Isaiah: Child of Hope

Copyright © 2009 by Dave Martin.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Alone

Chapter 2

A Stranger Knocks

Chapter 3

Oatmeal at Grandma’s

Chapter 4

Going to Court

Chapter 5

Michelle’s first Visit

Chapter 6

Tajana’s Beauty Salon

Chapter 7

Mojo Comes for a Visit

Chapter 8

Getting Off Elevators

Chapter 9

Ms. Kline’s Flower Shop

Chapter 10

Delivering Daffodils

Chapter 11

Angels

Chapter 12

Mrs. Hughes’s Family

Chapter 13

A Ticking Clock

Chapter 14

A Bus Out of Chicago

Chapter 15

A Home with Grandma

Dedication

This short story is dedicated to those who work in child welfare and see stories such as this unfold first hand. I felt privileged to work on a team at the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services with people like Wilfred Mateo, Michelle Williams, Siby Jacob, Rob Reda, David B. Martin, Iris Burgos, Bobbie McCoy, Carla Roberts, Doug Nystrom, William Glowe, Mattie Thomas, Tracy Tyler and others.

I especially dedicate these pages to my daughter, Michelle Perez, who worked as a child welfare supervisor with Catholic Charities in Cook County, Illinois. Her willingness to listen, her insight into families, and her commitment to children continues to deepen. Michelle’s warm and open heart to the needs and hopes of children like Isaiah is evident in how she embraces and listens to her own two beautiful children.

Special thanks goes to my cousin, Lusandra Vincent for her encouragement and to my wife, Grace, who put in many hours providing valuable perspective and persistent editorial help.

Author’s Note

When I worked as an options trader for a few years, people were often curious about how options worked and the details of making or losing money. But when it came to understanding the lives of foster children who struggle in heart wrenching circumstances to find hope and a place to be loved, there frequently was a remarkable lack of interest. Those who have been touched by these children can never forget them.

I always felt privileged to learn from people like a Mrs. Leila Jones. Overflowing with courage, wisdom, faith, and perseverance, people like her embrace children in need and find places for them in their hearts and homes.

Thanks must go to all those who encouraged me to write this story, especially my children – Michelle Perez, Laurel Nicholson, and David Martin. Others who encouraged me with insight and suggestions were Joshua Berg, Laurel Aulie, Trula Jaffarian, Haley Meskei, Don and Norma Dutter, and Richard Heyman.

Chapter 1

Alone

A door banged hard somewhere on Isaiah’s floor and his eyes opened. The apartment was quiet. Six-year-old Isaiah immediately knew his mom had not come home again last night. This made two nights. Isaiah lay on the couch for a long time, not moving. He listened. He could hear the rain stinging the window as it was blown sideways by the wind. Isaiah heard two adults arguing and yelling at each other down the hall. One of them sounded like James, who was always bullying anyone who showed signs of weakness or fear. His mom had told Isaiah to stay clear of James. Another door slammed and there was silence again.

The smothered gray light of a late October morning filtered through the window and outlined the sparsely furnished living room where Isaiah had been sleeping on the couch. There were no sheets on the rotten-smelling mattress in the single bedroom. Springs poked through the stained mattress cover, making it impossible to be comfortable on the bed.

Isaiah’s mom was not present but her warning not to leave the apartment until she returned shaped Isaiah’s natural instincts. His stomach growled. Isaiah slid off the couch and walked barefoot into the kitchen. His feet crossed the sticky floor. He opened the refrigerator. The last of the cold hot dogs had been eaten the day before yesterday. Reaching into the refrigerator, he took out the bottle of strawberry Kool-Aid. Drinking the last gulp, Isaiah set the empty plastic container in the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes. His stomach ached and he wondered if his mom would bring food home. With no telephone in the apartment he could not call his grandma. She always had oatmeal with brown sugar when he visited her.

Isaiah ambled over to the window of the living room. Rain was splattering the concrete block windowsill outside. From the twelfth floor of the Abla Chicago Housing Authority Project, he had an open view of the low wet sky. Isaiah put his nose to the windowpane and felt the cold, which came with the rain.

Isaiah began thinking about his dad. He had only seen him a couple of times. His mom called his dad Mojo. He was in prison the last three years for narcotics possession in Memphis. Mojo was tough. He always had money. Mojo promised Isaiah’s mom one day he would buy a home for them in Memphis where he had been raised. The last time Isaiah saw his dad, Mojo was driving a big black Caprice with wire wheels. Isaiah was only three at the time. His mom said everyone liked Mojo. She told Isaiah the police set Mojo up and busted him for selling drugs. But one day he would be back. Isaiah was not sure when this would be, but he wanted to see his dad again. Sometimes he dreamed about his dad coming back to get Isaiah and his mama. But his dad had been away a long time. Isaiah tried to picture his face. His mom did not have a photograph of him, but Isaiah was sure he must be very handsome.

Before his mom moved into this high-rise apartment, Isaiah had started attending first grade. Ms. Rice had been his first grade teacher. There were thirty-four other children in her classroom. Ms. Rice quickly identified Isaiah as a student with poor reading-readiness skills. Without special help he would fall further behind. Ms. Rice referred Isaiah to the Student Services Team for an evaluation. Before the evaluation could take place, Isaiah and his mom had moved. His mom had failed to transfer him to the new local school. When Isaiah’s testing slot finally came up at the old school a month later, the coordinator learned Isaiah had moved. Isaiah’s name was removed from the list. No truant officer came looking for Isaiah when he did not show up at another school. Isaiah saw other kids going to school but he could only wait.

Isaiah’s grandmother, Mrs. Jones, often told Isaiah he was smart. He could pick up tunes from the radio and follow rap lines. Isaiah tapped his fingers on the windowpane following the cadence of the raindrops the wind was driving against the pane.

With his mom’s warning not to leave the apartment, Isaiah returned to the couch and waited. Closing his eyes he tried to smell his grandma’s oatmeal. He wondered if anyone else in the world knew he was hungry and alone. He could hear faint music coming through the concrete wall from the next apartment. Isaiah closed his eyes again and waited. Isaiah dreamed about going fishing. His cousin had promised to take Isaiah fishing