I think if I were asked where felt like home as a child it would have been Coloma. It is what I would have referred to as my home town even though I moved around all the time. It is the town I felt rooted. Where I had developed bonds and meaningful relationships. It was Coloma where I had meet the Osborn family. I had claimed them as my own and was treated as such while hanging around. When my mother meet the man she would later marry and would become my father I was full of spit, fire. and vinegar. You see he meant that we would move. I couldn’t bare to leave the only place that felt like home. When my mother would leave for the weekends to be with her new found love I’d hold up in our little two bedroom house by myself. My favorite show at the time being mad tv. I remember it so clearly my mom had gotten me a bag of cheesy puffs a two liter of pop and a frozen pizza. She left for 3 days. On day three I was just laying on the living room couch on the phone with the osborn family as I almost always was. They would pass the phone around between them as they got tired or bored. I’d plead for them to keep talking because secretly I was absolutely terrified being alone at night. That morning I had gone to one of the neighbors I was close with. They had children far younger then I but I still enjoyed interacting with them very much. The father worked at bosch and would get lots of goodies to bring home. Cereal, suckers and candy in bulk quantities. That morning they had asked when my mother was coming home. It never registered that they were having concerns of my welfare. They had in fact called the landlord who also was my uncle. The brother to my biological father who was nowhere to be found at the time. He had later made other calls resulting in the events that would play out that night. I still on the phone here a loud knock to the side door. I jump what must have been a good 3 inches into the air. Completely panic instantly. I tell my friends someone is there. Sneaking quietly to the window to see who it could be. IT WAS THE COPS!!!! My heart went into a full blown race. What were they doing here? Would I be in trouble being alone? Would they take me from my mother? Where would I go if they did? What do I do!?!!! After all the thoughts of what if’s clear I tell my friends I need to go and make a call to my grams. I take the phone with me and I crawl on my stomach from the living room into my mother’s bedroom. Once in her room I slide right under her bed. By now the police are surrounding the house. I can’t tell how many but there is clearly more than one. I have tears flowing down my face. I am still in middle school just 12 years old fearing more than I can process. Under the bed I quietly call my grams. “I can’t hear you” she keeps yelling. Finally I explain the cops are there and that I have been alone for a few days. The cops shine a light through each and every window. Remaining outside for what felt like eternity. Once they left I went into my own bedroom it was like an addition to the back of the home. It had one old crank style window and the room was half under ground. The window being level with the ground outside. I cranked it open sliding out and dropping to the ground. I ran through the back field and meet my grams who had came to rescue me. I remember years later my biological dad telling me that the neighbors would call him and my uncle often with stories of me being home alone or how I’d run from my bedroom and sleep in the tree house that was built out back in the field. They told them of how I was often hungry and ate as though I hadn’t in some time. I have no idea the truth behind that. I know it was my uncle my very own blood who put my mother out. I know that dollar bills owed to family caused me to worry about where I’d live. I know that I held and still hold very much anger on how I can be told stories of how everyone knew I/we needed help but they refused. Filing an eviction and calling the police was the tactics my family used to show me what exactly? It showed me how truly unlovable I was. I wanted them to save me but they just wanted to push me away further. I can’t imagine what as a child I possibly did. I mean unruly I was but are they not all unruly at some time or another. I can’t even remember if I told my mom how scared I was of being taken that day. I can’t even remember if we talked about the cops being there. I remember very little communication between the two of us. I wonder if my childhood memories differ greatly from her representation of them.