Chapter 29
Nothing Is What It Appears to Be
After spending nearly, a week in a holding cell following my Family Court hearing. Which is about seventy-five miles from Santaquin due north of Salt Lake City? I had learned early on that nothing is what it appears to be. I was told that the Rothwell family was one of the best and have had several foster kids in the past who are now living a good life because of the family structure and values, and unlike the Downing's they are God-fearing LDS with high standings. The State considers them to be role models to other foster homes.
I felt no reassurance; the load crap this new social worker was trying to shove down my throat convinced not even Jeff. People often say that you have to earn trust; They left out some things from the broacher or vacation pamphlet.
The house sat at the end of the street with about five houses down from a large subdivision, with a large pasture for horses. They didn't allow me to take my horse, even though there was plenty of room for him. They didn't even permit me to have my hamster Buttercup, but they at least gave me the option to give her to my brother Aaron or let my brothers Robert and Will take her.
The choice was logical as any; knowing full well what would happen if I left her in my parent's house. I simply let Robert and Will take her. In fact, I had no permission to have any pets at all. They assured me they would provide everything I would ever need and gave them enough money in advance to do so. They left me with just the clothing on my back. That's it.
Red flags went up in my mind as we got to the door. Everything seemed to emasculate for such a large family. The yard was too tidy and the windows too clean, not a speck of dirt anywhere; including the sidewalk or the driveway for a family of eight not including two foster children. I wasn't surprised when they requested us to take off our shoes in the very clean white tile hallway near the door.
At first, the family seemed kind enough. Stating the two foster boys were spending the weekend at a friend's house down the street, and wouldn't be back until Saturday night. Something smelled fishy as I caught a glimpse in the mother's eyes when she quickly called for the rest of the family to be present. But I could have been wrong. Jeff seemed to sense something dark and sinister as Mr. Rothwell came over to introduce himself and the rest of the family.
Mr. Rothwell was big if not bigger than Pa, his eyes dark green with yellow specks like a dragon I had seen and movies, His arms built like harden steal of a stone giant. I had been told he worked as a prison guard for harden criminals somewhere near Salt Lake City. His face appeared chiseled from stone, and he exuded a cruel and angry manner. It took great control not to shake with fear, for he did nothing to set you at ease. I felt full terror as I looked him in the eye. I wanted to run and hide just to get away from him.
The living room looked spotless, as if nobody had ever used it. Mrs. Rothwell had dark brown hair that seemed puffy with spots of gray as it crowned her head with green eyes like the rest of the family. They seemed like dark pools that could swallow your very soul and never let you go. She wasn't as tall as Ma just barely reaching her husband shoulders at least five- nine. Quickly grabbed my arm hard, but hard enough to take notice. Then quickly let go as if forgetting herself at the moment and covered up by pointing to the couch.
While her daughter Jody with light brown hair shoulder length and green eyes, with the average height of my sister Anna five feet six, but three years younger 16 setting down a plate of freshly baked double chocolate chip cookies. Stating, they were told they were my favorite, hoping to make me feel at home placing a napkin in my lap so I wouldn't spill crumbs onto the spotless carpet. That she is looking forward to her sophomore year at the same high school as her brothers and sister.
Then, she introduced me to her sister Kerry, who had longer brown hair not quite reaching her waist. Kerry stood five feet-six inches taller than her sister and was almost three years older. She proudly stated that she will be a senior in high school this year at American Fork High School. The same one we had passed about seven miles up the road. I, too, was looking forward to spending my first freshman year in high school, but I was hoping to be doing it with my brothers Robert and Will. Oh, how I missed them wiping an escaped tear, hoping it would go unnoticed. I was soon poured a large glass of freshly made lemonade. They told me we normally don't allow food in the living room but informed me that this was a special occasion. So, they let it go as long as I was careful.
Shane was seventeen a high school Jr. at American Fork High School, was next in line as he quickly nodded in a stuck up way, but polite enough as if given a warning glance from his parents. Something seemed very odd about that, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
Shane was very tall almost like my brother Robert if he ever got his height. Almost blond hair and green eyes like his sisters. They reminded me of a cat's eyes. He didn't say much except almost coldly. "It's nice to meet you and have been told so much about you." almost overdoing the part "of so much about you" It seemed rehearsed. Again red flags went up warning me. Jeff didn't seem comfortable at all as if he was waiting for something to jump right out and say surprises as if I had just jumped into a house full of zombies about to eat me.
Shawn was next in line his hands felt limp like a wet dishrag. Pa told me once that you can size a person up by a handshake. It will tell you how much the person truly means it when they introduce themselves. By the way, Shawn shook my hand. It seems he did it with as much warmth as petting a cobra ready to strike. Again, the thought of the Downings made it very hard to hold back the tears. Shawn was almost my height five feet two and had just turned fourteen the same age as me. He was looking forward to attending school as a first-year student with his two older siblings.
It seemed clear enough that I would attend the same school. Nobody said differently. I didn't push the issue, but I should have while the social worker was there. I soon learned that I would attend a different school altogether. They didn't go into a lot of detail. Only stating the school, I would go to would be better set to "my needs." And they will explain more when we get closer to going. The word "trust me," you'll like it there and will attend with the "other foster boys." Again, the red flags went up. I didn't like the way Mrs. Rothwell said "other foster boys." It sounded hard and cruel like it left a bad taste in your mouth. Jeff was getting more and more concerned and so was I. Apparently my social worker thought nothing of it.
I soon met Jared and Jason as they quickly took their place on the floor like very obedient children. When I say "Obedient" I mean it is like how people would train their dogs if they did something wrong. I could catch a glimpse in their eyes as if they were saying. Run, you don't want to be here. Jared was just a little younger than my brother Aaron, at least nine years of age with short brown hair cut missionary style. He seemed short for his age, standing nearly four feet with the same green cat eyes as his brothers. It was creeping me out big time. His little brother Jason age five was very shy and afraid to say anything clinging tight to his brother Jared's hand. He, too, had the same eyes and the same haircut. Once they all introduced themselves and took a cookie. Their parents silently dismissed them, as if they had committed a wrongdoing, with no further communication.
Apparently, I was about to be explained the rules and those strict guidelines; I had a feeling I would not like them. The air in the room seemed to change as my eyes were forced to look at them; not in a friendly manner. Mrs. and Mr. Rothwell took seats across from me while my social worker sat next to me. There had been so many that they seemed to change with the tide. It wasn't worth remembering each of their names. Let's just say there were several of them and leave it at that.
I was soon explained that I would not be returning home for home visits anytime soon; as she mentioned, I am considered a problem child, and a known runaway. "We won't tolerate that behavior here," she mentioned. Mr. Rothwell stated quickly and harshly. Even though I tried to explain it was a lie. In which I hadn't really run away during a family camp-out with my brother. Just to gain attention; causing unnecessary panic for my parents and the Downings, which I nearly died falling off a cliff with massive injuries caused by myself.
I yelled. "My father caused those injuries; not me. But it was him and my mother while they had drugged me and kidnapped me and my brother." Earning a slap across the face from Mrs. Rothwell; my caseworker didn't object to it in the least. Stating that I was out of line and should learn to behave myself, and stop telling such vile lies.
Mr. Rothwell's voice echoed in the room, his tone filled with a menacing certainty as he guaranteed I would learn to be sibyl or face the consequence of being confined to my room. A wave of anger washed over my social worker, her head nodding fiercely as she warned me to weigh my actions in the near future. The taste of blood filled my mouth as I anxiously bit my lip, the metallic tang adding to my growing unease.
They informed me that, because of my actions, there would be further consequences. The punishment included the revocation of all phone privileges until they deemed me trustworthy again. I could call none of my friends or relatives, not even my grandmother. They effectively cut off any means of communication by screening every letter I wrote before sending it out. They also forbade any contact from the Downings, whom I desperately wanted to reach out to. If they dared to visit, the authorities would forcibly remove them. I couldn't leave my room until further notice; they had trapped and confined me.
The thought of home visits barely registered in my mind. I couldn't care less about them; in fact, it would be better if they never happened at all. My heart ached as I thought about my brother Aaron, knowing there was nothing I could do to help him. I was already in deep trouble, though it wasn't my fault. Aaron would have to fend for himself, at least for now. I could only hope and pray that my grandmother would keep an eye on him until I found a solution.
The fact that they hadn't allowed me to see or speak to her since my confinement bothered me deeply. Even when she tried to visit, they denied her access to me. And as for my brother, they had forcefully separated us, leaving me with only Jeff's reassurances that he was okay for now. The pain of being torn apart was unbearable, but rules were made to be broken. I would find a way, even if it was my last act.
The multitude of new rules imposed upon me weighed heavily on my mind, the restrictions on what I could and couldn't do stifling any hope of happiness. Red flags and warning signals blared in my thoughts, signaling that this place was far from safe or welcoming. The sinking feeling of despair engulfed me, reminiscent of the ill-fated Titanic. As they led me on a tour of the house, my senses heightened. I observed the locked basement door, only accessible to Shane and Shawn, the two "other boys" who slept downstairs, hidden away from prying eyes. The peculiar eye movements of those in charge disturbed me. I questioned the purpose of the chain lock and deadbolt on the outside of the door, feeling a sense of unease. Those in charge locked the door more frequently from the inside than from the outside. I should have asked, but remained silent. My social worker was so close by that I didn't ask my question, as I doubted they would answer it. The kitchen and the dining room next to the basement which led to the large family room and door to the two-car garage. Every wall in the house was white and clean, the same with the off-white carpet in every room.
Too clean for a family this size, if you ask me. You could almost smell the chemicals that kept it clean. It was nothing like the Downing home where it felt warm and loved and most of all safe. Here it was just the opposite. Cold and disinfectant, nothing said love and homey. Maybe I was too critical as I compared it to what I wanted, but I soon learned it was worse than cold and it was an avoidance of anything of love and safety. Jeff didn't like it one bit. Feeling the walls and then rubbing it off quickly onto his pants, frowning.
After showing me where I would be staying, they promptly returned me to the living room. It was a small room, white just like the others. Across from the small single bed, there was a small brown dresser, and a closet filled with new clothes in my size. The room, similar to the others, had a coat of white paint. Apparently, even they decided for me. The walls were bear with no posters or picture hung on the wall. My caseworker whispered harshly in my ear to thank them for taking the time and preparing my new accommodation; she in no means said it sweetly. Grabbing my arm not to kindly as she waited for me to say thank you; having them state it was no trouble at all. Grinning like a sick cat that had too much cream.
I was then told to wait in my room until supper time. Suggesting a long nap would not go wasted, nor will time alone to think about my previous behavior and how I intended to mend my behavior in the future. My social worker had them sign documents that released me into the Rothwells care and handing over their first check as if it was a bill of sale. Stating she will be back to check in on me in two weeks; Jotting down the date and time on her calendar to remind her. Mrs. Rothwell did the same with a large circle, noting the time and date, again red flags. I should have run, I should have done something other than watch and wait for my terror to begin. Hoping I was mistaken, I prayed. But this was no dream. No, this was a nightmare to be assured as the sun rose the next morning.