from Garek and stood up. As expected, Garek
quit his tantrum and looked at me quizzically.
I walked to the back of the room and grabbed a
chair and placed it in front of the sink in the back
of the room. Opening the under-sink cabinet I
grabbed a small hand towel.
“Sir, come on over there and have a seat please,”
I instructed as I patted the seat.
He stood up apprehensively, made his way to the
chair without a word and sat down. He stared at
me strangely.
“Thank you Sir. Now if you’d please slide those
feet on up here.”
He put his feet into the sink as I asked and I
turned the water on to let it run until it was
warm. Grabbing the bar of soap that sat by the
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sink’s edge, I lathered up and pulled Garek’s feet
into the water’s stream.
“So what’d you do last night?” I asked as if this
occurrence was commonplace.
“I watched this cool movie that my mom rented
about this killer who tricks people into killing
themselves. Have you seen it?”
“Yes Sir, but you know the rule, no discussion of
rated R movies in school.” I smiled at him, and
he returned the gesture.
“You asked.”
“Ok, then what’d you do?”
“I made some spaghetti and played video games
on my mom’s boyfriend’s PlayStation II. He left it
at our house so I can play it.” He was eager to
talk and steadily becoming more animated. “I fell
asleep playing God of War. Have you played
that? It’s awesome.” His grin broadened.
“No Sir, but I’ve seen it played. But hold up, your
mom lets you play that? That’s a pretty mature
game, not that you’re not mature but you know
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what I mean.” I tried to sound reassuring without
him noticing my quest for information.
“Oh, my mom went out right after I got home
from school so she doesn’t know I was playing it.”
“But you said you fell asleep playing it. Didn’t she
notice when she came home?” I pried as I
scrubbed his feet and ankles, then, pulling him
forward washed his legs up to his knees. He never
mentioned it or even looked into the sink but
tugged his cargo shorts so they wouldn’t get wet.
“She didn’t come home until after I got up for
school this morning and she went right to her
room. I put the game back so no one would know
I was playing it.” He went on talking as I looked
over to Michelle who was looking at me in
amazement and wonder. I caught her eye; her
expression changed, and we looked at each other
knowingly. I rinsed Garek’s feet and leg and
handed him the towel.
“How big are these things, a size 9?” I asked as I
held up one of his feet.
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“10, my mom says I have my dad’s feet,” again
he rambled on as he dried his feet. He didn’t
notice as I walked away.
“Will you go up to WalMart and grab a pair of
size 10 sandals?” I asked Michelle.
“Heck yeah, I’ll get Renee and we’ll just go
shopping; he’s about my son’s size. I think we’ll
just grab some clothes while we’re there,” she said
as the wheels began spinning in her mind. She
smiled, concerned and uneasy as she walked
away.
“Hey,” I whispered after her, “get some shampoo
too. Thanks.” I sidled back over to Garek who
was standing barefoot with the towel in his hand.
He made a move toward his shoes.
“Garek, come on over here and have a seat. You
can let your feet dry before sliding your sandals
back on.”
He moved in my direction and took a seat at the
table facing me.
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I broke into conversation before he could say a
word, “When my brother and I were in foster
care, we didn’t get a lot of positive attention.
There wasn’t a whole lot of supervision so we
didn’t take very good care of ourselves. One day
my brother took his shoes off and ran around the
house singing at the top of his voice, ‘Smell my
feet - what an awesome treat,’ over and over as he
went speeding around the house. Everywhere he
went this terrible smell lingered. It really smelled
like something had died and he had put it in his
shoes and walked around with it for a week. But
this is also the same person who wouldn’t brush
his teeth in the morning, but instead would smoke
a cigarette and think that it made his breath smell
better. My point is that after that experience it’s
pretty easy for me to recognize when someone
needs some personal care attention.” I spoke with
levity, trying not to be patronizing.
“Wait, why were you in foster care?” he asked.
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“My biological mother went to prison, and my
biological father was already in prison, so the
state put me into foster care, and I stayed there
for a long time, going from home to home.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“They’re dead now. They both died a few years
ago.”
“What happened to your brother?”
“He’s in prison.”
“What’d he do?”
“That’s not something I’m willing to talk about.”
“Was it bad?”
“Yes Sir, but it doesn’t involve me, so it’s not my
place to talk about it.”
“Have you ever been to prison Sir?” he asked
nervously.
“Yes Sir,” I said, pausing to let the answer sink in.
His face became more intense and I continued,
“to visit my brother and my biological mother.”
He smiled, “Sir, that wasn’t funny. I thought you
were serious.”
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“I was serious, I’ve been in several prisons to visit
people, but no Sir I’ve never been incarcerated.
How about you? You ever been to prison?” I
joked.
With a chuckle and a smile he answered, “No
Sir.”
We talked for close to an hour, as I stalled until
Michelle and Renee could come back with his
new shoes, so as not to make a big deal of it in
front of the other kids who I knew were in the
library. The librarian and I were friendly as we
shared an immense love of books and respect for
the library as a sacred place. She allowed me to
use the library as a sanctuary when I had to clear
the room for one reason or another.
I pulled a copy of Kurt Baumann’s The Hungry
One from the bookshelf behind me and asked
Garek to read it out loud. He was an excellent
reader with a tremendous vocabulary. He read
the book with the ease and timbre of a much
older reader.
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“What do you think?” I asked as he closed the
book.
“Is this supposed to be me? Do you think I’m
Rum Tum Tum? Am I the hungry one?” his
questions rang with annoyance but I was
expecting his reaction.
“What if I’m the hungry one?” I pondered with
him.
“Then I’m in trouble,” he said, his smile
returning.
“When I was your age, fairy tales were very
important to me because somehow, some way,
the kids and the mothers always seemed to work
it out - one way or another. My life was always so
far from a fairy tale, and I always felt so alone
that I clung to these stories for hope. Do you ever
feel like that?”
“Sometimes,” he paused, “but it’s more about my
dad. I don’t see him much and I wonder if he
misses me like I miss him.” His smile faded, but
he maintained his eye contact.
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“I know how you feel. I never really knew my
dad, and I used to wonder the same thing.” He
kept talking about his dad until tears soaked his
face. He wiped his face on his dirty sleeve several
times but never stopped his endearing speech
about his absent father. I sat and listened without
taking my eyes from his. He needed to talk, and I
needed to listen if we were going to get anywhere.
He was giving me the details about swimming
with his father in the pool beneath a waterfall
when Michelle and Renee walked in loudly, their
arms full of bags. He noticed them immediately. I
spoke before he had a chance.
“Hey man, I had them get you some new sandals.
Hope that’s cool.” I said with some hesitation.
“Yeah, I mean, yes Sir. I’ve been wearing my
mom’s boyfriend’s sandals. He said he doesn’t
need them anymore.” His smile stretched across
his face, as the ladies approached with the bags.
“Look what we got,” Renee sang, placing her
bags at Garek’s feet.
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“We went a little crazy, but you haven’t spent any
money all year, so we spent it for you,” Michelle
said to me while looking at Garek, “This is all for
you. If any of it doesn’t fit, your mom can return
it, or we’ll do it. We don’t mind.” She put her
bags next to the others.
“Thanks. Can I try them on now?” he asked
while digging through the bags, pulling out an
assortment of clothes and shoes.
“Go ahead Sir; it’s all yours.” I replied
contentedly.
He went to the restroom with a bag of clothes he
had chosen from his new wardrobe and came
back looking like a showroom model, tags
dangling from his outstretched limbs.
“You look great. Do you like it?”
“Yes Sir,” he beamed.
“What do ya say we get those tags off of you, pack
up the rest of this stuff and get the rest of the class
so we can get on with our day?” I instructed more
than asked.
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“Sure, I mean, yes Sir.”
Garek packed his treasures as I spoke with the
ladies, quickly summarizing all that had
happened since they’d been gone. When he was
done, Garek stood before us awkwardly.
“I’m ready,” is all he said.
“Cool, let’s get out of here and find everyone else.
Ladies, we shall return.”
We left the classroom and headed toward the
library.
“Mr. Love?”
“Yes Sir?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize to me. You didn’t hit me
with a book.”
We moved along in resumed silence. When we
entered the library, Garek found the boy he had
hit and walked toward him. I heard his sincere
apology. They shook hands and wandered
together through the library. Thanking the
librarian and my assistant for their patience, I
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signaled for my boys to line up. They did so
quickly and silently. I led my line with pride as we
made our way back to class.
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My body welled with fear and anticipation as I
stood in the middle of the room, staring at the
door and waiting for it to open. Today I turned
five. The day had gone on as any other day.
Except for the moment I was sent to my room,
there was no mention of my birthday. I was long
past tired and I was ready for bed. I had been
shut up in my bedroom for hours since my dinner
of cold rice and beans, after which Bobby had
told me to go stand in my room and wait. I knew
what was coming. Every year it was the same.
Matthew and Bobby sparring in the living room
as I sat eating at the table alone. I pretended not
to see Bobby coaching and encouraging his
favorite son to do his job while Debbie sat on the
couch laughing. When I had finished eating and
washing the dishes I climbed down from the milk
crates stacked in front of the sink, and Bobby
seemed to notice me for the first time.
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“Quit makin’ so much damn noise mufucka!
What the hell’s yo problem? When you done get
yo ass to yo room and wait on yo brother. We be
in there in a minute with yo birthday present.”
He smiled at Matthew and rumpled his silky
blonde hair with his enormous black hand. The
contrast was overwhelming. Bobby loved
Matthew, and his love was reciprocated without
question. I could do nothing right and could
never win favor. I only existed to Bobby to keep
Debbie in line. He hurt me to punish her.
Standing there in our room, I wanted to fall over
asleep just as the door burst open. Seeing
Matthew’s face smiling up at Bobby aroused an
unfamiliar feeling inside me. Suddenly I was not
afraid. Suddenly I was filled with the rage of years
of abuse and neglect. I wanted what Matthew had
with Bobby. I wanted the love, the attention, and
the carefree life.
“Get in there and kick his ass,” Bobby
encouraged as he brushed Matthew into the
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bedroom. Matthew looked at me and sneered. I
was already in the center of the room, the bed in
front of me just left of the door, the closet on my
right, a scatter of broken toys behind me. I had
memorized the room as I stood there, preparing,
ready, waiting. For the last two years, Matthew
and I had fought as brutally as two young boys
could. Each year I was left bleeding and semi-
conscious on the floor. Bobby would burst into