From the moment they’d met her, Belinda had begged them to help her get her children back again, and the young woman had complied with all the state’s difficult stipulations in order to reclaim them. Stabilization resources had been used to assist her in renting this small trailer and had provided funding to furnish it as well, and when they came out for their regular visit just a few weeks ago, nothing was amiss. Stunned now at this fast deterioration around them, Tamara couldn’t fathom what had happened to the neat home they’d last visited.
“What happened, Jayson? Just this quickly . . .” she asked, but Tamara knew that the most probable answer to her question would be heartrending. Her voice faltered as she continued to stare unbelievingly at the disorder in the small home.
Jayson’s face was eerily shadowed in the dim room, but there was no mistaking the gravity of his expression when he turned to face her. “Tamara, I’m getting a real bad feeling about all of this.”
His uncharacteristically somber look alarmed her, and she gazed at him through wide-open eyes now, her heart fluttery and beating so fast, she almost could not catch her breath. Tearing her eyes from his, Tamara again surveyed the filthy front room and said haltingly, “J-J-Jayson, please d-d-don’t tell me you think that the children are in here somewhere . . . they c-can’t be in here.” With a slow, sinking feeling in her stomach, she asked pleadingly, “Please, Jay, don’t tell me that you think they are in here somewhere . . .”
Jayson knew by her expression that Tamara’s emotions were edging toward panic, and purposefully he kept his own voice evenly calm, “Tam, you know we’re gonna have to look around the house, just in case. If you can’t do it, go back to the car now, and I’ll do it alone. But we can’t leave this house until we are certain those children aren’t in here.”
His efforts to remain controlled paid off, for she drew a deep breath as if struggling to compose herself and then replied in a low voice, “No, Jay, I’m not going to leave you in here all alone . . . I’ll look with you.”
Carefully watching his step, Jayson walked to the window, maneuvering uneasily through the maze of old newspapers, food wrappings, and dirty clothes that lay on the floor. With a quick swoop of his hand, he pulled back the dark drapes, and a cloud of smoky-smelling dust particles filled the air as a burst of sun brightly illuminated the extent of the chaos around them.
Tamara blinked from the sudden brightness filling the room, and Jayson sneezed twice and then noisily began to slap his hands together to remove some of the soot from them. Then, with his clipboard tucked under his arm, he tried to wipe his hands clean, but they were still so damp, they left a brown trail on his khaki pant legs, and his hands’ obvious clamminess revealed his own nervousness to Tamara.
They both avoided prolonged eye contact now, and Jayson was all business when he gave her a swift glance and said, “Okay, Tamara, let’s go. I’ll take the rooms down this hallway, and you look in the kitchen area first, okay?”
“Okay,” said Tamara.
Tentatively she entered the small kitchen area and peered around. In the dim room she made out the shadowy outlines of garbage strewn around the floor and on the table. Following Jay’s lead from moments ago, she made her way to the small back door window, where she pulled up the miniblind to shed some light into the room. No longer surprised by the extent of the decay in the home, she looked without emotion at the roaches sent scurrying by the light into the small cracks and crevices between the counter and wall.
Reluctantly Tamara opened the refrigerator door, recoiling from the stench of spoiled food that had been in the warm environment long enough to disintegrate into shapeless lumps of indistinguishable matter. Now, totally disgusted at the depth of the negligence she was witnessing, Tamara spun around and walked out of the kitchen area to find Jayson.
“Jayson,” she whispered as she entered the narrow hallway where the bedrooms were located.
His voice seemed impossibly distant in the small space when he answered, “I’m here, Tamara.”
The hallway was narrow, and Tamara turned into the nearest small bedroom. She stood watching silently as Jayson looked under the bed and in the closet. Her body was tense, and she felt as though she were paralyzed, unable to move—yet mentally she attempted to prepare herself for what they might discover at any moment.
“There’s no one in here,” he said, and she let out a small sigh of relief.
Tamara looked at him before saying hopefully, “They’re probably not here, Jayson . . . Maybe they’re at a relative’s home or something.”
Jayson’s tone was still somber though. “Tamara, it was a relative who called the hotline. She was worried because she hasn’t seen Belinda or the kids in a couple of days. But someone came by her house and told her that they saw Belinda out on the streets, and she was lookin’ high.”
Morosely she replied, “You’re right . . . Oh, Jay, I really thought she was through with the drugs. I honestly thought she was through with them.”
In a low tone, he replied matter-of-factly, “I was hoping she was, Tamara. But, for some folks, drugs are a powerful thing. They want to quit, but they just don’t seem to be able to let go of them—or rather, the drugs won’t let them go.”
Tamara grew reflective for a minute as Samyra Bailey’s face flashed in her mind, and she remembered her poignant statement about her sister Jannice’s death. “She died like most drug addicts do, alone.” Then she thought about how Jannice had neglected her children so many times, how the woman had left them alone because she, too, was addicted to drugs.
Resignedly she said in a determined voice, “Jayson, we have to keep looking.”
“Yes, we do, Tamara,” he agreed.
Silent now, they continued down the narrow hallway, turning into the second small bedroom, which was obviously the children’s, since old plastic toys lay on top of the scattered debris. A blond-haired doll lying on the floor, nude, arms and legs akimbo, stared up at them unblinkingly with one round blue eye and an empty hole where the other used to be. There were no sheets on the two dirty bunk beds, and they were both covered with so much junk that there was little room for anyone to sleep on either. She stood behind Jayson, waiting tensely again for him to throw open the small metal closet door.
“Nope,” he said once he’d opened it to find it filled only with more debris. She could tell this time that he was relieved as well.
“One more room,” she said quietly, still silently hopeful they would find nothing there, either.
Together they walked over to the biggest of the three rooms. Softly they kicked papers and garbage out of their path, both still amazed that anyone could live in such disorder for any period of time.
Just like the others, the room was littered with clothes, papers, and other types of garbage. Cigarette butts had been squashed out indiscriminately, and there were ashes on plates and in bowls, intermingling with rotten food. The smell of the decomposing food and old smoke was rancid in the air.
The shades were open a bit in this room, admitting enough light to create a dull, hazy glow. In a hurry now to get the unpleasant task over with, Jayson went directly to the bed, lifted up the dirty white bedspread, and looked under the bed.
“Nothing,” he said, and again they both looked at each other gratefully, since they both knew there was more than enough room under the full-size bed for two frightened children to hide.
She shadowed him even closer now as he made his way over to the closet. Holding her breath, she stared unblinkingly while he opened the door.
He threw back the closet door. They were not so lucky this time.
“Oh God . . .” was all she could say as she stared into the cluttered closet area.
Jayson spun around and locked his eyes on hers. “Tamara, dial nine one one. Now!”
Still staring at the closet floor, she reached into her pocket, grabbed her cell phone, and dialed the emergency number. She sighed deeply and wiped at the tears that suddenly sprang up in the corners
of her eyes.
They had found the children. The girl, Santez, was seated in the back of the closet, staring wide-eyed right through them. She was unclean and obviously underfed, and yet her small hand was still caressing her baby brother, who lay cuddled next to her with his small, wooly head on her lap.
Jayson turned to Tamara with frustration, disgust, and anger written clearly on his face. His eyes were filled with unshed tears, and she knew he was so upset that he was just unable to articulate the enormity of his feelings. Instead, he just stared at her, struggling valiantly to maintain his composure while he repeated, his voice low and emotional, “Aw, man, Tamara, this don’t make no sense at all. Aw, man!”
34.
Hunger Pains
The girl walked more and more slowly as the evening progressed. Each step was laborious and taxing. It seemed extra cold to her tonight, and she’d been walking for a long, long time. Overall, times had gotten tougher for her as she tried to make her way out on the streets these days, and she could only guess that one reason why things were so much more difficult now was her growing up. Though she was still small in stature, she finally looked closer to her age. Her more mature appearance too often attracted unwanted attention from strange-looking men, while making it lots harder for her to elicit the quick empathy reserved for young children.
Not that long ago, folks had given her money or food simply because she looked cute to them. Thanks to her well-practiced smile, flashed at them sweetly, they did not even think about reporting her as a runaway.
The girl sighed deeply, realizing that no one gave her much of anything these days without wanting something in return. In fact, most people nowadays were either trying to get something from her or sell something to her. No one called her in as a runaway, simply because no one cared. The truth was, she was invisible to most people, because street folks like her just didn’t matter at all.
On difficult days like today, her only solace was that in a year she would no longer be a minor, and freedom would be hers. In a year, if she were picked up as a runaway, a judge could grant her freedom. No more running, no more fear of being placed in another foster home. Then she could get a legitimate job and support herself with her own pay.
Unable to walk one more step, she paused in front of an old brick building. Inexplicably, she felt warm in this spot, and looking down, she noticed that welcome heat was drifting up through the grating under her feet. It began to thaw her small, frozen legs. Basking in the momentary comfort, she sat on her old duffel bag and leaned her back against the dirty brick wall of the building just to take a load off her feet for a minute or two.
It had been days since she’d had a genuine meal, other than snacks of candy and crackers and other items she could pilfer here and there. For a while she’d used the well-known street trick of slipping into a vacant diner seat and buying one cup of coffee so she could surreptitiously pinch free crackers and other leftover foods from the counter. But she’d become such a frequent visitor that the small eateries were wary of her presence and sometimes sent her packing.
Embarrassment warmed her cold cheeks as she thought about the heavy blonde waitress today who had worn a look of disgust when she said, “Look, honey, I don’t know what kinda problems you got, and I really don’t want to know, but you can’t just hang around here and eat up all our food for free. We got to make money, and you just takin’ up a seat.”
With her eyes down, she’d gathered up her bags and hurried from the diner as quickly as she could. The woman’s scathing statement and disdainful look suddenly made her acutely aware that she had not bathed in weeks and that her worn clothes were dirty. Pushing the diner door open, she had run, hoping to find a place away from the probing stares of strangers, where she might safely shed her tears of frustration and shame. Finally, she had stopped in the doorway of an old building, where she turned her small body sideways to face the cold concrete wall. She wiped away the tears that were streaming down her face.
It was unlike her to feel sorry for herself, but unable to contain herself today, she gave in to her sorrowful feelings. “What did I do to deserve this?” she asked, and for several moments she sobbed softly, saying quietly between sniffles, “It’s not fair . . . it’s just not fair.”
The thumping bass of a passing low-rider car reverberated through her small body, and wiping her eyes a final time, she turned to watch the loud automobile’s progress down the street. Still sniffing, she reached into the pocket of her faded brown coat and wiped her face with a wadded-up piece of a napkin she’d grabbed before fleeing the dingy diner.
I don’t care about that mean waitress, she thought, visualizing the woman’s mocking face again. One day I’m gonna have a job and my own home and everything, and I’m gonna go back to that crummy old diner just so that she can remember me! I’m gonna order all the food I want, and then I’m gonna leave it there without touching it, with the money to pay for it on the table!
The girl’s expression became resolute, and straightening her small shoulders and holding her head high, she began to walk down the street again, soon merging anonymously into the crowd on the busy avenue.
That had been hours ago. Now her head was aching, and still she’d had no food. Thankful for the heat still rising through the grating, she could feel herself becoming weak with hunger. Just then a door opened in the wall of the old brick building where she leaned, and a man walked out carrying a garbage bag. He looked at her, smiled widely, tipped his head in her direction, and said, “Good evening, little sister . . . you all right now?”
She wanted to yell loudly, “No, I’m not okay! I need something to eat! I need someone to help me right now!” but instead replied in a small voice, “I’m fine, thank you.”
When he walked by, she caught the enticing odor of food in his clothes and in the bag that he carried. For the first time the girl looked up at the sign affixed to the building, and read, “The Temple of Hope Church,” in blue letters.
The clang of a metal garbage can alerted her to his return; she stared straight ahead, trying hard to affect nonchalance. She sensed his attempt to make eye contact with her, but she would not oblige. From the corner of her eye, she finally saw him reenter the church.
After a few minutes, she could bear the hunger no longer. The girl knew that if she did not eat soon, something bad would happen. As good as the heated grating felt, she couldn’t stay rooted in this warm spot all night long, yet she simply could not walk any farther without food.
Moments passed; then she stood and slowly made her way around the corner. She took a deep breath and set her bag on the ground by the dirty gray garbage can. In all the time she had been in the streets, she’d never had to resort to this, but tonight she had no choice. If she wanted to live, she had to eat something, and she had to eat it now.
Just as she grasped the lid of the garbage can, she heard a sound behind her. She spun around quickly and looked into the face of the same man from the church. She grabbed her bag and was preparing to break into a run, but the man held her back.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said in a low tone.
“Do what?” she asked, acting as if she did not know what he meant.
“Little sister, you always have a meal here. Please, come with me,” he said, gently leading her back to the church.
Street experience had made her cautious. She knew he could be a thief or worse, yet she was too tired to protest and far too hungry to run. Slowly she followed the man.
Inside the church, the bright lights overwhelmed her for a moment. He led her through the warm sanctuary, into a large back room filled with tables and chairs. She felt almost as if she were dreaming. On one table was a plate loaded with food. There was crispy fried chicken, potato salad, baked beans, and rolls.
Her eyes widened, and her mouth watered as she looked from the food to him and back again.
“Sit, little sister; eat,” he said with a smile, and then he turned away.
Unco
mprehendingly, the girl looked again at the man, but his back was to her. She dropped her dirty bag on the floor and sat down in the chair. Without even taking off her coat, she began to attack the food, eating ravenously.
She never noticed the man watching her compassionately now. He wondered just what, or who, this little girl was running from.
35.
Shut In
Tamara tossed and turned in her bed. One minute she was hot and could not stand the rough feel of the bedding on her flesh, and the next she was freezing and holding the blankets close, unable to control the trembling all over her body. Her head was pounding, and her throat felt rough and scratchy. Sneezing loudly, she pulled another tissue from the box that she clutched, and tenderly blew her sore nose. Then she laid her aching head back on the pillow and began to cough spasmodically.
“Tam, are you okay?” asked Sienna, standing beside the bed with a worried look on her face. “You sound really bad,” she added anxiously.
“I’m okay; it sounds worse than it actually is,” Tamara said reassuringly. She could see the concern in Sienna’s face, and there was no way she was going to reveal just how awful she really felt.
“I’m gonna get you some more juice,” said the girl. Sienna was really getting scared because Tamara looked really bad. She wanted to help, but didn’t know what to do. She rushed to the kitchen for juice.
Tamara wanted to rest, but each time she closed her eyes, she saw the Smith kids all over again. They were there in the closet—Santez, with her eyes open, unblinking unseeing, and Jamez, dehydrated, his little stomach bloated, lying on his sister and unable to open his eyes at all.
“How could any mother do that to her children?” she said aloud. Tears again formed in the corners of her eyes, and she wiped at them despondently with a wadded-up tissue.
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