Alison spent the rest of that day waiting for her mom to pick her up. When she didn’t show up at the end of the school day, the principal, Mr. Cleveland, had walked her to the bus. All the kids laughed at her, pointing at her. One of them, a girl from her class, said, “She called her mom a bitch in class!” All the kids on the bus laughed at her. If that hadn’t been enough, she’d tried her best to hold her bladder all day, afraid to ask Mr. Cleveland for permission to go to the restroom. Tears streamed down her face as she searched for a seat on the bus. None of the kids wanted to sit next to her, so she started to cry, and as she’d stood in the center aisle of the bus, she’d peed all over herself. For the rest of the year, the kids who rode the bus and those in her classroom called her a “piss-pot-pecker-head.”
That was the start of her running away. She smartened up a bit that summer. No one was ever going to be mean to her again. In August that year, a week before she started fourth grade, she’d packed what little clothes she had in the old book bag handed down to her, crawled out the bedroom window, and never looked back. The police picked her up the next day but didn’t return her to the only real family she’d known. Instead, the state of Ohio sent her to a new foster home, in a new town where no one could make fun of her. Mr. Beamer insisted she call him by his formal name rather than Dad or Father, and Mrs. Beamer said she should call her Sheila rather than Mom. She didn’t have to share a bedroom, because the Beamers didn’t have other kids. She’d learned enough by this time to keep her life at home a secret from her new classmates. Refusing to make friends, she spent most of her time studying, and when she could, she’d go to the school library and bring books home.
Alison excelled in class, and for the first time in her young life, she’d had a sense of pride and accomplishment. She recalled being so excited to tell her new family she’d made the honor roll. They said all the right words to her; they were proud of her, all that she expected. Later that night, alone in her bedroom, Alison read about fairies and bears that talked, and a little girl who’d been scared by a wolf. When she read, she escaped into the lives of the characters, pretended they were her family, and sometimes she wished she could jump into the actual pages and disappear. That night, she’d started reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, wishing she could fall through a rabbit hole like Alice. She’d make friends with the queen, that silly cat, and the hatter. She couldn’t wait to finish this story so she could read the second book, Through the Looking-Glass. With these thoughts, she fell into a restful sleep, dreaming about the zany characters in the novel. Unsure how long she’d been asleep, she suddenly woke up to see Mr. Beamer sitting on the edge of her bed. Uncertain why, she remembered inching her way toward the wall, scooting as far away from him as possible. He’d reached beneath the covers, touching her in places that little girls shouldn’t be touched. Beyond afraid, she’d cried, because she knew she’d have to sneak out the window again. Just when she’d settled into her new home.
Once again, the authorities found her, though this time, they returned her to the Beamers. Nothing was said about the incident with Mr. Beamer that had sent her running. Life returned to normal. Happy to be back in school, she forgot about Mr. Beamer’s nighttime visit.
Christmas break had been so much fun. She helped Sheila decorate a giant tree. They strung lights on all the outside windows, even though it was freezing outside. She’d been so cold her fingers were numb. Back inside, Sheila made both of them cups of hot chocolate with big spoonfuls of whipped cream. Alison thought life with the Beamer family close to perfect. They bought her nice clothes, she could eat whenever she was hungry, and no one told her to get her ass away from the refrigerator if she wanted a snack. It was the night before Christmas Eve. She helped Sheila wrap presents for Mr. Beamer, they shared a bowl of popcorn, and Sheila let her have two root beer floats with scoops of vanilla ice cream.
When they finished, she returned to her room to find Mr. Beamer lying on her bed. The covers were pulled down, the nightlight turned off. The moon shining in through the window gave off just enough light for her to see that Mr. Beamer was not wearing any clothes. Knowing this was not what a father or foster parent should do, she had screamed loudly. Sheila came running down the hall to her room. She turned the light on, saw Mr. Beamer hastily putting his clothes on, and started to scream so loud, Alison put her hands over her ears. Every cuss word Alison had ever heard of, and some she hadn’t, spewed from Sheila’s mouth as Mr. Beamer finished dressing.
Sheila then walked toward Alison very slowly, her eyes filled with rage. Sheila slapped her across the cheek so hard, she fell to the floor. As she tried to get up, Sheila kicked her in the back, Alison’s head slamming into the edge of the bedframe. Crying, she’d tried to crawl under the bed, hoping Sheila would leave. Alison scrambled as far away from her as she could when Sheila yanked her out from under the bed, slapping her several times.
“You little tramp, you’re just like all the rest! A trashy seductress!”
Alison hadn’t known what a tramp or a seductress was at the time, but she would learn soon enough. They’d spent Christmas Day pretending they were just like any other family, but that evening, when Alison went to bed, she knew there was no way she was going to spend another night in the Beamer house. She’d snuck the dictionary from Mr. Beamer’s office. She learned the definitions of tramp and seductress. She’d already been through the trashy stage when she’d lived with the Sterlings.
Since it was bitterly cold outside, she’d packed all the warm clothes that could fit inside her backpack. She dressed in two pairs of jeans, two pairs of socks, and the new winter coat she’d received for Christmas, along with a matching set of gloves, a scarf, and a beanie hat. Sheila had bought her a pair of Ugg boots at the start of winter so her feet would stay warm. On Christmas morning, she knew this would be her last day in this house, so every chance she got, she took food to her room. Mr. Beamer always kept his wallet on the nightstand beside his bed. During one of her trips to her room to hide food, she’d taken all of the cash from the wallet. She’d counted 326 dollars. Plenty of money to get by on. After midnight, when Sheila and Mr. Beamer had gone to bed, she opened her bedroom door. She heard both of them snoring loudly, as they’d both been drinking all day. She made her exit through the window, soon forgetting about her second foster family.
Alison pushed the memories to the back of her mind where they belonged. Rarely did she allow herself to indulge in remembering the horrors of her childhood. Sitting here in this miserable heat, she’d had nothing better to do while she waited for Betty to return. Alison would find a pay phone and call a locksmith if the old lady wasn’t back in half an hour. She had no clue where she’d find a pay phone, as they were rarely used these days. If she didn’t locate a phone, she would return to the dollar store in the shopping plaza, where she’d purchased her cat supplies. If they had cell phones, she’d break her own rule and purchase one, in case she ever caught herself in another situation like this. This was frigging bull. Dying for a drink of water and a cup of coffee, she decided to walk to the dollar store now. She wouldn’t dare leave her luggage behind. Dragging the old beat-up suitcase behind her, Alison had walked almost a mile when a yellow cab slowed down beside her.