Speak 2 U Soon Page 8

always have food,” I said. It was true, we did. Sometimes Mama had to go to the Food Bank for groceries when we ran low, but there was always something to eat. Mama’s real good as making something out of nothing. She even knows how to make water gravy.

  “Grandma taught me how to make it,” Mama had explained. “Grandma survived the Great Depression, so she taught me a lot about making do with very little. I even know how to make watermelon rind jelly and pie. `Out of necessity comes creativity,’ Grandma used to tell me when I was no older than you,” Mama smiled.

  “The police have filed a 51-A on you, Ms. Wilson,” Mr. Vala said when we were all standing together in the kitchen.

  “What?” Mama said shaking her head. “But I take good care of my children,” she cried, pulling C.J. closer to her as she held him.

  “I’m just going by the police report, M’am,” Mr. Vala said without any emotion whatsoever. He flipped through some of his paperwork. “The police report from Friday night, the 23rd of Sept., states there was a violent altercation in front of the children, a table was flipped over by a Mr. Darius Jones, who was trying to break in. There’s also a note of there not being a substantial amount of food for the children, that all of you share a single bedroom, and that there were dirty dishes in the backroom that gave off a foul odor.”

  “What?” Mama asked. “All that’s not even true,” she said, as color rose to her cheeks in anger.

  “It also says there is a mattress outside by the front door and the guardrail is loose coming up the stairs, both of which are safety hazards.”

  “But, I just got a new mattress for the bed. That’s why that old one is out there,” Mama said exasperated. “I’m waiting for bulk pickup so the trash men can take it away. And, that railing is not my responsibility to fix. I rent here. It’s barely loose as it is.”

  “I’m just going by what the police wrote, Ms. Wilson,” Mr. Vala said. “But, a 51-A was filed. That’s why I came out on Friday night and that’s why I’m here now. D.S.S. has to, by law, follow up on these allegations of neglect on the minors involved.

  “I’m not neglected!” I said angrily. “And neither is my brother. That’s ridiculous! What those officers said are lies.” And they were, too. That’s why I hate the police. They don’t do nothing for you when you need them. You could be being beat to death and they wouldn’t show up. But, when there’s a family that don’t need help, like mine, they go causing all kinds of trouble.

  “It also says here,” Mr. Vala continued, “that there was some D.S.S. involvement with the children down in Mississippi. Is that true?”

  “No, I needed help getting child support from Darius, that’s all. That’s all the involvement there was. I thought that’s what D.S.S. was supposed to do: help people when they need it. I’m real wrong about that, aren’t I, Mr. Vala?” Mama asked giving him a look so hard that if she could, he’d have turned to stone.

  “I’ll be back on October 1st, that’s this Thursday, to follow up. Until then, Ms. Wilson, don’t change your address or your phone number please.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Mama said truthfully. “I didn’t do anything wrong, so why would I want to leave?”

  “I’ll see you Thursday then. And, please make sure both of the children are present, too.”

  “This is real bad, Raven,” Mama said after closing the door behind him. “Real bad,” she repeated, drawing me and C.J. close to her.

  25

  The Deal

  “You understand the charges being brought against you?” the lawyer asked me in a room with my mom and a woman who was typing up the entire conversation.

  “Yes, I do,” I said.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “I’m really sorry for what I did,” I said earnestly.

  “Well, that might be true, but it’s still not good enough,” he said flatly. “However, because you’re a minor and this is your first brush with the law, the Juvenile Court can offer you an opportunity to make some improvements for yourself and for the community instead of having a CHINS filed immediately on you.”

  I looked at Mom sitting next to me and she nodded her head, her cue that I damn well better take this opportunity.

  “You’ve destroyed the family!” Dad screamed at me when we got back from the hospital. “How am I supposed to get to work?” he asked. “How? How am I supposed to take care of my family? Huh? Did you ever think of that” Dad yelled.

  I shook my head.

  “No, of course you didn’t. You? Think about your family? What a joke,” Dad said bitterly. “Well, I’ll tell you what, Jorge. This is your mess you made. Neither Mom nor I will get you out of it. Period. That means the hospital bills, the ambulance, the insurance. Jesus!” he screamed. “You have ruined us!”

  “I’ll pay for all the bills,” I whispered.

  “What? You? Mr. I’m too good to get a job? You? With what, Jorge? What are you going to used to pay for them? You just expect someone’s going to come to the door with a load of money to give you? Is that it? ‘Cause you never get off your ass to do a goddamn thing around here. We’re all sick of you, you know. Me. Mom. Your brother. Your sisters. We can’t stand the sight of you. Thank God Abuelita isn’t here to see this. This would destroy her.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said softly.

  “You’ll be sorry all right when all the bills start rolling in and I put your name, your name,” he repeated for emphasis, “on every single one of them.”

  “Instead of a CHINS, which means DSS involvement with your family, mandatory call ins and curfews, instead of that, I’m putting you on a six month probation. During this time, you have to attend and document therapy sessions for yourself, as well as perform 250 community service hours. Again, these must be documented. If you need assistance finding somewhere to volunteer, we can help you. You are also required to maintain weekly contact with a caseworker who will be assigned to you and who works here, through the court system, specifically for this program. Do you have any questions?”

  “No, sir,” I said.

  “And you, Mrs. Rodriquez?”

  “No, I don’t,” Mom said. “But thank you for giving Jorge this opportunity.”

  “You’re welcome. But, Jorge,” the lawyer said addressing me again, “this is serious. If you mess this up, the judge will order a CHINS put on you and your criminal citation, stealing your dad’s vehicle, driving over the speed limit, and driving without a license, will all go on your permanent record. Do you understand the seriousness of what you’ve done?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you understand the consequences of not fulfilling what is expected of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Because any problems from you, I don’t care how small, any problems at all, it’s over. You’re done.”

  26

  Surveillance

  “No, young lady, I’m afraid you can’t go to the bathroom unattended,” the nurse told me after I climbed down off the stretcher, still parked by the nurse’s station, and headed off to find a bathroom.

  “You’re under 24 hour supervision,” she said, walking up beside me. “Here,” she led me into a private room not far from where we started. “You’ll be moved in here sometime this morning,” she said. “There’s the bathroom.”

  I walked in and started to close the door, but she put her hand out and quickly and stopped me. “You have to leave the door open. And, I have to check you first to make sure you don’t have anything you can hurt yourself with.”

  “I don’t have anything,” I said surprised. She patted my shoulders and my sides and my hips, then down the outside of my legs before inspecting my feet. Last, she opened both of my hands and turned them facing up, then facing down.

  “Ok, you can go ahead and go now,” she said. She sat on the bed and faced me and I tried to be as discreet as I possibly could while peeing u
nder her watchful eye. My wrists hurt so badly now that even just pulling up my gown made me start to cry.

  “I can’t get any t.p. Can you help me?” I sniffed as tears streamed down my face and onto my bare knees.

  “Of course I will, kiddo,” she smiled. “I’ll give you something for the pain when we get back, ok?”

  I nodded and tried to smile, too.

  27

  Court

  “You understand the charges being brought against you by the Commonwealth of Ohio, Ms. Wilson?”

  “Yes, Sir, I do,” Mama said.

  “The petitioner against you is a Mr. Oscar M. Vala. He alleges that your children, Raven Wilson and Charles Jones, are growing up under conditions or circumstances damaging to their sound character development and that they are both lacking proper physical and educational care. Do you understand these charges?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, you are representing yourself here today?”

  “Yes, Sir, I am.”

  I held C.J. and stood by Mama’s side. Mama said it was court ordered that we all had to be here today.

  “How would you like to respond to these charges, Ms. Wilson?”

  “Sir, these allegations are false. I do take good care of my children. I mean, I might make mistakes, like letting Charles’ father back in our lives, but we all make mistakes. And, I have not seen Darius Jones, Charles’ dad, since the night of September 23rd.”

  “The petitioner, Mr. Vala, alleges that you had problems with Mr. Jones before, is that true?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “And when you willingly let him back, that’s when DSS got involved. Correct?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Because of that decision, to allow Mr. Jones back into the lives of your children, you then become an accomplice to any wrong doing he might do.”

  “But, I always protect my children,” Mama said firmly.

  “Regardless, the notes I have from the police on the night of September 23rd, 2009, state their was a verbal altercation, a table was flipped over, there was little to no food in the house, and neither of the children have their own bedroom. This all constitutes as abuse in the state of Ohio.”

  “Abuse? My children aren’t abused,” Mama cried. “You can ask anyone who knows me. My children are everything to me. They’re all I have. I always put their needs before mine, always.”

  “A 51-A is a very serious allegation, Ms. Wilson.”

  Mama nodded, then looked down at me where I had sat with C.J. to try to keep him quiet.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Wilson. But on the grounds of the best interest of Charles James, I am temporarily terminating your rights as a parent.”

  “What?” Mama started to cry. “Why? This isn’t fair! It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me,” she repeated again.

  “And, in the case of Raven, being that she is fourteen, I will allow her to stay with you as long as you follow certain provisions.”

  “And my baby?” Mama cried. “What about my baby? When will I get my baby back?”

  “If you adhere to all of the provisions the court orders, in three months time, I will review your case again and determine the custody, guardianship, adoption, or other disposition of your son.”

  28

  Therapy

  “Hello, everyone, please take a seat in the circle and then we’ll begin,” Ms. Wilson said soft-spokenly. “I’d like to introduce myself first as I see some new faces here with us today. My name is Ms. Wilson and I run the Bereavement Group here at St. Vincent’s. This is an in and out patient therapy group. I’ve run this group now for two years and every year, I feel I learn more from each of you about how to cope with loss than sometimes I’m communicating to you. I don’t want you ever to feel like there is anything we can’t talk about in here. I’m just the facilitator, which means I lead the discussions. But, where we go with our discussions is entirely up to you. So, enough about me. Now that we’re all in a circle, I was wondering if anyone would like to share with us why you’re here and who did you lose that was important, and also maybe what you would like to get out of therapy.”

  I’d been walked from visualization therapy to group therapy by one of the nurses.

  “Julie, just relax and focus on your breathing,” the doctor told me as I sat with him in a dark room. Attached to my chair was a small screen for viewing images a techie ran from behind his cubicle. It felt like a scene out of The Wizard of Oz with Oz behind the curtain orchestrating what I was seeing. Classical music filtered in from small speakers that were in two corners of the room. While the music played, I watched images of waterfalls, the sun setting and then rising, tropical reefs, bright blue water, and flowers. The whole time, the doctor asked me how I was feeling and what was I thinking about. I didn’t really know what I was supposed to say besides the obvious, just that I was thinking about what I was being shown. He’s not a doctor I’ve ever seen before, but I’m sure the notes he was taking get back to them.

  The group therapy room got very quiet. Everyone became suddenly mute. A middle-aged woman with rounded features spoke up first. “Hi, my name is Kathy and I’m here because my daughter died.”

  “Welcome, Kathy,” Ms. Wilson said as everyone mumbled a hello and shifted awkwardly in their seats. Kathy was sitting next to me and she paused and looked at me for reassurance. I have her a smile of encouragement.

  “My newborn daughter died in a car accident,” she began. “I’d just had her, but didn’t have the money to get her a car seat. The hospital told me I could go to Zanesville, that there was a place there that gave out free car seats to people. My husband couldn’t take me, so I put her next to me in the car. I covered her up and lay her down on her side with her back against the seat. She was right there next to me. I drove with my right hand on her the whole time. She was so good. She didn’t make a peep, not one little peep,” Kathy stopped for a minute and held her hands in her lap, looking closely at her fingers as she turned her hands one way and then another.

  “To get to Zanesville you have to go through some of Appalachian Mountains. I remember turning off onto the Pig Trail, the backwoods road that’ll get you there faster. That I remember,” Kathy stopped again and we all waited, knowing that what was to come could only have one outcome.

  “I remember making the turn and starting off through the mountains, the road twisting and turning like a snake, the baby lying there asleep, my hand on her tiny little body. She gave off so much heat. I could feel her warmth even through the blanket I had on her,” she paused again as though willing her mind to accept what came next.

  “Then, I was on the ground . . . on the ground, not even in the car. I was driving one second with my hand on the baby and then the next thing I remember is opening my eyes and seeing all these rocks around me, my body lying on rocks and dirt, and my baby was gone. I lifted myself up and crawled over to the car which was upside down and off to the side from where I was. I crawled, looking everywhere for my baby. I kept calling her name, but I didn’t hear a thing. Not a sound but my own voice. Then, I saw her and I knew she was dead before I even got to her. She lay so still there. So still,” Kathy started to cry and I put my hand on her shoulder. Just that little gesture gave her the support she needed to keep going.

  “I’ve had another baby since then, a little boy. He’s almost three now, but I just don’t feel anything towards him. It’s like all the love I had in me died the day my baby died. I want to feel different, I want to love my son, but I don’t know how. I just don’t know how,” she repeated.

  “I saw the way you put your hand on that lady’s shoulder when she was talking,” a girl said walking up to me in the game room.

  “Anyone would have done that,” I said standing next to the couch that separated the tv room from the ping-pong and foosball tables.

  “I don’t know about that,” she said shaking her head. “I personally don’t think most people are
all that good,” she said.

  “You have a point there,” I agreed. “I’m Julie.”

  “Hi, Julie. My name’s Raven.”

  There was an awkward silence when neither one of us knew what to say next.

  “You must be in-patient,” Raven said nodding at my hospital wristband and blue bootie socks with yellow slip guard polka dots. Mom had bought me clothes from home to wear and my long sleeves covered my stitches.

  “Is it that obvious?” I ask laughing.

  “Just a little,” she grinned. “Why are you in here?”

  “I tried to kill myself.”

  “Oh,” she said looking away.

  “It’s ok,” I assured her. “My brother died and I couldn’t deal, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry,” Raven said looking straight at me this time.

  “Me, too.”

  “My brother didn’t die, but he got taken away by DSS. I have to go to therapy because it’s court ordered.”

  “But, this is bereavement therapy. Are you sure you’re in the right place?” I ask. “I mean, I’m not trying to get rid of you or anything. But, if it’s court ordered and all, they might want you in something different.”

  “No,” Raven said. “My aunt died in Katrina. DSS thinks me and my mom need to deal with it. That somehow Auntie Reneta’s death caused the problems we’re having right now.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense,” I admitted.

  “Tell me about it.”

  In Art Therapy, Raven and I sat side by side and made a mosaic together. What started out as a frog mutated into one freaking looking alien.

  “Girl, Picasso you ain’t,” Raven teased.

  “Me? You’re the one who messed up Fred’s face,” I giggled.

  “Fred?”

  “Fred the Frog,” I said. “I bequeath thee Fred the Frog,” I said using the glue stick to mimic the ceremony of knighting a squire.

  “I’m scared,” Raven said, pulling back and making her eyes really wide.

  “Me, too,” a husky voice behind us added.

  “What? You’re scared of little old Fred, too?” I smiled looking at Raven. “Since when do frogs evoke such fears?”

  “I’m deathly afraid of them,” the boy said. He had dark hair and dark eyes, handsome and muscular and not at all stocky, even though he didn’t look that tall.

  “Wait a minute,” Raven said dramatically. “I’ve heard of being afraid of spiders or snakes or heights, but frogs? You are pulling my leg.”

  “No, I promise,” he said holding his hand up as though he was in court and swearing to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “I went to a science museum when I was a kid and there were these poison dart frogs behind glass. The guide told us about how under the right conditions, they can kill you.”

  “Aren’t those only found in South America?” I laughed.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said solemnly. “Ever since then, my poison dart frog phobia has morphed into an all around every type of garden variety frog phobia.”

  Raven and I looked at each other and