with the documentation and fostering process. I was too young to understand what was happening. I thought I was going out on an adventure and my young heart soared; the only adventure I ever had was sneaking into Adlin’s office to steal the lollipops she kept away from my sweet tooth.

I was so excited about finally stepping out of the orphanage’s boring familiarity that I didn’t notice Adlin sobbing quietly, covering her flushed, heart-shaped face behind her handkerchief. There were no other orphans yet. She was going to be alone again.

“Where am I going, Adlin?” I asked as we walked over to my foster-mother’s car. My hand felt so small in hers. She smiled sadly and said, “To a better life, sayang.”

Her eyes were watery and red like a shallow pond overflowing with koi fish. Silly Adlin, I remembered thinking. Why is she always so sad? Her watery eyes were the only things I saw in my dreams after I left.

I was in that foster home for a solid six months before my foster parents decided I was too much to handle.

Even at that age, I felt a wave of shame wash over me when I was sent back to Adlin. It was my first taste of rejection from the people I had almost gotten used to calling “family”.

“Mona, do you want to go to the park?” Mama had asked. Her smile was stretched thin, the skin around her mouth taut, and her eyes were slightly glazed over. Six months were enough for eight year old me to read her face – this was her signature expression of displeasure – but it was 3pm in the afternoon and the thought of making new friends at the swing set was too tempting to resist. There was little to no hesitation when I jumped up in agreement, and whatever cautious hesitation I had in me dissipated as soon as I heard her car keys jangle. We were going to the park! In her car!

I ran to get my sand bucket and plastic shovel, my head swimming with crazy ideas of sandcastle wars as I grabbed whatever toy my chubby arms could reach, using my baggy hand-me-down shirt as an impromptu sack. Somewhere outside the house, the car engine revved to life, followed by a door slamming shut a few seconds later. Worried that Mama was going to the park without me just as she had done before, I dashed down the stairs and flew through the door, willing my legs to run faster.

“Mama, wait! I’m coming!” I yelled, holding my toys close to my chest as I ran. I reached the car and scrambled in, but dropped a Barbie doll on the driveway in my hurry.

I wanted to get out of the car to pick her up, but my mother drove off immediately. “Ma, I dropped my Barbie!” I said, trying and failing to open the car door; the child lock was on.

“Sit down and wear your seatbelt, Mona,” she snapped, glancing at the rearview mirror. “Don’t make me repeat myself!”

I put on my seatbelt and tried to sit still, but I couldn’t.

“Ma, do you think Barbie will still be there when we come back?” I asked, tugging my seatbelt worryingly. She said nothing.

The trip was long and slow. I pressed my face against the window, counting trees by the side of the road as we drove past them, my eyes swiveling right and left to keep up with the green and brown blur. How free it felt to be out of the house. Every movie I watched with Mama seemed to be about the perfect road trip with a happy family, and God knows how much I yearned for something as simple as a joyful car ride with her. I peeked at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, hiding my face behind the driver’s car seat.

Her dark brown skin was riddled with spots and holes like the crater-filled moon. I couldn’t count the number of lines that slept between the folds of skin in her forehead; there were too many. Her eyebrows were knitted together in a permanent frown, and her deep-set eyes were wide and angry. Yet, Mama was the closest to a Goddess anyone could get. She could do no wrong in my eyes. Calling her “Mama” felt right. The word sat warm and comfortable in the middle of my tongue, melting like milk candy.

With her face in my mind, I fell asleep to the low hum of the engine and unintelligible rambling of the radio, only to be roughly woken up by Mama.

“We’re here.”

Cradling my toys, I got down from the car and looked around in confusion. The sky was a dull orange. How far was the park? That’s when I realized where we were.

We were parked across the orphanage.

“Mama…?” my voice trailed away. She didn’t hear me. She was already walking towards the building. I stayed where I was. My mouth opened and closed silently. Mama?

I watched as she waited outside the building. Adlin emerged from the orphanage, prim and proper as always. They shook hands and Mama started talking, her hands flying up, down and around in an exasperated motion. Adlin smiled at first, but as the minutes ticked on, her smile faded and her eyes looked to the ground. She nodded and said something I couldn’t hear. Then Mama started making her way towards me, lips pressed together so tight they formed a bold, red line.

Mama? My eyes pled. She refused to look at me. Instead, she proceeded to take a duffel bag from the car booth (where did that come from?) and handed it to me, her eyes set on something above my head.

Mama?

She then got into her car and drove off into the evening, the sound of crunching gravel still digging into my ears months later. I don’t know how long I stood there with my duffel bag on my right and my toys on the ground to my left, waiting for her to come back. When the sun started to sink behind the row of houses, Adlin tried to bring me inside. But I was adamant. My body was stiff and my feet were planted to the ground so firmly it was like my soles had roots that grew deep below the road.

She’s coming back, I told myself. She’s coming back. Mama will be back. Don’t go anywhere or she won’t find you. Don’t move or you’ll get lost like that time in the market. She’s coming back.

Mama will bring me home.

7:15pm. Time crawled on. I had grown so tired of standing, I sat down on my duffel bag, willing my tears to go back into my eyes.

Mama will bring me home.

8.45pm. Adlin sat beside me on the pavement and held my hand. The night was so quiet it felt like we were in one of those silent movies Mama liked to watch.

Mama will bring me home.

It was 9:30pm: bedtime. I fiddled with the toys I brought, my eyes tearing.

“I left Barbie on th-the road,” I whispered to Adlin, squeezing my eyes shut so no more tears would escape. “She’s w-waiting for me, Adlin. Sh-she’s waiting all alone.”

Adlin tightened her grip on my hand and let out a quiet sob. “I’m so sorry,” she said, pressing her forehead against my hand. “I’m so sorry, sayang. I didn’t know this would happen.”

My tears were hot against my cold face. There were no stars in the sky.

“To a better life, sayang.”