Discover Smith Mountain Lake
WINTER 2016
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WITH CHRIS WITTING
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with Dennis Silvers
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you as soon as I can.” She didn’t move toward the girl
or Ben. She didn’t throw up the usual objections, or
fling insults. At about the time Maya began to believe
that she just didn’t care, a tear slipped down the
mother’s cheek.
Maya picked up
Bitty, and wrapped
her in a blanket
she’d brought
from Protective
Services. Her
assistant took
Anna by the hand,
and they made
their way to the
car outside. At that moment, Maya felt as though she
hated her job. She hated that woman upstairs, who
had brought this down on three helpless children. She
especially hated poverty, and the nameless men who
always seemed to disappear when kids came along.
She recalled another case of a mother with five kids,
who were living in a car. Another was a 13 year old boy,
neglected by an alcoholic mother. She had managed to
place him with an aunt and uncle.
Brian had met her that night at her apartment, and
together they had gone to her parents’ for dinner. She
had not had any interest in Brian romantically, and
was pretty sure he felt the same. They were simply
friends. She worried that her mother would think that
there was something more going on, and she didn’t
need a lecture.
“Pretend you’re Jewish, okay?”
During Birkat Hamazon (mealtime prayer), however,
Brian had blessed himself like any good Catholic, and
ruined the whole charade. They had laughed about it
on the ride home, and the next day at work.
Maya put her thoughts aside, and turned to the
present. On this day, Lila Jackson, aunt to the eight
orphans, would enter her world. For the rest of her
life, Maya would never forget her. The voice on the
other end of the phone focused her thoughts on the
here and now.
“Come after two o’clock, and I’ll watch for you,” Mrs.
Jackson said. “This is a bad neighborhood.”
Okay, that was
the second person
who was warning
her about the
Fillmore District.
She arranged for
a police escort.
When they drove
up in front of the
building in the squad car, Maya saw Mrs. Jackson at
the window. True to her word, she was watching for
Maya, who, after driving through a major portion of
the Fillmore District, could only think of pictures she
had seen on the news of bombed out buildings in war
torn countries. The only thing missing was the rubble.
Windows were boarded up on vacant buildings, and
store fronts had plywood and metal barriers. There
were gangs of young, rough looking men roaming the
streets. They stared defiantly as the squad car eased
past them.
Mrs. Jackson, who lived on the 2nd floor, came down
the steps to open the front door for Maya.
“Come in, Miss,” she said. She was a big woman, and
contrasted sharply with Maya’s petite figure. She
opened the front door of her apartment with a key
she had tucked in her pocket, and led Maya into the
kitchen. She seated her at the table, and set a steaming
mug of freshly brewed coffee in front of her. Maya
came quickly to the point.
“How are you coping with your sister’s children?”
“They are good kids,” she answered. “They miss they
mama.” She looked down and wiped the back of her
hand across her eyes, “But they all good kids.”
“Where are all the children sleeping?”
“I show you Miss. They sleepin’ all over the place.” She
laughed then, and shook her head. She led Maya into
the living room, where there were sleeping bags rolled
up and stacked against the wall. There were two sets
of bunk beds in the first bedroom, and more sleeping
bags. In the second bedroom, there were two more
sets of bunk beds, and a trundle that slid under the
lower bunk. In the third bedroom, there was a double
bed and a twin, and more sleeping bags. There was one
bathroom.
“That bedroom is for me and Bill.”
“I don’t need to see that, Ms Jackson. Is your husband
here?”
“Oh lawd no, Miss; he at work.” She laughed and added,
“With all these children he gotta work.”
The furniture was old and worn, and space was scarce,
but everything was orderly. There was a large pot of
soup cooking on the stove, and she caught a glimpse of
the inside of the refrigerator as Mrs Jackson poured
milk into a small pitcher for their coffee. It was filled
with containers of food and milk. Everything looked
fresh and clean. Still, 14 kids in this little apartment…
There weren’t even enough chairs in the kitchen for
everyone, not to mention space at the table. Too few
beds, too few chairs, every regulation in the book was
being broken. Her supervisor would have called for
back-up right then, and put the kids in the children’s
home that afternoon.
Instead, Maya returned to her office, and began
frantically calling foster home clients. There was not
even the slightest hope of placing all eight children
together. Even if they went to a facility, they would
you’re Jewish
okay?”
“Pretend
