[Fic] Ghosts Blown Away Like Paper Bags
Leon had never really had a family.
That was what they said, anyway. The foster parents and the social workers, the public defenders and the teachers. It was whispered over his head, talked about while he sat in another room, said aloud over his head. "Leon's never really had a family."
They were wrong.
Technically, of course, they were right--both of Leon's parents had died by the time he was two, and because they were new immigrants, instead of being handed off to relatives, he was tossed into foster care. He knew that story--a social worker had told it to him at five, after his first fight.
They were still wrong. Leon had a family.
His dad--he called him Dad--was an analyst. At five, Leon didn't really know what an analyst did, but one of his earliest foster fathers had been an analyst, and it sounded professional enough to be something Leon could be proud of. His mother--"Mom"--was a librarian, but she only worked part time. He had a baby sister, who his mother had to take care of. She was three years younger than Leon, and her name was Sarah, and he loved her very much.
Leon knew better than to tell anyone about his family. He wasn't stupid, and he knew--had seen the other kids go to behavioral therapists when they refused to acknowledge that their parents were dead. He knew better than to talk about how his dad had gotten a promotion, or how his sister was really smart and could say her whole alphabet and knew which letters were vowels. But when he woke up at night from a nightmare, he didn't call for Mrs. Henderson. His mom was already there, gathering him up in her arms, and his dad was wiping his hair fro his face, and from across the apartment, he could almost hear Sarah's soft, even breathing in the dark.
So that's why Leon didn't say anything when the second grade bullies asked him mockingly about his mom, or when his dad was coming to pick him up. Mom had to be home that day with Sarah, who had a cold, and Dad was working late. But then one of the boys grabbed the back of Leon's backpack and whirled him around. "Answer me," he growled, his breath smelling like Mrs. Henderson's cat's litter box. "Where's your mom? Huh?"
"At home," Leon snapped, too annoyed to try to think up an excuse. He wriggled in the older boy's grasp. "Now let me go!"
"Bullshit!" the other kid snapped, using a word he had clearly overheard the middle schoolers using. "My mom says you don't HAVE a mom, and that you live with Old Man Henderson from the grocery store and his wife 'cause no one else wants you!"
Leon's face flashed red and without even thinking, he struck out with a tightly closed fist, connecting with the boy's nose. The boy stumbled backwards as blood gushed from his nostrils, and then he started crying, which seemed to be the signal for his buddy to tackle Leon and start hitting. "You made him bleed!" the boy shouted hysterically. "You made him bleed!"
Leon's face was a map of bruises by the time a teacher intervened, and as much as they didn't believe that a six year old had a chance against an almost-eight-year-old, they couldn't account for the bloody nose, and so they had to suspend Leon, especially after he openly admitted to starting the fight. The Hendersons explained to Leon's sweaty social worker that they couldn't handle a kid who started fights, and he was bounced to another home in another school district.
Leon switched foster parents and left his family behind. For a make-believe family, they hadn't done him much good. That black mark on his record, that was all their fault, and he would never really forgive them for it, so when he packed his bag, he deliberately ripped up their family portrait and left it in the garbage with the used tissues and rotting apple cores. He was done with them now, and he had a bus to catch.
Muse: Leon Warner
Word count: 696 words
Prompt: "Is it wrong to love a family of ghosts?" for savich_inc
That was what they said, anyway. The foster parents and the social workers, the public defenders and the teachers. It was whispered over his head, talked about while he sat in another room, said aloud over his head. "Leon's never really had a family."
They were wrong.
Technically, of course, they were right--both of Leon's parents had died by the time he was two, and because they were new immigrants, instead of being handed off to relatives, he was tossed into foster care. He knew that story--a social worker had told it to him at five, after his first fight.
They were still wrong. Leon had a family.
His dad--he called him Dad--was an analyst. At five, Leon didn't really know what an analyst did, but one of his earliest foster fathers had been an analyst, and it sounded professional enough to be something Leon could be proud of. His mother--"Mom"--was a librarian, but she only worked part time. He had a baby sister, who his mother had to take care of. She was three years younger than Leon, and her name was Sarah, and he loved her very much.
Leon knew better than to tell anyone about his family. He wasn't stupid, and he knew--had seen the other kids go to behavioral therapists when they refused to acknowledge that their parents were dead. He knew better than to talk about how his dad had gotten a promotion, or how his sister was really smart and could say her whole alphabet and knew which letters were vowels. But when he woke up at night from a nightmare, he didn't call for Mrs. Henderson. His mom was already there, gathering him up in her arms, and his dad was wiping his hair fro his face, and from across the apartment, he could almost hear Sarah's soft, even breathing in the dark.
So that's why Leon didn't say anything when the second grade bullies asked him mockingly about his mom, or when his dad was coming to pick him up. Mom had to be home that day with Sarah, who had a cold, and Dad was working late. But then one of the boys grabbed the back of Leon's backpack and whirled him around. "Answer me," he growled, his breath smelling like Mrs. Henderson's cat's litter box. "Where's your mom? Huh?"
"At home," Leon snapped, too annoyed to try to think up an excuse. He wriggled in the older boy's grasp. "Now let me go!"
"Bullshit!" the other kid snapped, using a word he had clearly overheard the middle schoolers using. "My mom says you don't HAVE a mom, and that you live with Old Man Henderson from the grocery store and his wife 'cause no one else wants you!"
Leon's face flashed red and without even thinking, he struck out with a tightly closed fist, connecting with the boy's nose. The boy stumbled backwards as blood gushed from his nostrils, and then he started crying, which seemed to be the signal for his buddy to tackle Leon and start hitting. "You made him bleed!" the boy shouted hysterically. "You made him bleed!"
Leon's face was a map of bruises by the time a teacher intervened, and as much as they didn't believe that a six year old had a chance against an almost-eight-year-old, they couldn't account for the bloody nose, and so they had to suspend Leon, especially after he openly admitted to starting the fight. The Hendersons explained to Leon's sweaty social worker that they couldn't handle a kid who started fights, and he was bounced to another home in another school district.
Leon switched foster parents and left his family behind. For a make-believe family, they hadn't done him much good. That black mark on his record, that was all their fault, and he would never really forgive them for it, so when he packed his bag, he deliberately ripped up their family portrait and left it in the garbage with the used tissues and rotting apple cores. He was done with them now, and he had a bus to catch.
Muse: Leon Warner
Word count: 696 words
Prompt: "Is it wrong to love a family of ghosts?" for savich_inc