Callum & Harper by Fisher Amelie Page A

waking our foster parents. They wanted to know what he was doing and John, not being a very bright guy, told them I’d taken a cd from his room without asking. I told them that I did nothing of the sort and that the cd he was referring to was actually in his stereo as we spoke. They confirmed it was true and I was given my out.”
    “ Harper, that is awful.”
    “ I know,” I said laughing, trying to avoid the sob threatening to leak from my throat.
    Callum, sensing how tense I was, hugged me closer.     “Where did you go after that, Harper?” He asked.     “An alcoholic’s but, to be honest, it felt like a reprieve. They were winos, their floor was littered with corks. I lived in a literal sea of corks but I didn’t mind it so much. They were cool as long as you left them alone and whatever trouble you got into didn’t directly affect them.     “I stayed there for at least a year, but social services paid a surprise visit to them and they hadn’t cleaned up yet. So...” I shrugged as if that was explanation enough.     “And you were forced out?”     “Yup.”     “Then where’d you go?”     “To the last foster home I’d ever have to endure again,” I said.     “Was it as awful?”     “Depends on your definition of awful,” I offered. “Was it as bad as John Bell? No. As laid back as the winos? Nope. It was somewhere in between. They weren’t physically abusive or anything but they would scream at one another every night over money and I was sort of endured because I provided a steady stream of the very cash from the state they’d yell about.”     “And when you turned eighteen?”     “See you later, alligator.”         Callum
    I had it pretty bad growing up but Harper seems to have endured every awful situation a person could conjure up, short of rape and even that I think she narrowly escaped. I wanted only to wrap her in my arms and tell her that everything would be okay but that would have been a lie. I didn’t know if everything was going to be okay. I did know, however, that whatever we did go through that we were going to sustain it together, that I was quite certain of.
    “ And then you met me,” I said.
    “ And then I met you,” she said, smiling softly.
    “ And all was right with the world,” I joked.
    “ Exactly,” she said seriously.
    “ I was only joking Harper,” I said, sitting up a little to get a better view of her face.
    “ Of-of course,” she giggled, fidgeting next to me. “I know that.”
    I studied her closely before turning off the lamp next to me. The moonlight fell across her gold strands, looking for all the world like copper threads. I half expected them to sing in clinking charms every time her head moved. I hugged her closely to me, hoping to squeeze the bad memories from her life. I’d absorb them from her, if I could. Just take them and endure the obvious ache they caused her.
        “ When my folks died,” I confessed, “I remembered feeling sadness, an overwhelming sadness, but I was too young to realize what it meant. I have memories of visiting a cold, unwelcoming room where they would force me to draw pictures of how I supposedly felt. They’d ask me if I remembered my mom and dad, and even then I thought they were stupid for asking such an obvious question.
    “ I wondered why I left my home, wondered when my mom and dad would come and pick me up. I would often tell my foster mother that I was ready to call my parents to have them pick me up but she would just smile and settle me on her hip, never really giving me the answer I was looking for.”
    Harper thread her fingers with mine, burrowing her shoulder deeper into mine.     “When I was slightly older and had almost completely forgotten about my parents,” I continued, “I began school and quickly noticed that my life was very different from my classmates. Many of them would talk about their families and I just couldn’t