Genesis 1

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as I endured the relentless cruelty of my foster family. My new home was a nightmare, a place where violence and abuse were everyday occurrences. The physical pain I suffered was unbearable, but it was the emotional scars that cut the deepest.

I remained trapped in a world of silence, my voice buried beneath layers of fear and despair. Each day, as I bore the brunt of their anger and frustration, I clung to the memories of my grandmother's warm embrace and the unspoken bond with Mike that had once given me strength.

My notebook, the one where I had meticulously recorded Sonny Liston's boxing techniques, became my refuge. In its pages, I found solace and escape, pouring my thoughts and dreams onto the blank sheets. The words I could never speak found a voice on those pages, and they became my silent confidants. 

Then, one evening, Child Protective Services paid an unexpected visit. They weren't regular guests in the Toper household, and I wondered why they were there. Curiosity led me to sneak downstairs to eavesdrop on their conversation.

A lady greeted my foster parents with a friendly smile, asking, "Hello, Mr. Toper and Mrs. Toper. How are you both this evening?"

They replied in unison, their smiles hiding a darker truth. I couldn't help but marvel at their acting skills; they seemed like naturals, almost like performers in a movie.

The lady introduced herself as Cindy Schultz from Child Protective Services. It was clear from my foster parents' surprised expressions that they believed CPS had caught wind of their treatment of us kids.

Mrs. Toper, trembling, inquired, "May I ask why you're visiting our home?"

Cindy Schultz, maintaining her professional demeanor, explained, "I'm here because we've received information that Benjamin hasn't been attending school for several months."

Mrs. Toper rushed to defend herself, saying, "We have been sending him to school, but he's had some health issues lately."

Mr. Toper angrily burst out, "That boy's been skipping school; I knew it."

I knew they were lying about my school attendance. They had kept me from school, fearing that my bruises would expose their abuse. Despite my own reluctance to attend school due to past bullying, I couldn't stand their false accusations.

Cindy, however, remained composed, growing suspicious. "I think it's best if we schedule an appointment for a thorough discussion. I'll need to speak with Benjamin and ask him some questions," she insisted.

Mrs. Toper tried to deflect, suggesting, "He's asleep right now. Maybe you can meet with him another time."

Cindy's keen gaze didn't waver. Sensing something amiss, Mr. Toper intervened, urging, "Honey, just go wake him up and bring him downstairs."

I climbed the stairs, relieved that they didn't squeak under my careful steps. As I entered my room, my door creaked slightly, but I hoped it went unnoticed. I hurriedly lay in bed, pretending to be asleep.

I heard Mrs. Toper's footsteps approaching my room, my heart pounding with anticipation. I couldn't relax, even as I heard my door open. However, thoughts of my grandmother provided me with some comfort.

"Hey, wake up!" Mrs. Toper snapped, her voice filled with anger.

Pretending to wake from my sleep, I weakly greeted her, "Hello, Mama."

She glared at me with a mix of disgust and rage, her voice carrying a threat. "There's someone here to meet you, and they're going to ask you some questions. Do you understand?"

I nodded, my throat constricting with fear.

Leaning in closer, her voice turned venomous. "If you say anything about what's happened here, you're going to regret it."

"Yes, Mama," I replied, my voice barely audible.

"Now, act like a normal person for once, follow me, and remember what I just told you. Do you understand?" she hissed.

As I followed Mrs. Toper downstairs, I could feel the weight of their scrutiny. Cindy Schultz, the CPS worker, waited in the living room. Her gaze flickered toward me as I entered, but she said nothing. She must have noticed my timid demeanor, my reluctance to meet her eyes. Part of me wished she could see the truth hidden beneath the surface, the silent cries for help.

"Benjamin, this lady here wants to talk to you," Mrs. Toper said with a false sweetness that sent shivers down my spine.

Cindy offered me a gentle smile, but it was a stark contrast to the hostility that lingered in the room. "Hello, Benjamin. My name is Cindy. I'm here to ask you a few questions, okay?"

I nodded, my voice imprisoned by fear.

Cindy proceeded with her inquiries, asking about school, my daily routines, and my interactions with the family. Her voice held a mix of concern and curiosity as she inquired, "Benjamin, can you tell me why you haven't been attending school lately?"

Each question weighed on me like a heavy anchor, pulling me deeper into the abyss of silence. I answered with monosyllabic words and nods, unwilling to risk the wrath that could follow any divulgence.

Despite my silence, Cindy's intuition seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment. She observed the bruises that peeked from beneath my sleeves, the weariness in my eyes, and the way I flinched when my foster parents glanced in my direction.

After what felt like an eternity, Cindy concluded her questioning. "Thank you for talking with me, Benjamin. I have good news for you. In one month, you'll be attending school again. If you ever need help or someone to talk to, please remember that we're here."