A Little Blue Baseball Cap

They all told me I was a miracle. That me being alive was in itself amazing. Fascinating, even. But sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be here. Because every time someone looks at me, my soul is completely out in the open. For them to judge. And stare. They keep telling me to try to remember. They keep describing it, but I don’t want to remember. And every voice that says that they’re trying to help me sounds like nails on a chalkboard, and my ears never manage to escape the tight grasp they hold around me. My heart is still shriveled up; I’m surprised I’m still breathing. My whole life is just a failure. A mix of wrong and sadness and lost hope. I keep telling myself that things will change, but nothing here changes. It’s not easy though, when everyone around you feels like chalk.

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They told me that my parents died in a car accident. They said we were driving down the road, and an earthquake came out of nowhere, and the car swerved, and they died. But not me. I didn’t. They said I was strong. Said the police found me buried under a pile of rubble on Exit 150. But I try not to imagine it too much. I don’t remember anything, except not remembering the accident. You know, amnesia really decided to come in when I got flung out of a car window nine feet into the air. I hit my head so hard, my brain decided not to remember the accident anymore. And for that, I’m grateful.

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The raw oats have gone cold, but I don’t care. The little voices in my head told me not to eat them; told me that it was barf. I seem to listen more to the voices than to people around here. The little plastic spoon breaks from my grip. I didn’t mean to break it, but maybe I’m just that horrible.

Maybe that’s why no one wants me. 

“Break time!” A voice yells from outside the cell door. It may not seem like a cell to most people, but to me, it is. All the walls feel like concrete. I can’t sleep at all, because every time I blink, the walls cave in. And the small monster in the dark corner creeps a slight bit closer.

I throw the tray down onto the cold floor and itch my scalp. I need a shower. A shower sounds great. But the voices told me that the water would kill me, so I haven’t felt water on me since last week.

Apparently, it’s break time. But I don’t really understand why they call it a break. I mean, most of the kids here, including me, do nothing most of the day, then we’re supposed to have a break? From doing nothing? I don’t know.

I grab my little baseball cap which was the only thing I have left from my past life. I’ve never dared to put it on, because they told me that my parents were driving me to a baseball game on that day, and I’m scared of what will happen if I wear the tiny little hat that probably doesn’t fit anymore anyway. But I’m too scared to admit my fear. My thoughts start to wander.

People who try not to act scared are probably the scardest of all, I think to myself, getting up and walking towards the little door. Hiding behind a curtain, never daring to express their fear. And the people who show their scaredness are brave. They're not afraid of the consequences of telling someone how they feel. 

I wish I was brave.  

As I make my way to the door, a sharp pain stings the bottom of my foot. I lift my foot and see a tiny safety pin stuck to my heel. I pull it off and throw it into the corner of the room. I bite my tongue and touch the wound. It’s not bad. I’m fine. I’m fine. Tears start rushing to my eyes, begging to be set free, but I pull them back. I have a feeling the tears aren’t just about the safety pin incident. 

I leave the cramped, dusty, confined space and go towards the yard. I see another kid sitting under my favorite tree and smile to myself. I take a step closer towards the big oak, and he turns around and stares at me. His eyes fill with sudden horror.

“Ahhh! Help! It’s her! It’s the-the g-g-ghost of e-exit 150!” He screams, jumping up as fast as he can and starts scurrying towards the little playset on the other side of the yard.

I can’t help it. My smile widens. Call me a psycho , but I kinda like it when they’re scared of me. I put my baseball cap down, sit under the tree, and start fiddling with a fallen leaf, wondering what would happen if I put the hat on. Maybe I’d remember. But I don’t want to. 

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“Echo!” Ms. Parton yells, “Someone’s here to see you!”

I get up and wipe the grass off my skirt. Someone? Here? To see me? 

My brows tie themselves into a knot as I walk towards the old, rotting building. The words “Orphanage” mold at the top. 

I open the door and step inside to see Ms. Parton standing in the doorway. Ms. Parton always was a plump lady. I always hear her talking about diets and exercises, but I don’t think any of them have worked. She once told me she has seven cats, but the voices told me she was lying, so I concluded that she probably has six. 

“What?” I said, slightly annoyed. I wanted to get back to my tree before that stupid boy tried to come back.

“Do not speak to me like that, Echo,” Her southern accent was the strongest I’ve ever heard. And the only accent I ever heard. Makes her hard to understand most of the time.

“Sorry,” I roll my eyes. She ignores the gesture and turns around.

“Follow me,” She says.

I start following her, but try to be careful not to look directly at her backside as she’s facing the other way. Oh heavens, I don’t think I’d enjoy that view. My heel where I hit the pin starts hurting, so I limp the rest of the way. 

She took me to the front office. I’ve never been in here before. It smells like candied roses and too many candles. I look around and see a dark blue carpet, a couple wooden desks and a woman standing in the middle of the tiny room. She’s holding her own hands and smiling at me. Yeesh. Creepy.

I start to go sit at a desk before Ms. Parton grabs my arm tightly and pulls me towards the woman. 

The lady smiles at Ms. Parton then looks at me. Her makeup might just fall completely off from the amount of tears she’s shedding. 

Ms. Parton smiles her thick smile and walks out. I’m confused.

“Paisley?” 

I look up. The woman just said a name, but it sounds familiar. I stare at her a while longer. 

Long red hair.

Gorgeous blue eyes.

Perfect white teeth. 

My eyes widen.

“Mom?”

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She didn’t die. In fact, she’s standing right in front of me. I blink a couple of times and even pinch myself. Before I know it, she’s pulled me into a hug. I wrap my arms around her, then twitch.

“Stop. She’s lying. Don’t trust her. You little-” The voices start screaming at me in my own head. I start aching and I think I might just faint. I laugh maniacally and start running around the room, twitching and holding my head. The lady tries to stop me, but the voices won’t calm down. It hurts. 

She finally grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me into a warm embrace. I could get used to this. The voices start to melt away calmly. I smile, the first time I have in years. I suddenly have a new past to remember. I don’t want to remember, but I’ll try.

And who knows? Maybe I’ll finally try on that baseball cap.