A Female's Tale

You could say I’m a bit of a wanderer.
I’ve never really stayed in one place for too long.
Come to think of it, I’ve never really stayed with one person for too long either.
Maybe that’s my fault. Maybe I’m just not worth having around for too long. Or, maybe it’s not my fault. Maybe it’s their fault. The world’s fault, I mean.

Anyway, I’m losing focus. Where was I? Oh, right. Nobody wants me. Or, perhaps, maybe they did and I just never stuck around long enough to fully realize it. Regardless, I’ve been mostly on my own for what seems the majority of my life.
I guess I’ll back track a bit. That way you’ll be better acquainted with my story of woe. You’ll have to bear with me though.
As I’m lying here, my senses are starting to fade a bit, and my memory might not be all too intact at this moment in time.

*****

I was born not too long ago in a quaint little farmhouse just outside of the big city.
My mother, much like myself, was homeless. At least when she wasn’t bouncing around from house to house. But during this time she was very much without a home. And she also happened to be very pregnant with me, my 2 sisters, and my brother.

She had been walking, by foot, along the main dirt road , trying desperately to find a place to rest, when she happened upon the farmhouse I mentioned earlier. She was weak, tired, and hungry with no real place to go. The farmhouse was the first sign of human existence she had seen in almost a mile. She’d have cried if she could at the sight of the elderly looking couple relaxing on their porch that Saturday evening. She felt a renewal of hope at the sight of them. She veered off the dirt road and began walking slowly towards the front porch and began to call for help. But at this time, and in her condition, her calls were merely anything more than whimpers by this point.

My mother was first noticed by the lady of the house. A rather small framed Hispanic woman possibly no older than 60 years of age but certainly no younger than 50 years. She had a pretty face though. A kind face full of immediate compassion for anyone thought to be in distress. Mrs. Hester quickly sat straight up on the porch swing that she and her husband had been listlessly swaying upon. Her husband, Mr. Hester, an age compatible white man with a full head of graying hair, had been nodding off when he was rattled awake by his wife. Once aware of the situation the two then sprang off of the porch swing to the quick aid of this wayfaring mother to be.

Mr. Hester: “She’s obviously pregnant. And ready to pop.”
Mrs. Hester: “Well, don’t just stand there, Georg!. Quickly, get her inside!”

So he did. Mr. Hester lifted my poor mother off of her sore feet, for he was still pretty strong for his age,, and whisked her into his home while his wife, who had run in ahead of them, had already arranged a comfortable spot on the living room sofa where she could rest. Once they had properly laid her down and seen to her care, they began commenting on her and questioning her indirectly, more so to each other than to her, for she had passed out from fatigue.

Mrs. Hester: “Oh, the poor girl. She looks so tired. Yet she looks so beautiful with that gorgeous blonde hair of hers.”
Mr. Hester: “She looks young too. Can’t be more than about 18 years of age. I can’t imagine what she was doing out there all on her own at this time of night, the poor girl.”
Mrs. Hester: “Should we call a doctor? Or, no, I don’t suppose the clinic is even open at this hour, is it? I wonder where she’s from?”
Mr. Hester: “I searched and there’s no identification on her. Maybe she’s just one of those unfortunate girls that got knocked up by some wandering tramp.”
Mrs. Hester: “I still feel like we should call somebody. What if we-”

My young mother-to-be awoke from her momentary relief and let out an inhuman howl of pain. She was in labour and ready to give birth. There’d be no trained professionals for my mother. My birth, our birth, would be an old-fashioned home birth performed by the Hesters. Fortunately, it was successful. I was the first to crown. Mr. Hester would later tell me that I “looked like an angel, even if you were covered in gook”. I was born into this world without so much as a problem. A healthy baby girl with no complications. Mrs. Hester wrapped me in a blanket and tended to me while Mr. Hester aided by siblings.

First came my brother, wiggling and squirming into this world. Then came my sister, squeaking and yelping all the while. Finally, my other sister brought up the rear without so much as a sound. It was a rather successful birthing. I, my brother, and 2 sisters were born on the night of August 13th, a Saturday. My mother, our mother, died that same night. The Hesters knew nothing of her origin, her situation, or even a name, though they would always refer to her as “that poor girl”. They decided to keep us and raise us as their own. They’d never raised newborns before, but were ready to have a go at it. They kept us. They gradually named us.

My brother was noticeably feisty at a young age. He was always begging for food and attention. “That little boy always gave me a run for my money”, Mrs. Hester would always say. So, she named him Gamble.

My first sister was the quiet one. She would always follow Mrs. Hester around throughout the day. When she was given a command she would dutifully obey and do as she was told. Mrs. Hester took an extra liking to her. “That girl is the most peaceful creature I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” So she named her Pleasance.

And while Pleasance was always fervently keeping in step with Mrs. Hester, and Gamble continually driving her mad with frustration, I found my affections latched onto Mr. Hester.
He was a very caring man. Never prone to temper. He would always chuckle at his wife having to deal with the other two, but would always hold me close and whisper to me, “She can worry about those two. You’re my little gem. I‘ll keep you close always.” Mr. Hester and I had a special bond from the beginning. Our personalities were similar in ease and in consequence we enjoyed each others company greatly. He was the one that got to name me. He reminded me constantly that out of my siblings I was the one who most resembled my mother.

I had one more sister. She was the youngest of us. The youngest of us by mere seconds, but still.
She had been born quite different than the rest of us. It wasn’t quite noticeable until we were older but the Hesters caught onto it right away. My sister would never respond to when called. Either because she couldn’t really hear or maybe because she chose to ignore everyone else. We never really knew. When she was 4 years old she somehow wandered outside on her own. She was gone for hours before it was apparent that she had gone missing.. Mr. Hester searched for days but never found her. She was presumed dead, or worse, kidnapped by some stranger who might have found her out on her own. We’ll never know.

My brother, sister, and I remained with the Hesters until we reached our 5th year.
One Sunday afternoon, Mr. Hester went out on a ride to handle some errands and would never return after that. He would die in a fatal car crash. Mrs. Hester was a very broken woman after that. She had already been suffering from an illness when Mr. Hester died. And about a month after he passed away, she joined him. Not long after that, my brother, sister, and I were removed from the only home we had ever known and sent to foster homes. I never did see my brother and sister again.

*****(To Be Continued)