Leaving America

It was a month before I left the children’s home that I was told I had to go back to the UK. My parent's visa was running out, but they had decided that they didn’t want to take me home with them. I had 30 days to leave the USA or I would be an illegal immigrant because now I had no-one legally responsible for me. I had no choice, and plans were put in place to leave the country. I was heartbroken, and my behaviour went rapidly downhill with the knowledge that I couldn't change my impending future. The deep friendships and relationships I had started to form for the past 8 months were now being ripped out from under me. Like everything else that I had endured before I came here. With such an emergence of a situation, and the need to have me back in my home country, I wasn't able to see anyone again or say goodbye.

The day came for the goodbye circle. We had food, not that I really ate anything. We laughed and reminisced over good times. The girls and the staff had made me a beautiful good-bye book. I sat there looking through it, my eyes filling with tears. The girls started to realise it was nearly time for them to go to school, and began to cry, setting me off in tears as well as the staff. They all cared so much about me, but now I’d be gone by the time they were home. We hugged and kissed and sobbed in each other’s arms. I promised I’d call as soon as I could. A couple of girls struggled to contain their emotions, resulting in anger and frustration. As girls who knew too well the difficulties with separation, they found it heartbreaking too. When they had left I desperately needed some fresh air. It was the bit I’d dreaded and didn't want to be real. My last time with the only person I’d bonded with truly in my life. Paul took me outside and we spent an hour on the swings. He cancelled everything that day as he knew I needed him more than ever. I couldn't even laugh with him, as it just made me cry more. The thought of leaving was tearing me up inside. We sat outside, in silence. The sun warming our faces. Then he talked. The most I’d ever heard him talk. He also gave me a letter. He spoke of how proud of me he was. How he just wishes me the best. That its easier to be good than bad. He told me how I know how to make good decisions. How really I’m a good kid and he knows that. We reminisced. I’d begin laughing but reality would kick in and I’d suddenly stop. It felt like a wrench in my stomach as I knew our time was running out. I knew Sue my probation officer would be here shortly. After what only felt like five minutes, he walked me in to fetch my bag. We were on the landing. I couldn’t look at him. I hugged him so tightly, and wept into his shirt, drenching it with my tears. I knew I was never going to feel this amount of love again. I was never going to see his face again. I was heartbroken. I felt weak. I clutched his note so tightly as Margie and Chris guided me outside to the car. I knew there was nothing I could do. There was no point in fighting or running away.

Sue and Eric were all consumed with not being late, and began giving me the rundown on why they had to put handcuffs on me, and that if I was well behaved then they would consider taking them off. They had no idea how traumatising this was for me, nor did they care. I was being taken away from the only family that had ever loved me. I’d never seen Margie so upset. She was a mess. I was a mess. I know she just wanted to take me out that car and keep me at the home and look after me. We all felt helpless. A couple more minutes and I’d be gone. Chris, Margie’s husband who was 6 and a half foot, large build and tough as nails even had tears in his eyes. They hugged me so hard as if I was their biological child. I even saw Chris wipe his tears as Sue put the handcuffs on me. I got in the back seat. I didn’t want this to be happening. I couldn’t bear the feeling of this loss. The car began to pull away. I immediately put my headphones in and turned the volume up full. Keith Urban, ‘Tonight I Wanna Cry’ blared on repeat. We turned out onto the main road. They went out of sight and I wept.

I felt sick when Sue and Eric pulled over for a casual coffee and doughnut. A normal day for them, however the worst day of my life.

I sat in Boston Logan International Airport, with handcuffs and shackles on. They drilled me on if there was any misbehaviour, that there was another undercover officer on the plane, so I should be careful. I glared at them and sobbed into my music. I went through 3 packs of batteries as I listened to the same song on repeat for the 9-hour journey back to the UK. I cried the whole flight. I battled with reality and a nightmare on that plane. Death was 10 times more appealing. Every time my eyes opened and I saw reality I wanted to die. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I felt like I was suffocating. My eyes blurry and hot, I shut them tight playing the same song. At thirteen, I had no idea how to cope with any of this.