BooksBarbecue
Back Little Universes
Chapters (63)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Part 1
  6. Mae
  7. Hannah
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. Part 2
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. Part 3
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. Epilogue
  59. Mental Health Resources
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  62. About the Author
  63. Newsletter Sign-up

But the other thing I don’t know is why she had me. Was she thinking about keeping me, or did she always know she’d give me up? Maybe I was a bad baby. Sickly or crying too much. Annoying. Not cute. I don’t know what kind of baby I was, because I have no baby pictures. No home videos of me crawling. I do not know what I looked like until the first foster home, when I was one. And the only picture I have from that time, the state took so they could put it on their website. I’ve looked at those sites—it’s like an animal shelter, kids being advertised for adoption, hoping for their “forever home.” There are few things sadder on this planet than looking at the pictures of the older kids that no one wants. You can see it, in their eyes, you can see how much they want a family.

What exactly made my bio mom decide I wasn’t worth the effort? What made her sign me over to the State of California? A state that can’t even balance its own checkbook half the time. She gave me to a system where statistics show upward of twenty-eight percent of kids are abused—and those are just the ones who fess up. I’m not the only drug orphan, I know. In fact, in all my research about Hannah, I’ve learned that the opiate crisis in America has created a swell of orphans, of kids whose parents do to them what my bio mom did to me—because they love the drugs more.

My bio mom didn’t know I’d get to be a Winters, with smart parents who loved me and took care of me. This wasn’t a case where some girl got pregnant and then got to choose the perfect family for her baby girl and it was all Hallmark beautiful. That wasn’t my story. My story was seven houses in three years. Maybe some people just took me in for the money—you get real money for fostering kids. Or maybe they were just nice and good, but couldn’t keep me. Or maybe they weren’t. I DON’T KNOW. It keeps me up nights, all the things I don’t know.

A short list:

  • Why the universe is expanding
  • What dark energy and dark matter actually are
  • If life is possible on Mars
  • If Dad’s quintessence theory is correct
  • How the first particle came to be
  • My parents’ last words
  • How I will die
  • If Nah will ever forgive me
  • If Dad was really going to leave us
  • What it’s like to be in zero gravity, on a space walk, looking down at Earth
  • Why Ben Tamura feels like home
  • If it’s me, something about me, that makes people go

There are no answers in the darkness. Just more questions.