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A small-frightened girl on the streets of Chicago is a picture that speaks more than a thousand words, and yet it doesn't begin to tell her story. Her long wavy and snarled locks of hair framed her smudged face where wide open, almond shaped, eyes stood searching the surroundings for something (anything) to answer the million questions racing thru her young mind. She wore a dress three sizes too big that had acquired a collection of stains and tears thru the previous three owners. In spite of the current situation, she stood tall and strong knowing her siblings looked to her for guidance and reassurance as the oldest. Her every action, her every thought visible on the outside was immediately read and imitated by the others. She forced her fear deep down and managed a smile when she caught one of them looking at her. She was all of eight years old.
Beside the girl stood a woman in her late twenties with an eighteen-month-old infant clutched tight in one arm. Her trembling lips kissed his forehead and her tears mixed with the raindrops falling down her cheeks. Thankful that the rain not only soaked her thin and worn clothing, but also muffled any sounds coming from this frightened family hiding out behind a van in some dark and dismal parking lot. She barely noticed the six-year-old boy who was holding tightly to the index finger of her free hand.
Only his mother could have discerned this child’s sole sign of fear, if she had paid attention to the tightness of his grasp. He was staring cold and blankly through the rain falling around them. His chiseled features were already protruding thru the baby fat of a young boy. He clenched his teeth determined not to show any amount of emotion for it was a sign of weakness that almost always resulted in some form of beating from his stepfather. He tried to ignore the water climbing up the threads of his oversized and frayed pants from the puddle he was standing in. A rope he fashioned into a belt held up those wet and heavy pants.
A stroller stood between the young girl and her mother. The little girl had been so happy the day she found it next to a bag of trash at the neighbor's house. She brought it home, cleaned it up, and thought to her self, "Now Momma won't have to carry both the babies. I can help her push this!" She was adorned with the world's largest smile that day. It seemed so far away and lost in the many circling thoughts of her mind at the moment. She turned her attention to the older baby in the stroller. He was barley two years old. He had no idea what was going on right now. He was asleep.
She wondered what it would be like to be a baby or any other child for that matter. What would it be like to not know the things she knew? Again her mind wandered, this time to the girls in school. They didn't really talk to her. They thought she was weird because she knew and talked about things they couldn't comprehend. She tried to explain why she didn't have a TV, why she didn't have a car, why she got free lunch and they had to pay, why she couldn't have any friends over and that it was for their own safety, why she had never been "shopping" for clothes or toys, and why she couldn't go outside to play but had to stay in to clean the house, or to watch the other children instead. She tried to explain that there wasn't a Santa Clause, an Easter Bunny, or a Tooth Fairy. You can't play those games if you don't have any money and refuse to beg, borrow, or steal.
Of all she knew that they didn't, nothing caused more of a commotion than an argument over where babies come from. She attempted to tell them that she knew exactly where babies came from and it wasn't a stork! Even the teacher got mad at her for that one. She heard the teacher in the principle's office the previous year yelling and screaming, "How in the world does a seven year old girl know that anyway!" The girl would have told her, but the teacher just gave her a disgusted look and stormed past her. She really didn't understand what all the fuss was about. Her counselor told her numerous times that she wasn't bad, so why was everyone always upset with her?
None of that mattered right now. There was only the silence. The situation screamed an inaudible command to hush. It was eerie how this family, usually so loud, could all of a sudden be dead quiet. The only sounds were that of the rain splashing in the puddles, the distant roll of thunder, and the deafening sound of fear. Slowly another sound stood out from the rain, the sound of feet heavily walking a drunken line toward them. They all nearly stopped breathing, even the babies. They all looked from one to the other. What would happen this time? When and if he found their hiding place, who would be the first to fly thru the air in his temper's raging fury? Still the faint sounds became clearer. The distant shuffling came nearer.
The girl looked up at the van. Was it big enough to protect them? Would it shield them from his hot-tempered glare? A vision of the man appeared in her mind. Her eyes were wide open, and yet she could see him clearly before her as if her eyes were closed and she was deep in sleep, in some sort of nightmarish dream. Only, this was no nightmare. It was life, real life. She could almost see in the rain's mist before her his big bugged out eyes, popping and stressing with unleashed anger flashing within them, drilling holes in the pit of her stomach. His eyebrows were always furrowed in a scowl, and those wrinkles on his leathery forehead seemed a permanent fixture as well on that angry man. To make things worse, he was an alcoholic and he was fury embodied when he was drinking.
Even when he tried to be nice and show love in his own West Virginian gruff way, it hurt. His prickly whiskers, black and gray, stuck out like needles from his cheeks and chin. Ouch, his chin! He thought it was funny to give her a whisker rash. That happened when he'd rub his chin gruffly over her young and soft rose petal cheeks. This turned them a bright red because of the millions of scratches from his steel like whiskers. He'd smack her butt and set her back down laughing a hearty laugh. If she didn't smile and pretend to be grateful for his attention he'd get sore really fast. She eased away and hid in her room cradling her burning cheeks. She never wanted to leave her brother out there alone with her step dad. She'd always grab her brother's hand on her way to her room, their haven.
(Would the babies be quiet? Would her stepfather keep on walking? Would they actually get away this time? Stay tuned.)
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