Garrett

They called me Bufa. I don't really think they meant anything by it, they just didn't know what else to call me. I was without identity.
Sometimes I think I still am.
No home, no parents, no distinguishable race...I was the property of a state that would have liked to care but just didn't have the resources. I would hear that a lot as a kid. No one had the resources to care for a faceless kid in a growing sea of faceless kids.
But being invisible isn't all bad. I think I know a lot more about the true state of the world than most people. When you don't matter no one bothers to keep secrets from you. And I am always listening. If anyone bothered to ask me, I could tell them a million things I know.
For example, I know they say that in the beginning no one suspected how bad things would get until it was too late. When I was born, everything was still okay. That's why I survived. They didn't know there wasn't going to be anyone to take care of me. They thought it would be easy to find parents for me. After all, there was a huge market for newborn babies; people even paid for them. At least, that's what they say.
They also say that it was a beautiful day, the day that everything ended. I was still in the hospital, hooked up to expensive machines and being loved by nice ladies with rough hands. I think it's strange that everyone says it was a beautiful day. It can't have been beautiful everywhere.
I've spent most of my life in and out of different people's houses. At first, I lived with people who really did want me but who still gave me back when they realized that things weren't going to get any better. Then I moved onto people who never wanted me at all, but took me in because I came with a monthly check. Once the checks ran out, so did the houses.
Now I live in a stairwell surrounded by elevators.
It took me awhile to realize that it really was okay to be by myself. I kept expecting someone to come and yell at me. But no one ever did.
There are people who know I 'm here, but they don't seem to mind. Most of them help me out whenever they can. And then, of course, there's Sally.
They called me Bufa because my mother didn't want me. Baby Up For Adoption, see? And that was really sad because like I said it was before all of the bad things happened. Sally told me that it was because she was too young and too poor. She said that my mother probably really thought she was helping me, that I would be adopted by people with big hearts and lots of money. She said there used to be lots of people like that.
I know she meant for me to be comforted by that.
I was very sick for a really long time. I lived in the hospital, not far from where I live now. I was born too early and was very small which is why I sometimes feel like I can't breathe, but no one's ever said that . At night, the lights in the staircase make it hard to sleep so I stay up and read the old magazines that I borrow from the hospital. I read an article about the health problems of premature babies once. That was when I first realized that you could learn actual important stuff just from reading. I probably would have learned that in school, but they all closed down before I got to go.
My only real possessions are my walrus and my notebook. I like my walrus because it's so small I can keep it with me all the time without looking stupid. I can't remember ever not having him. I used to have a whale too, but it was stolen.
I keep my book tucked inside my shirt. It's tattered just like my walrus, but I don't care. I can't imagine what I'd do if I lost it. My clothes, even my blanket, could burn to ash and I wouldn't care as long as I could write about it in my book. It's the only way anything feels real.
I guess that's why I'm writing this now. I want to tell someone about my life and this book is really the only way I know to do that. I could tell Sally, but she wants me to think about the future instead of the past. Who knows, maybe one day they'll start making books again and someone will read this one.
My first real memory isn't until I was four years old. I remember waking up in the dark, cold and hungry, and feeling something tickling my foot. I wish that I didn't have to start my conscious life at this particular moment but if there's anything I've learned it's that wishing won't get you very far.
I woke up, pulled off my blanket and reached down to scratch my foot. And then I remember screaming. I don't remember the pain, just the noise. It was a sound that traveled through every person in the house that night. At first they screamed at me to stop screaming, and then they screamed when they saw the snake. They screamed at each other the whole way to the hospital and then the doctor's screamed at them when they saw me.
And that leads me to my next memory, my second visit to the hospital. I only got to stay for a little while that time. I wouldn't have been there as long as I was but the state had to find me another home. That last one was deemed unfit. So I got to sleep in a warm bed and eat three meals a day. I remember that very well.
After that I lived in a series of bad places until they finally found me a nice one.
Mrs. Marion West lived at 64 Applewood Drive. Her husband was away at war and she said she had too much free time and love not to take me into her home. I was six years old.
My life on Applewood Drive was like a fairy tale. Everything was clean. I had real clothes and slept on a real bed. It was better than the hospital. And Mrs. West really seemed to like me. She taught me to read and write. We played games and baked cookies. Like I said, it was a fairy tale.
I never met Mrs. West's husband. He was a doctor at the hospital before he left to be a doctor in the war. Mrs. West liked to talk about all of the amazing places they had gone before everything changed. She always said that things would get better though. I liked that about her, she truly believed in things.
She introduced me to Santa Claus. I had never even heard of him but she told me all about him and she made me promise to believe. And then one day in Winter, he came and left my notebook. It was the best day of my life because I learned that sometimes surprises were good.
I still believe in Santa even though he's never come back.
Mrs. West didn't want to send me away. I know that. It was because of the money. Dr. West was killed and she stopped getting his checks. I stayed and helped her until she realized she wasn't going to be able to buy us any more food. She cried, but I told her I understood. I told her it was okay, and I didn't let her see that I was crying too.
I learned a lot from her.
She told me about how life used to be before I was born. And she told me about the War. She said that it wasn't about money as much as it was about power.
The first thing that happened, the one that supposedly ruined a beautiful day, was the wave. It was caused by an island that collapsed into the sea off the coast of England, and it just got bigger and bigger until it finally reached the United States. Entire cities died that day.
And then the attacks started. Bombs went off in major cities, there were rumors of people getting sick. The President came on the television and declared a state of emergency and then the televisions went off.
These are the reasons they couldn't find me any parents.
Mrs. West always tried to sound supportive when she talked about the war, but I could tell she didn't mean it. After Dr. West died she said that the war had only happened because the government didn't know what else to do. She said they knew they couldn't win.
Eventually the war ended. And now kids like me can live in stairwells and no one bothers to care.
I should confess that my living conditions aren't really as bad as they sound. The stairs are completely enclosed and there is even a working water fountain on the landing above me. Plus, I've gotten pretty good at scavenging. I use the showers in empty patient rooms all the time.
The hospital is not as busy as it used to be. They are still open, but most people won't come because they don't have the money and the government stopped paying for things like hospitals a long time ago. I'm not sure there even is a real government anymore.
After Applewood Drive I was sent to a group home to fight for food and space with a bunch of other kids just like me. Those were the people who collected us for our checks. I'm better off on my own.
And now I have Sally.
I'm careful to pretend that I don't care whether she comes around or not. I don't want her to be sad if she has to go away. It won't be her fault, it's just what happens.
Her job is finding medicines and food to bring back to the hospital.
That's how she found me. She tripped over me while carrying a bunch of boxes up my stairwell. I thought she was going to yell but instead she just handed me a few boxes and told me to follow her. I have been helping her ever since.
She is different from any adult I've ever known. She doesn't talk to me like I'm a kid. She doesn't ignore me or leave me out. She just treats me like everyone else. And she expects things from me. I like that.
Today we're supposed to be taking medicine to people who are living outside the city. There are a lot of people who don't really leave their houses anymore. I've talked about the hardships in my life but I honestly think I have it easier than a lot of those people. Most of the older ones don't seem to be able to move on. They are literally letting everything fall down around them while they moan about the old days.
Sally is helping me to see that. She talks about what needs to be done and I can tell she is trying to teach me. She likes to tell me that I'm the very first of my generation. I smirk at her, but secretly I think she may be right. So I listen to her and I write everything that I learn down in my notebook.
One day it won't be withering adults and abandoned children anymore. Soon we'll be grown and we'll have to make them listen to us. Nothing will ever change while we're still invisible.