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me smiling. Then she says "No Visit Today Boy. Your Mommy didn't show up. I told you she doesn't love you, that's why you're here" I didn't believe her really, but in foster care, you never really know what's true, they lie to us so much.

I shouldn't have let Mom see me smile. I think that's why Mom said my Mommy didn't show up. To take my smile away.

I think that on that Tuesday night, I screamed louder than ever! I screamed so loud that I got to see Mommy on Wednesday! The very next morning! When I fell asleep I dreamed that my Mommy screamed too, like me, and together we were so loud that the whole world could hear us. Then I found out that they were going to let us have a Wednesday Visit Day. I couldn't wait to see Mommy and I did see her on the best Wednesday of my entire life, but I think for Mommy it wasn't, she got really scared when she saw what's left of my black eye and all the blood on my shirt. I'll never forget it the rest of my life.

Mommy told me that she did go on Tuesday. The caseworker lied to her and told her I forgot to go to the visit but she knew that I would never forget.

Maybe my Mommy did scream like me.

I think they let me go home because of my shirt and my eye. Or maybe they realized my Mommy wasn't really bad. The first thing I wanted to do when I got out was go to a circus and see if there were seals there.

I hug Mommy all the time now, 100 times a day it seems I love to hug her so I can smell her perfume and I don't care what day it isI just want to smell her again
and again...
and again

I still wake up from nightmares and Mommy always rushes in to comfort me right away. I don't think she sleeps very well listening for my cries. I was so scared of waking Mom or Dad that I learned how to cry very softly at night. I know I'm not in foster care anymore, but I still try to be quiet as a mouse, even in my sleep. I don't think Tuesday nights will ever be the same for me again, even if I'm not screaming anymore

I will never go more than a week without wondering how many kids are screaming on Tuesday nights.

Or cutting themselves.

Or turning mean.

When nobody is around, I imagine all the foster kids, even the ones I've never met, that are out there. They aren't like my imaginary friends in my old life though. They're real. They were my brothers and sisters for 18 months, and as long as there are foster homes like the one I had to live in, I know they're being punished for something a grownup did wrong. I still can't figure out why all those grownups

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