Garbage Bags

The night my mother died I was placed with a foster carer about an hour out of Melbourne, Mums two bedroom flat chaotic with Paramedics, Police, DHS workers, people in suits and my mothers boyfriend bumping into each other. They were all trying their best not to look at the body or at the confused six year old sitting on the couch who had unknowingly just become an orphan.

I didn’t understand what was happening, my six year old brain couldn’t comprehend that Mum wouldn’t be ok in a few hours, all I knew was that I had to stay somewhere else again. In the chaos I was able to pack a change of clothes into a garbage bag but my toys had been locked in a toy chest by my mother a few days prior and no-one could locate the key.

It was almost pitch black as I lay on the lounge room couch at my new foster home, my surroundings completely alien. I didn’t know where I was, what the rules were or what was going to come next. My entire world was spinning and I didn’t have a single person or object to hold onto that felt familiar.
I was petrified and trying desperately to keep myself awake, my six year old brain unable to make sense of my mums death and so I thought if I fell asleep I wouldn’t wake up either.

What was meant to be an emergency overnight foster care placement turned into weeks and then months because there was nowhere else for me to go. My foster brother held a growing resentment for me invading his home and this showed itself in escalating violent threats and bullying tactics. He was trying his best to turn his mother against me and get me kicked out so he could have her and his home back to himself again.

After school one day the car ride home was so tense it felt like all the noise and air had been replaced with the ticking hands of my foster mothers watch, and the whiteness of her knuckles as they gripped the steering wheel.

In slow motion my foster mothers key turned in the front door and as it opened I saw black garbage bags stacked on the couch, my orange basket ball resting in the pile.
My foster mother let out an extended sigh as she made her way towards the kitchen “your worker is on their way to pick you up, they’ll be taking you to your new house” she hadn’t stopped walking to break the news to me “All your stuff is packed on the couch and ready to go as soon as they get here”. My eyes were instantly magnetised to my scuffed shoes, I hoped she wouldn’t look at me and see the tears welling up in my eyes or the black-hole painfully breaking apart my chest.

I was in another government sedan filled with that new car smell I had grown to distrust, all my worldly possessions stacked behind the cage in the boot in black garbage bags. Trees, power-lines and houses raced past the car window, each house that passed  felt like a countdown on a bomb, I was getting closer to my new placement with each one that disappeared from view.

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