I see the grey skies. The pouring rain. And my new foster Mom (I call them fosters because I never stay with them). I walk up to her. Dragging my three suitcases and one duffel bag. Not happy, tired, and annoyed. And I think it shows.
She frowns as soon as she sees me. She has this look like I’m an alien or an arch-nemesis. Which I don’t get. So I the same. I cringe my eyebrows together like I’m trying to get a unibrow. Now she looks at me like I’m going to puke, so I stop.
“Let’s go,” she says with the most British accent ever. I don’t say a word and follow her to her puke yellow buggy car. She turns on the radio and a Beatles song turns on. She instantly changes it.
“Hey! Why did you that for?” I ask. She immediately stops the car, and turns off the radio, holding up traffic. “So you are one!” She says. “One what?” I ask.
“One of those American baboons!” She yells. Now I’m just confused. “Yeah, I flew a plane here from America.” I say, “That’s where you bid me from.” By now cars are honking like crazy.
She muttered something under her breath. To me, it sounded like “Fuffihyudigfluff.” “Fine, but you have to follow all the rules. First, no more speaking in that horrible accent!” She says.
“You mean English?” “Arrg! Yes! Now stop! You are making me deaf!” “Why do you hate Americans?” I ask in my most British voice.
She doesn’t say anything but just starts driving again. I look out the window. Buildings are grey, and lights are flashing on and off in the houses like they’re having battles over the lights. I sigh. But not loud enough for my newest foster Mom to hear.
The car is in awkward silence. She doesn’t turn the radio back on. All I can hear are the creepy proper noises of London. She soon stops the car at this house that looks like it’s the start of a mansion neighborhood.
“Oh great,” I think, “She’s spoiled too.” “Okay!” She says, “Home- sweet- home!” I look out of the window of the buggy. The mansion is at least 5 stories high. I sigh and open the car door. Dragging my three suitcases and a duffel bag.
I use my duffel bag as an umbrella as I walk through the brass gate and a flower garden so big if you went in there you would never get out. Once I get into the house I look around and smell the nose twitching scent of 10 over scented perfumes.
I feel like I am going to sneeze. But it soon goes away once she gives me a terrible look. I raise my eyebrows and motion her to start talking.
“First of all, if you stay in London you are going to have to speak proper,” She says. “Do you hate Americans because of the American Revolution?” I ask.
“Arrrrrrrg! Do you people listen? No more speaking in that horrible accent! And also no more saying American!” She yells. Before that, I’ve never a British lady yell. It’s actually pretty funny.
“Can you just tell me where I’m sleeping?” I say in my most British accent. “No. Not until you say it respectfully!” She says.
“May you please show me where I’m going to sleep?” I still say in my most British accent. I’m not making that mistake again. “Good girl,” She says and leads me upstairs.
“Don’t these mansions have elevators?” I ask lugging my luggage upstairs. “D R,” She says. Which I guess means Disrespectful. “Do you have an elevator in your… um… house?” I ask with my teeth clenched together. She nods approvingly.
“Do you have an elevator in your… um… house?” I ask with my teeth clenched together. She nods approvingly. We travel up staircase after staircase until we reach the 5th floor. Then we travel all the way down the hall. She opens the door for the last room on the 5th floor.
“Here,” She says, “This is your room.” I look around. Everything is white. The walls, my bed, my desk, my curtains, even one side of the door. It has finally stopped raining and the clouds are a blinding light grey.
“You will meet our nanny soon, she just has to finish cleaning the mudroom.” My new mom says. “Great,” I say, looking around. She now walks out and shuts the door behind her.