Riding on a Rainbow

Helen wrapped the tattered quilt around her body, bending her head down to rest it on her knees. She shivered and exhaled, seeing her breath in a white cloud in front of her, feeling the mattress springs hard against her rounded bottom.

Wind raged with gusts large enough to cause limbs of a nearby tree to spank the window, a steady whipping sound that promised to worsen as the day progressed. Helen paid no attention to the wind, though. She listened for any sound of life inside the house, wondering if she was alone. The wind drowned out any sounds from downstairs and only the creaking and scraping of the storm through the walls could  be heard.

She knew it was going to be a long day and looked across the small room where her backpack sat, filled with homework, squeezed into a corner of the room. The wall it rested against was decorated with dark grease stains and partially covered with crayon marks that had probably been there for years. An intense mold smell covered other scents that may have lingered in the house today, like bacon or the strong smell of cleaning solution that was used on the bathroom down the hall. It was no use trying to decide what the others had for breakfast, not today.

Helen’s eyes moved towards the door when she heard footsteps approaching her room. Her heart beat rapidly, wondering who it was, hoping it wasn’t who she thought it was. In the hall someone fumbled with a key and when the door opened, Helen let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Oh hi. I’m glad it’s just you,” Helen said, not changing her position on the bed, trying to take on a more composed, uncaring tone.

“Lena wanted me to give you this.” The young girl sat a plastic Tupperware bowl on the stand next to the bed. Helen watched her, sorry for her, like she was sorry for all of them. She watched her slow and steady movements, wondering how deep her fear went.

“Lena’s a bitch,” Helen said with all the contempt she could muster up. Her voice was abrasive and hateful, and she didn’t care.

Sandy turned sharply when she heard what Helen said. Her bony arms were covered with goose bumps and her hair ratty and greasy like a used mop. Sandy’s eyes looked at Helen and then down to the floor, near the backpack.

“You better not let her hear you say that.” Her small voice matched her size.

“Why not? Fraid she might beat me up?” Helen asked, pointing to her black and blue neck and right shoulder that carried a long, but shallow cut. The cut still looked fresh in the light, but outside with a few clothes on, it was barely noticeable.

Sandy walked over to Helen and put her hand gently on her bruised arm. Her fingers were cold and skeletal, like chicken bones left out in the cold.

Helen saw small gray and blue marks on the little girl’s face, faded yellow now with time.

“Why does she do this to us? She’s nothing but a bitter bitch who makes money off us all. She’s not a foster mother, she’s nothing but a slut and if I ever get a chance..”

Sandy moved her hand away quickly. “I have to go Helen. I’ll be late for school. Your cereal’s on the table. I put extra sugar on it the way you like it. See ya after school.”