school, she did manage to put Poppy and Nana into motion. In a weakened condition Poppy even agreed to meet with the colored lawyer that Senator Strickland had told Nana about.
The brightly colored balloons that were painted on the dingy block building seemed out of place. Like fresh ribbon tied around some forgotten gift that had been found in the attic. A big white sign welcomed us: “Child Advocacy Network ‘CAN’ Make a Child’s Destiny.” While Poppy scratched the stubble on his chin and Nana straightened her skirt, I studied each of the block-shaped letters. They seemed as foreign as the Egyptian words that were stenciled on the sides of temples in my social studies book.
“A.B.” Nana stood at the front door with the pocketbook balanced on her wrist like a scale.
Poppy got out of the car in a hunched-over way befitting an old man. “Never guessed I’d end up using a colored lawyer,” he mumbled.
Nana never turned around as she led the way up the sidewalk.
“They said she’s the best for this sort of thing. So hush your mouth and open up your ears.”
Inside, photos of various children ranging from infants to ones older than me greeted us on the bulletin board. Guarding the photos at the front desk was a young woman with braids of strawberry-colored hair.
46
m i c h a e l m o r r i s
Slumped in the small vinyl chair, Poppy pulled the brim of the John Deere cap even lower over his forehead. When our lawyer appeared from behind an office door, I heard Poppy mumble again.
She had a wide piece of gold material wrapped around her head.
A matching dress dared to touch the points of her body. As she glided towards us there was no smile. For all I knew she might have been toothless. But the way she tilted her head ever so slight told me she was equipped to take on anything that got in her way. The sharpness in her cheekbones made me think of the drawing of Cleopatra.
“Hello.” Her earrings swung wildly as she reached out for Nana’s hand. “I’m Nairobi Touchton.”
Nana smiled and introduced herself and Poppy. His hands were planted deep into pants pockets, and his gaze never seemed to settle on one particular person.
Nairobi leaned down and the top of her dress opened to reveal the edge of brown breast. The way my eyes danced around the room I’m sure she thought nervous eyes ran in the family.
Nanny and Poppy met with Nairobi behind a conference-room door covered with gold-colored plastic grooves. It all seemed to take on the feeling of a CIA type of mission that would be best suited for G.I. Joe. Their shapes were distorted through the imitation glass, but there was no denying where Poppy sat at the table. His slump gave him away.
Drifting closer to the bulletin board, I studied the photographs.
Babies lined the top row, and a few had little gold balls on their ears; variously colored adults clutched them with surprised smiles. Orphans, I figured. When my glance fell to the bottom of the poster, so did my spirit.
The boy with the name Alfonso stenciled underneath his picture caused the hair on my neck to stand at attention. It was the emptiness in his eyes. A boy deserted not at a hospital, but most likely in a neighborhood or a shopping center. Deserted like the cat Mama said we could no longer afford, so she shooed him out of the car on a street filled with two-story homes and swimming pools. Taffy, the cat, Slow Way Home
47
had long been forgotten, but suddenly his green eyes were as wild as the boy’s on the poster and just as frightened. Without a calling card to announce its arrival, the hatred that had been buried beneath a need to take care of Mama rose to the surface. While the lady at the desk was busy writing down instructions from a caller, I snatched the photo off the poster with one clean swipe. Alfonso rested inside the pocket of my Toughskin jeans as comfortable as he would have in any two-story home with a swimming pool.
No matter how many times Nana prayed, my mama
The brightly colored balloons that were painted on the dingy block building seemed out of place. Like fresh ribbon tied around some forgotten gift that had been found in the attic. A big white sign welcomed us: “Child Advocacy Network ‘CAN’ Make a Child’s Destiny.” While Poppy scratched the stubble on his chin and Nana straightened her skirt, I studied each of the block-shaped letters. They seemed as foreign as the Egyptian words that were stenciled on the sides of temples in my social studies book.
“A.B.” Nana stood at the front door with the pocketbook balanced on her wrist like a scale.
Poppy got out of the car in a hunched-over way befitting an old man. “Never guessed I’d end up using a colored lawyer,” he mumbled.
Nana never turned around as she led the way up the sidewalk.
“They said she’s the best for this sort of thing. So hush your mouth and open up your ears.”
Inside, photos of various children ranging from infants to ones older than me greeted us on the bulletin board. Guarding the photos at the front desk was a young woman with braids of strawberry-colored hair.
46
m i c h a e l m o r r i s
Slumped in the small vinyl chair, Poppy pulled the brim of the John Deere cap even lower over his forehead. When our lawyer appeared from behind an office door, I heard Poppy mumble again.
She had a wide piece of gold material wrapped around her head.
A matching dress dared to touch the points of her body. As she glided towards us there was no smile. For all I knew she might have been toothless. But the way she tilted her head ever so slight told me she was equipped to take on anything that got in her way. The sharpness in her cheekbones made me think of the drawing of Cleopatra.
“Hello.” Her earrings swung wildly as she reached out for Nana’s hand. “I’m Nairobi Touchton.”
Nana smiled and introduced herself and Poppy. His hands were planted deep into pants pockets, and his gaze never seemed to settle on one particular person.
Nairobi leaned down and the top of her dress opened to reveal the edge of brown breast. The way my eyes danced around the room I’m sure she thought nervous eyes ran in the family.
Nanny and Poppy met with Nairobi behind a conference-room door covered with gold-colored plastic grooves. It all seemed to take on the feeling of a CIA type of mission that would be best suited for G.I. Joe. Their shapes were distorted through the imitation glass, but there was no denying where Poppy sat at the table. His slump gave him away.
Drifting closer to the bulletin board, I studied the photographs.
Babies lined the top row, and a few had little gold balls on their ears; variously colored adults clutched them with surprised smiles. Orphans, I figured. When my glance fell to the bottom of the poster, so did my spirit.
The boy with the name Alfonso stenciled underneath his picture caused the hair on my neck to stand at attention. It was the emptiness in his eyes. A boy deserted not at a hospital, but most likely in a neighborhood or a shopping center. Deserted like the cat Mama said we could no longer afford, so she shooed him out of the car on a street filled with two-story homes and swimming pools. Taffy, the cat, Slow Way Home
47
had long been forgotten, but suddenly his green eyes were as wild as the boy’s on the poster and just as frightened. Without a calling card to announce its arrival, the hatred that had been buried beneath a need to take care of Mama rose to the surface. While the lady at the desk was busy writing down instructions from a caller, I snatched the photo off the poster with one clean swipe. Alfonso rested inside the pocket of my Toughskin jeans as comfortable as he would have in any two-story home with a swimming pool.
No matter how many times Nana prayed, my mama
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