Toxic

I heard the melody of the piano in the distance. It was not just any song, I knew its melody, I remembered it. However, I didn't quite know from where, I wasn't sure about that, even though I tried to make a great effort in my memory, I couldn't remember when I heard that song before. It seemed that its notes were embedded in a part of my memory, one that I could not access, that for me was blocked. Being able to think only of that song, that mesmerizing melody, I walked in the direction of the sound, losing myself among the corridors of the school. Arriving at the subfloor, a place which did not even appear on the map I was given upon entering this school, I continued walking through its cold and dark corridors to a half-open door, which left its entrance to a large auditorium. Passing through the luxurious empty seats, entering what seemed to be a luxurious auditorium in the school, I advanced to the middle of the hall, where I could finally know the origin of that melody. On the stage, with the only lights in the place illuminating it, was a boy in front of a black grand piano, playing in a loop that song that attracted me so much. Without even looking at me, but knowing of my presence, that stranger said: —What are you doing here? His voice sounded like an ice tempane, so cold, so angry. Did I do something to upset him? Pressing the book I was holding in my hands, I didn't know what to answer, feeling extremely shy with him. However, that boy wasted no time, and without stopping playing for a single second, he turned in my direction for the first time, looking at me with his eyes as blue and cold as the sea, to tell me: —Get out. And with just that sentence, without needing any more words, my heart began to beat in despair. TWO WEEKS AGO. Everybody call me "a lucky girl." I guess under the circumstances, I am without any doubt, I am an exception to the rule. My case could be called somewhat "unique". My name is Claire Hainfield, although I won't be calling myself that for much longer. I live at “Our Lady of Mercy” Home for Orphans, I am 15 years old, and as you might guess, I have no parents. I am an orphan. All the girls around me have tragic or interesting stories about how they lost their families and ended up here, but from the beginning, I was an exception. One rainy night, when I was about two years old, I just showed up at a bus station in front of some strangers, who fortunately were nice people. They took me to the policemen of that city and asked me questions. But honestly, I was too little at the time, and I couldn't answer any of them. Even though they tried, they couldn't trace my origin, I had no identification on me, and neither my fingerprints nor my dental records were in the police recognition databases. The only thing that could identify me was a nice tag sewn into my clothing, which said "Claire" written on it; so they gave me that name. The police had two options as to how I had arrived at that place, alone and disoriented. That bus station was crowded, with hundreds of cars and buses passing by every day, so the police thought that maybe I had been separated from my parents accidentally and ended up wandering there. However, this theory was discarded soon after, as there was never any notice of my disappearance or any report with my specifics left with them. I never denied the option, I mean, there are so many bad things you hear about these days and this country is so big; someone could have kidnapped me in a nearby state and no one would ever know. Secretly, I always hoped that my parents or family would look for me. But the police were not so optimistic. From the beginning they thought that me being there was not an accident, it would not be unusual to leave a child in the middle of the road that my parents wanted to get rid of me that way. So ending the fairy tales and hopes, I was simply one more victim of the system, left in the care of incompetent parents. Parents who unhesitatingly abandoned me on the side of a road with hundreds of cars, in the rain and darkness, thinking that in the best case scenario I would be run over and the resulting problem would be over. And although everyone assumes this theory to be the only truth, a small part of me refuses to believe it. After all, in the back of my mind, during my dreams and my deepest memories, I can hear it. Beautiful piano tunes played like a distant echo, beautiful but sad songs that I am sure I have never heard anywhere else but in my memories. Next to a beautiful place full of light, where the sun filters through every space, and the music echoes endlessly. I know that place is real, and it is a place I once visited before I was abandoned in the rain. And while that place may exist or simply be a delusion of my mind, which is resigned to losing hope that I was ever truly loved. The reality is that my life is in this orphanage, where I have spent all my childhood; not in that beautiful place full of light where the piano resounds in notes full of sweet sorrow. The home for female orphans "Our Lady of Mercy" is a Christian orphanage, cared for by nuns, old and with many girls to its credit. We are not like other homes for orphans, where they go to regular schools and have a relatively similar life to the lucky children with parents, in this home we pass the classes and live here every day, almost without going outside. I know what's outside, I know there are computers and cell phones, beautiful fashionable clothes, s*x magazines, and parties with alcohol. But as Sister Meredith says, when I turn eighteen I can make of my life what I want, and if I want to I can buy all the computers and alcohol I desire. But as long as I stay here, I must wait and follow the rules. It's not like we don't go out, that they keep us locked in here all day, but whenever we do go out, we do so in the company of the nuns who strictly guard us. And dressed in demure gray dresses and white shirts, like the good little girls we are, we have very little chance of people from the outside approaching us or even talking to us. I said it before and I will say it again when I can stand on my own two feet and leave this place, I will buy the clothes I want most, and go out and talk to everyone I want; that will be the first thing I will do as an adult. And although I thought that the time of finally being free, when I could finally say who I am and what I want for myself, would be in a couple more years when I came of age. Like a ray of light, my life brightened and answering all the wishes I could ever pray for, I was finally adopted. One ordinary day, when I was in music class learning my piano lessons with Sister Meredith, Sister Denisse called me into her office urgently. For an instant I felt real fear run through me, thinking that I was in trouble, possibly because of some foolishness of Kiara's, or simply because of something I did wrong that I didn't notice at the time. But happily, when I arrived at Sister Denisse's office, I met my new parents. Mr. and Mrs. Kramer are nice people. They are both over forty-five years old, so they can no longer procreate. And although the usual thing would have been to adopt a little girl, no more than five years old, like the other couples; they specifically asked for a young girl in my approximate age range. This may sound a bit odd, and it was so to all who would listen, but the Kramer’s had a good reason for it. Almost fifteen years ago now, the couple lost their only daughter, Emma Kramer, who died at the age of fourteen. After struggling with grief for ten years, missing the opportunity to have a new biological child, they finally decided to adopt. Yes, I know, it sounds a little disturbing to think of them adopting me to replace their dead daughter. But in my condition, begging for a family in my prayers every day, I guess the fact that it's disturbing doesn't matter so much anymore. Plus, I feel like this is therapeutic for them. I don't think they are so eager to adopt, they have to do it to move forward. And after several years in the system, fighting to be allowed to adopt, they came to me. I was Sister Denisse's top candidate for the Kramer’s, because I have a heartwarming story, and because I am one of the least troubled girls on this site. I don't blame my classmates, I am one of the few who came to this place young and spent her whole life here without being adopted, managing to adapt well to this place with the passage of so many years amid the rigorousness of the nuns. But the others generally arrived after spending some time in the outside world or transferred from other foster homes with more freedoms. So for them getting used to this place is difficult, you know, not being able to watch cartoons and having to read the bible; most of them didn't do that before. So they become rebellious, and they have a lot of problems before they adjust; we're teenagers, you can't expect anything less from us. When I met the Kramer’s a year ago the adoption was not yet complete, they had already seen other girls in other foster homes, and they're just expanding their options. However at a certain point in our first meeting, I think they chose me, so they moved forward with me. Although it sounds simple, adoption is not simple at all, so while they finished the paperwork, for a year we were having regular visits. They would come to spend a few days at the orphanage to stay with me, or they would take me out for a walk around town; a process that was necessary for the midst of the adoption paperwork. I had to get to know them and they had to get to know me before proceeding, both parties had to be in complete agreement to form a family. So back to the present time, as I finish packing my things to leave the orphanage, I feel excited and terribly scared. Eager to start my new life at once.