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Contemporary Drama Lesbian

This story contains themes or mentions of substance abuse.


I don’t remember much about my birth mom. She was beautiful. And she could sing. I remember she would sing to me all the time. She would sing while she put the bows and pigtails in my hair. I would sing with her. We would harmonize. Her with her beautiful and powerful voice. Me, with my high pitched kid voice. 

I loved her. She was my world. Beautiful. Sweet. Doting. I know she loved me.

Unfortunately, she loved heroin more than she loved me. 

Imagine, four years old, and your mother is on the kitchen floor. You don’t understand death. She’s laying there, staring at the ceiling. Eyes open. Staring. Blank. Nothingness behind them. But you're four. You don't get it. It's a game, right? Just a game. She's going to wake up and tickle you and chase you through your home and brush your pigtails and kiss your face.

You’re so hungry. You just want her to make you something to eat. You’re four. You shake her. She doesn’t respond. You think she’s playing. Her eyes are open. She’s awake. You don’t understand. Her eyes are open staring at the ceiling. Dull. Unseeing. Just wake up and make me something to eat.

You cry. You scream at her. She doesn’t move. You still don’t understand. You are four. You shake her. Her eyes just stare at the ceiling. Unmoving. Unblinking. Unseeing. You're so hungry. You just want a hug. Wake up. I'm so hungry. And tired. It's dark now. Aren't we supposed to get ready for bed?

You get in your pajamas by yourself. Why isn't she helping? Why didn't she come upstairs, too?

She smells bad. You are hungry. You snuggle her. Why are we still in the kitchen? Why aren't we in our bed upstairs? She doesn’t snuggle back. Your bows are falling out of your pigtails. There are knots in your hair. 

You open the fridge and eat cold hot dogs. 

You snuggle her some more. She’s peed herself. 

You cry for her to snuggle you back. To sing to you. You sing to her. Loud. Waiting for her to sing back. She's quiet. She just stares at the ceiling.

This goes on for a few days before the police come. You don’t understand. You just want her to sing to you again. To hold you again. To brush your pigtails and put new bows in your hair.

You are taken to the hospital. You are poked and prodded. But fed. Food is good. Hot. Warm.

"What's your name?" A stranger asks.

"Lyric." Your voice small.

"So pretty. Just like you." A gentle smile from a stranger.

"Where's mommy?"

Eyes diverted. Looking away. A gentle hand on my head. The stranger leaves.

You are alone though. Strangers come and go from your room.

Then someone drives you to a house. It's another stranger. The house is strange, too.

There are a lot of other kids there. A woman who is older than Mommy. Not as pretty. When you ask her to sing to you, she rolls her eyes and takes you up to a room. It's not your room. It's not your house. No one reads you a story. No one sings you lullabies.

You can’t sleep. So you sing. 

You get yelled at for making too much noise. 

You cry. You get in more trouble. 

The other kids are mean. 

No one puts your hair in pigtails with bows. No one sings with you. No one loves you.

You move to another house. And this is what your life looks like for the next twelve years. Ignored. Unloved. Moved around.

You make trouble because then people pay attention to you. 

Otherwise, you are ignored. Except when you make trouble. Or sing. Your voice is loud and strong. It’s your power. It's the only class in school you are recognized in.

But you fight with everyone. All the time. You are lonely. Unloved. Despised. Home after home. School after school. You fight at school You fight in the homes. Rage and loneliness fill you to the brim.

It doesn’t matter. You just sing. And fight. And when you are alone in the shower you cry. 

Your eyes close at night and you see her. Dead on the floor. Eyes open. Staring. Cold. But you still miss her. Every part of you misses her. Misses her love. All day. Every day. An emptiness left where her love once lived.

When you are almost sixteen, you get dumped in yet another home. This one has two moms. Only two other kids. They are older, like you. But they belong to one of the moms. You are the only foster kid. 

It doesn’t matter how much you fight with them. How much trouble you cause. They refuse to fight back or be mean. 

Instead, they seek to understand you. Gigi and Rhonda. That’s the moms. The kids are two boys, Jason and Kenny. They are older than you. They don’t give a fuck if you scream. Fight. Sing, or what. But when you are cool with them, they are cool with you. They play video games with you when you act right. They help you with your homework. 

You don’t get sent away. This is home. 

The boys graduate one year away. They leave for college. 

Rhonda and GiGi just keep you. 

After you turn eighteen, they stop getting paid by the state, but they don’t care. They let you stay. You are theirs. They let you know it. 

They help you apply for college. You get scholarships and grants. You get your degree in performing arts. 

You sing. You don’t fight as much. You learn to adapt. 

You still don’t really have friends though. 

You find spirituality and “witchcraft” in an effort to feel connection and to feel powerful. You burn candles and ask the universe to deliver love and acceptance. 

You fall in love with a girl and she breaks your heart. 

You fall in love with another girl. She breaks your heart. 

You sing. 

You graduate college. 

You sing. You fall in love. You get broken. Repeat. 

February 22, 2023 17:24

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18 comments

Susan Catucci
00:21 Mar 03, 2023

Powerful stuff, Marisa. It moved me because of the truth in it. If you are giving encouragement, you rise to it. If you are treated well, you will hunger for it. Anything that is broken, can heal and come back. That's the human spirit. Anyone who even considers taking a drug should read it. Well done.

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Marisa Billions
23:53 Mar 03, 2023

Thank you so much!!! I appreciate your comment and reading!

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Dyanna Young
04:49 Feb 28, 2023

This reminds me of one of my former students. I had them write a poem about their lives he wrote, relative of no one. His dad left before he was born, his mom died, his grandma died, his sister picked him up from school, his clothes in trash bags, she dropped him off at CPS. He was cramping her style. You can’t party when you’re responsible for a teen. He landed in a foster home with two moms. He was finally loved, safe and happy. He was no longer a relative of no one.

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00:03 Feb 28, 2023

Ms. Billions, you are a writer that connects with the human soul. You do not limit yourself to what others would relate as fear. You challenge the reader to understand and accept the realities of pain. Some may call it dark writing, I call it elevation to light from darkness. You truly paint a canvas with a pen. You write your vision with such powerful and profound words that captures the attention to self. You are a writer that should have more recognition. I would love to “visualize” more of your short stories. It was such a poetic flow ...

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Marisa Billions
00:06 Feb 28, 2023

You are too kind! This is a beautiful compliment! Thank you!

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Melissa Reid
23:23 Feb 26, 2023

I love this, Marisa! You set the scene very well and I can envision what it was like dealing with her mother. Lyric is rich and complex character that I need more of!

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Marisa Billions
02:13 Feb 27, 2023

Thank you for your constant support! I appreciate you!

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Melissa Reid
23:42 Feb 27, 2023

You're welcome! Thanks for providing such great stories!

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Viga Boland
15:19 Feb 26, 2023

Like Ryan French said, this could be a novel…and an important one. I’m a book reviewer as well as an author and this so lends itself to memoir. That said, it certainly has impact as a short story too. You have captured the heartbreak, the loneliness so well. Kudos my dear. Excellent. BTW, would I be wrong in assuming this is ehat I call “faction” I.e fiction based on fact? And are you a singer, a performer? I ask as one of my daughters is a singer/songwriter/performer born with music in her soul. I’m going to follow you to see what else...

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Marisa Billions
16:38 Feb 26, 2023

Hi! Thank you for your comment! No, it is not memoir. It is all fiction. I was working on my fourth novel and this was the back story for the antagonist. :)

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Viga Boland
16:48 Feb 26, 2023

Oh wow…unreal! Hope you let us know when the novel is published.

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Marisa Billions
19:10 Feb 26, 2023

I definitely will!! Thank you again!!

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Ryan French
16:34 Feb 24, 2023

This was beautiful. I work in a few schools as a nurse now and this makes me think of the kiddos I see that are always in trouble. I wonder about their lives and if they are loved. Also, I would read a whole book based on that sort story.

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Marisa Billions
19:12 Feb 26, 2023

Thank you!!

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Linda Gresham
20:59 Feb 22, 2023

Wow, sad.

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Marisa Billions
19:11 Feb 26, 2023

Did it go too far?

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Marianna Misko
20:04 Feb 22, 2023

I want more of this story. This was so gripping, so true to so many lives. I can feel an amazing book to evolve from what I just read

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Marisa Billions
19:11 Feb 26, 2023

Thank you! There will be more to come.

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