Shortly after my mother woke me up to tell me she was smoking crack, my entire world turned upside down. When I told my teacher, I didn't realize she was required to contact the authorities. I was 11. My sister and I were walking to my grandma's house after school, as usual, about a week before my 12th birthday. Unusually, my cousin was there to pick us up.
Confused and a little scared, we got into her car and she drove us to my grandma's house. My entire family was there—grandpa, grandma, aunt, uncle, cousins, everyone. I didn't want to go inside. I sensed something bad had happened to my mother; why else would everyone be gathered? My family hated each other. I lingered outside while my cousin guided my sister into the house.
Suddenly, with a roar and flying gravel, my mother pulled up. She rolled down the window and hurriedly called me over. Apprehensive, I approached, and she handed me a wad of money. "Go get yourself a birthday cake, and I will be back later." With that, she floored it and sped away. I looked back at the house and saw my grandpa and uncle staring after her. They grabbed my sister, ran to my uncle's car, and threw us in the backseat. Kicking up even more gravel, they spun around and started to chase her. Terrified, I didn't know what was happening. Looking down at the sixty dollars my mom had handed me, I knew something bad was unfolding. I wanted her to get away; I knew she was in trouble with my family.
I did the only thing I could think of—I held my breath and pretended to pass out, falling over onto my sister. When there was no reaction, I peeked an eye open and looked to the front seats. They weren't paying attention to me at all. They were yelling directions to each other: "Go that way! Turn here! Try this place!" I didn't exist in that moment. Suddenly, she was spotted, and a high-speed chase ensued. My sister and I clung to each other in the back seat, holding on for dear life. We didn't understand what was happening. We were driving 80 miles per hour down residential streets, trying to catch up to my mother, who was driving even faster.
Finally, she lost us. I was relieved she got away. I didn't want her to be in trouble. I loved my mother. We made our way back to my grandma's house, where everyone was waiting, anticipation building around what had just occurred. After the story was told, my sister and I were taken to my aunt's house for the night. We were told we were going to live with our separate fathers. I barely knew my dad; I saw him for three weeks a year, and now I was going to live with him. My young mind was spinning. My sister was too young to understand what was happening.
My dad showed up the next day. We went to the little old lady's home where we had been staying the last few months, gathered all my belongings, and left. The long drive to the other side of the mountains seemed to take forever. It was never explained to me what had happened until I became an adult.
My mother had stolen thousands of dollars from the woman we were staying with for drugs. The cops had been called, and a case was filed. My mother was being searched for. She decided to go on a drug binge and expected my family to take care of my sister and me until she decided to return. She abandoned us to do drugs and escape prosecution for her actions. I was thrown into a brand new life that didn't make any sense to me. My father didn't know how to be a dad, nor did he probably want to be a full-time parent at that time in his life. I was thrown into his lap. I was so mad at my mother. Not for the drugs, the theft, or the brand new life I was forced to live. I hated her for separating my sister and me. I thought we would never see each other again, and I was not entirely wrong. We didn't see each other for five years after that day—the day we went on a high-speed chase searching for my mother who had gone on a drug binge and abandoned her children.
This was the day I learned I couldn't trust anyone. I couldn't trust my family because they wanted to punish my mother, who was my entire world. I couldn't trust my father, the man whose life I had been thrown into. I couldn't trust my mother, who had been everything to me up until that point. The only person I trusted had just been ripped away from me: my sister. It had always been me and her. I took care of her, not my mother. I taught her how to read, write, and do math. I cooked for her and kept her clean while my mother disappeared at night. I was everything to her, and she was everything to me. Now that was gone. My entire life had been ripped apart at the age of 11.
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