BETTY
I sometimes think back to my sixteenth birthday, when my foster mother handed me a neatly wrapped yellow box. One could tell it took her all night to fold it just right. Excitedly, I ripped it open and inside it was a peach colored scarf, it was winter so I guess she thought it might be helpful. I remember staring at it expressionless and unimpressed wondering why it looked… bland.
She asked if anything was wrong and I said I didn’t like the color, she got angry and called me all sorts of names but the ones that stuck was when she called me evil, stiff, and judgy, note, I was just a teenager.
Now I’m in my mid-thirties and I’m not sure if I ever stopped being that girl, because being sixteen still feels like yesterday, nothing much has changed except maybe for the lines on my fa
