So, I have realized I did not go into much detail on Ireland and I at all other than we fight over music and I do not exactly like his wife. The thing is, Ireland and I are very complicated, and to figure us out, you must go back to the beginning. I could simply say that JB came to be prior to us splitting, and that we broke off our courtship (if it could be called such) because he was in love with Kuritsa, but that does not even go back close to far enough. I could say that I did not know about JB until it was too late, and by then Ireland and Kuritsa were dating and I did not want to interfere with his happiness, but that makes me sound like the saint and Ireland some terrible man. I must tell you something, I do not like telling this story. I have to, though, because I have been told time and time again that it could help my healing. You see, I have practically developed OCD from the trauma, and even tonight my hands are raw from scrubbing the kitchen down with bleach after today's cupcake escapade for JB's party. I cannot take the house being dirty— I can take a few toys on the ground, but I cannot take a mess like baking creates. I have found myself crying as I cleaned the kitchen, because while it has been seven years since Jaybird was born, it was almost a decade ago I found myself in the worst place mentally and physically and emotionally. To make the introduction short, my family and I— minus my two eldest brothers, who stayed with my aunt and uncle to go to Hebrew school in Moscow— left Russia when I was five years old and came to NYC. I wish I could say that it ended happily from there, but most of my family was killed because of some mold in the walls of our apartment in Manhattan. It was overlooked, and only I and the two youngest— twins; Yanna and Lev— survived, and just barely. I am not sure about the condition of my siblings, but I have breathing problems from the experience, and came close to death. I was ten years old when that happened, and I was sent into the foster system along with my siblings… we were split up soon after. This is not about them, though. You see, about two years later, I was caught stealing a box of pop tarts from a convenience store in Brooklyn and was sent to a reform school since it was not my first offense. I do not think I ever heard the real name of the school, only that the kids called it The Refuge and I called it Hell. The man who ran it was a sick and twisted bastard who could make the antagonists from Green Mile and Shawshank Redemption look like the fairy godmother from Cinderella. Needles to say, I do not think fondly of him. However, in the midst of his cruelty, he gave me Ireland. I met Ireland in the school, and he somehow found a friend in the underweight foreign girl with tangled curly hair. I do not think it was love at first sight, more like a relief I had a familiar face to see. I did not speak the best English then, so I did not make many friends. He did not care, though, and I found myself slowly developing feelings for him. … and now that you have a cavity from that dime store romance, I will point out that Ireland being oblivious happens a lot. After a while, though, I met a young Italian girl named S, and I adopted her into my heart as a sister. We would get sick though, and while I managed to get through the pneumonia that our flu turned into, she died at only ten years old. I was completely heartbroken, and I still am. It was as if my Yanna was ripped from my arms once more. To make matters worse, Ireland was released from the reform school and I was alone. I will not pretend that I did not finally let the environment break me, because it did. In a way, the "Principal" got what he wanted, but not in the way he wanted it. Instead of fighting back, I stopped caring and refused to do what I was told for the hopes that someone would finally slip up or snap and kill me. That never happened, but for the longest time, I practically tried to commit suicide by over-testosterone SRO officer. I finally got out myself, but I also became sick again and spent the next few months in a hospital. Ireland managed to be in a rebellion with a bunch of teenagers, and the Principal was brought to justice for all he had done. Once again, though, he had brought me back to Ireland, and I greeted him with a kiss on the courthouse steps… I never said I was not a hopeless romantic —To be continued (it's JB's bedtime okay?)
