Plenty Good Room Page 12

  Sienna took one look at Tamara’s somber face and asked loudly, “Dang, Tamara! What’s wrong with you? You look like somebody died or something!”

  Unspeaking, Tamara gazed at Sienna with one question whirling around in her brain: What kind of foster mom am I? All of her efforts to help the teen seemed useless now. In her powerlessness, her voice was caught down deep somewhere in her throat, and all Tamara could manage to do was look at her foster daughter and smile weakly.

  “Tamara?” said the girl again, a little quieter this time, as she looked at her with curiosity written on her face.

  “Yes, Sienna,” she finally managed while glancing around the table at the blur of faces one more time. Tamara felt as though she, not the teen, was in the hot seat there at the table, and she was painfully aware of the watchful presence of the girl’s teachers. Their negative comments seemed to reflect their opinion that she was unable to guide the girl in the right direction. Then, thankfully, she gazed into the dark eyes of Isaiah Perry, and he smiled at her warmly.

  Then, as if it were his responsibility to do so, Isaiah looked Sienna squarely in the eyes and said sternly, “Okay, young lady, you have some explaining to do!”

  21.

  Stand-Up Girl

  “So, Tam, please tell me that you at least put Miss Sienna on punishment for those grades,” said Jayson in a half whisper from the back of the cubicle.

  “I did, Jay,” said Tamara firmly. “Sienna cannot watch TV at all, and I took her CD player from her, too.”

  “Well, at least you are trying. I know you wanted to kill her for making you go up there and be embarrassed in front of all those white folks like that,” added Jayson through tightened lips. “I know I would’ve choked that little girl once we got outside.”

  Tamara emitted a small giggle before replying chidingly, “You would not, Jay! I was humiliated, though. To tell the truth, no matter how hard I tried not to, I was taking their criticisms of Sienna very personally. It really seemed as though they were blaming all of her bad behavior and failures on me.”

  Jay shook his head understandingly. “Shoot, I would’ve felt the same way, Tam. She lives with you, and so folks gotta think you got something to do with it if she’s not doing well.”

  “I know, but . . . you know Mrs. Jackson, right?”

  “You mean our Denise Jackson, whose husband is Leonard? The same ones with all the foster kids?”

  “Exactly. They really do amaze me. I honestly don’t know how they do it. Mrs. Jackson and I talk now and then since I’ve had Sienna. I really don’t know how I would manage without her, Jay. She’s been so supportive to me whenever I needed it. Anyway, we talked only a few days before the meeting, and she advised me then to stop taking Sienna’s behavior personally. She reminded me that I’m not responsible for her choices.”

  Jayson gave her a skeptical look. “Good advice, Tam, but easier said than done, I would think.”

  Tamara reluctantly agreed. “Jay, it is difficult to remain objective, and although I was trying hard, I just couldn’t do it that day. I’ll tell you, I felt just awful and so incompetent.” She turned her chair around to face his, “Jay-Jay, she’d hidden the first progress report, and the truth is, I was so out of touch with what was going on at school that I was not even aware that it had come out. To top it all off, Sienna had evidently intercepted dozens of calls to my home from teachers and even the dean—told them that I could not be disturbed at work and so they did not call me here, either.”

  Jayson stopped for a moment and then held his finger to his lips and said, “Hold on, hold on—I hear something.”

  Tamara spun around quickly and began to type on her keyboard until Jayson, confident that it was not Joan heading their way, added, “Tam, you know what? That girl is just good at being bad, but then, most kids who decide to act up at her age usually are! You are really a good one, though, ’cause I know I could not handle Sienna as calmly as you. Shoot, I’d probably have to send her back to wherever she came from just to keep from killing her little behind!”

  Once again facing Jayson, Tamara crossed one leg over the other while smoothing the navy blue pin-striped pant leg with one hand in a deliberate fashion. She looked up at Jayson and said in a slightly baffled tone, “What was strange, Jay, is that Sienna was not embarrassed at all. Instead, she was enjoying having all the attention focused on her, even if it was in a negative manner.” With a deep sigh, she added, “Jayson, I must admit I am a bit overwhelmed by it all, you know?”

  As Jayson looked at his friend with empathy in his eyes, he noticed how beautiful the young woman was. He could detect no makeup on her high-cheekboned face, yet Tamara’s smooth brown skin was even and clear, and her almond-shaped eyes slanted just enough at the corners to make her face look a bit exotic. Her slim hands lay on her knees, and the tips of her nails were painted pale pink. When she spoke, Jay saw deep dimples in her cheeks. But what Jay had always found most attractive about Tamara was her unassuming nature and her complete lack of pretentiousness.

  For just a fleeting moment Jayson actually thought about asking her out, to see if their friendship could move to another level. But just as quickly he nixed that idea, deciding that he valued Tamara’s friendship too much to risk losing it. Besides, he still enjoyed the ladies a bit too much to think about settling down with one woman.

  “Jayson? Did you hear me?” Tamara asked.

  “Tam, I’m sorry. I lost myself in a thought for a moment,” he said with a flash of a grin accompanied by a mischievous look in his eye. “I know you are overwhelmed by all this. In my opinion, Sienna is just a lot for you to handle, and I know you’re not going to like what I’m getting ready to say, but the truth is, anytime you can’t deal with it anymore, just tell Joan.”

  “Tell Joan what?” Joan Erickson asked from behind the two of them.

  Dumbstruck, neither Jayson nor Tam could disguise their surprise that their boss was standing there behind them. Engrossed in their conversation about Sienna, neither of them had seen or heard the woman walk over to their area.

  The woman gave them her brightest smile and repeated, “Tell Joan what? I’m here right now.”

  Jayson looked at Tam and raised his eyebrows before he answered smoothly, “Oh, nothing really, Joan—only that we were hoping that we will have our next reports in on time.”

  Both of them noticed that the woman was still showing off her ring, dramatically using the hand with the glittery diamond on it to slowly move her coiffed hair away from her face. As she gave the two of them a quick upturn of her lips, she said, “I hope so. It is our expectation that we receive our reports on time.”

  Without further comment, Jayson moved his chair over to his cubicle, and Tamara turned her chair back around. Beginning to type her report, Tamara sensed the woman’s presence behind her still, and hoped she would just leave.

  “Tamara?”

  Reluctantly Tamara spun her chair around so that she was half-facing Joan. “Yes?”

  “I couldn’t help but notice that it seems that you are out of the office quite a bit more than normal. In fact, you have been gone for at least two entire mornings and one afternoon. I happened to be going through my schedules and noticed that those times you were out of the office were not designated field days, either.”

  Tamara now spun her chair all the way around to face the woman, frowning as she tried to remember the times that Joan spoke of. Two of the days she was at Sienna’s school, once for the conference and once when Sienna was suspended. The other was when she took Sienna to the doctor for her physical. She’d always indicated on her time sheet the purpose for her absences, but evidently Joan had not checked that part.

  Slightly irritated now, she responded, “Joan, those times I was out were connected to Sienna.”

  The woman gave Tamara the closed-lip, condescending smile she hated. “Oh. Hmmm, I do realize that kids take time, but we don’t want to miss too much of our valuable work time, now, do we, Tam? Perha
ps, we could work harder to schedule these things on our off time or later in the day to minimize their impact.”

  Tamara looked at the woman incredulously. How dare Joan question her as if she lacked integrity in taking time off to care for the girl, when it had been Joan’s idea for Sienna to move into her home in the first place!

  Annoyed, Tamara retorted in an uncharacteristically clipped tone, “Joan, I do take offense at what you are saying. You asked me to take this young girl in as a personal favor to you, and I did. I work for this agency, and the way I handle her as guardian certainly reflects back on us—and this would include you as my supervisor. So if I neglect to pick her up when she misbehaves, or if I miss a conference or doctor’s appointment, it would be a bad reflection on us all.”

  Joan looked shocked to hear Tamara address her in this fashion. Never had she heard the woman use this curt tone; in fact, now that she thought about it, she’d not heard Tamara speak much at all, really.

  Tamara’s nostrils flared angrily now, and she ignored her rapidly beating heart, continuing to speak while keeping her brown eyes locked on the white woman’s hazel ones. “Furthermore, I am doing the very best I can to work with this young lady, and be assured, it is not always easy. Sienna has been left on her own a lot; she’s had almost no home training, is often rude and disrespectful to adults, and is a chronic liar. Additionally, she is failing all of her classes in school, and from what her teachers have told me, she has consistent behavior problems.”

  Joan’s eyes widened as she listened. She realized that Tamara was actually upset with her, and for good reasons. “Tam, maybe this is a misunderstanding. I didn’t realize that you were going through so much with our Miss Sienna,” she said, her tone sweet and low now.

  “Well, now you know that I am,” Tamara assured her tersely. Her almond eyes were still locked on Joan’s as she said, “And one more thing, Joan. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t like it when you call me Tam—that’s a nickname reserved for friends.”

  After a moment’s silence, Joan answered contritely, “I’m very sorry if I offended you, Tamara.” With one last glance at the young woman’s grave expression, Joan added quickly, “Well, I guess I’ll let you go on with your work.”

  Tamara turned her chair around quickly to face her desk again. She felt dizzy and struggled to type her report because her hands were shaking so badly that they kept inadvertently hitting the wrong keys.

  “You go, girl! I’m so proud of you! It’s about time you stood up for yourself!” said Jayson with enthusiasm.

  Tamara jumped, startled by his presence behind her. Then, taking a deep breath, she faced him and smiled brightly, all the while holding her hands tightly together in her lap so that Jayson would not notice just how badly they were shaking.

  22.

  Solitary Moments

  The girl’s eyes moved so quickly over the text that she seemed to absorb the words rather than read them. She loved to read, and the written words provided her with a ticket to visit places far away and were her only escape from a here and now she often wanted no part of. Immersed in the novel, she did not hear the guard’s footsteps approaching her room, and jumped when he rapped on the small window of the white door.

  Looking up then, she saw the white-clothed middle of the man’s body through the opening in the door. “Your dinner is served,” he said, and his disembodied voice was emotionless as he pushed a tray through the small slot.

  Without replying, the girl rose from the bed and retrieved the tray from the opening. Expressionless, she carefully examined the food on the tray. A Styrofoam bowl was half-filled with watery noodle soup, and the entrée was a creamy-looking chicken casserole, served with green peas and a big white roll.

  It doesn’t really matter what they give me, she thought to herself with a small shrug, but she was glad that today there was no meat. There was no point in giving it to her anyway, since she had no way to cut it. They would only allow her to have a spoon, because for some dumb reason they thought that she might try to do something to herself with a plastic fork or knife.

  Then, without warning, her memory flashed back to the night they brought her here for the first time. The girl was looking down on the chaotic scene as if she were floating outside her body, and hovering there above it all, she could see herself as she was when they brought her in that night, screaming and flailing wildly at the nurses and guards.

  “Stop it. Stop it—don’t touch me!” she heard herself say over and over while she lay there writhing on the linoleum floor.

  The visual image continued to play in her brain. She saw four of them then—no, wait a minute, five of them—surrounding her body there on the floor, and they were all dressed in white. One nurse managed to grab her arms, tightly pinning them close to her small body, and then two others held her legs, and swiftly they lifted her up high onto a small table. All the while she was yelling as loud as she could, screaming at the top of her lungs.

  “I can’t take any more!” she was yelling. “I can’t take any more!”

  “Little girl, you need to calm down!” said the nurse, who looked alarmed at the sight of her writhing there so out of control.

  There on the table she squeezed her eyes shut tightly now and flopped her head from side to side, harder and faster, and then suddenly she began to shake all over.

  “I think she’s convulsing,” she heard the nurse say.

  When the girl opened her eyes, she was no longer floating above the scene but was inside her body. Everything she saw looked distorted. The girl felt as though she were trapped in a long, dark tunnel, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not see anything to the left or to the right. Her head simply would not move on her now stiffened neck . . . She could not turn in either direction. Instead, she could only stare upward into the faces hovering eerily above her as she felt her body jerk hard time after time.

  Somebody asked, “What’s causing it? There is no history of epilepsy in her records . . . Do you think she’s taken some sort of drugs?”

  Another voice replied, “I don’t know, but we’d better get her a shot of something—now!”

  Even then, though she could not speak, the words played in her head repeatedly: I can’t take it anymore . . . I just can’t take it anymore. She thought she was crying then, but she couldn’t stop shaking long enough to move her arms so that she could touch her own face. Instinctively the girl knew she was lost in another place, far away from the real world, and she wasn’t really sure she would be able to make it back.

  “This is going to burn a little bit,” said a voice again.

  There was the prick of a needle in her behind, followed by an intense burning in her left buttock. She had only a moment or two of total lucidity after that; her body was finally still, and she gazed up into each of the concerned faces looking down at her. White faces, black faces, green eyes, blue ones, and brown ones . . . and then she was asleep.

  Back in the present, the girl blinked her eyes one time as if turning off a movie that made her uncomfortable. And then, with no further thought about that night, she sat on the side of the bed, rested the tray on her small knees, and picked up her book again. Quickly she was engrossed in the story as she distractedly spooned the now lukewarm food into her mouth with no regard to its taste.

  Then she put the book down by her side, chewing silently while thinking about the girl in the story. That girl lived in a house, with a mother and a father and her real brothers and sisters. But she was unaware of her fortunate situation and often angry at them for some reason or other—this was difficult to comprehend.

  Thinking about that lucky girl in the book, she felt small and alone here in the locked room, silently eating from her Styrofoam tray. She’d never known her mother or father. She’d lived in many foster homes, and years passed before she learned, through counselors and caseworkers reluctant to tell her the story, that her own mother had been totally uncaring about leaving her alone when s
he was a small baby.

  Supposedly, one of the neighbors had heard her mewling cries that night and called the police, and she’d never lived with her mother again but had been in the “system” in some form or fashion ever since. She knew nothing at all about her father—who he was, where he was, or whether he was even aware of her existence.

  With her small fingers she tore off a piece of the hard roll, put it in her mouth, and chewed distractedly. Shoot, she thought, I would be just happy to have a mom or a dad, or an aunt or uncle even . . . just somebody who is family to me. With a sigh she thought dejectedly of how there was no family that she knew of, and with no knowledge of her biological parents’ whereabouts, there was no way to find anyone. Long ago she’d realized that not one blood relative cared enough about her to try to find her, either. She was all alone, and she knew it.

  It was still hard for her to believe that she’d lived in so many different foster homes. Twenty-five different places I’ve lived, she thought with amazement, and though they called them foster “homes,” none of them had really felt like home to her. Her eyes grew wet then, and she stopped chewing for a moment. Bad things had happened to her in a couple of those homes, and she just couldn’t stay in any of them after that. No matter how much the girl liked it, in a few weeks or months, she had to go, to leave . . . to run.

  When they caught her this time, something inside her snapped, and when the girl woke up from whatever place she’d gone to inside herself, she was strapped down on this bed in this room. They said she had gone crazy. And judging from what she had recalled moments ago, just maybe she had, for a while.

  But she was herself again now, and when she glanced around the square room again, her eyes rested on the locked door. I might be stuck in here right now, she thought. I can’t go anywhere, but sooner or later they’re going to open that door, and whenever they do, I’m outta here.