Are You That Somebody?

When I was 10 and a half, I met Jessica. From 5^th grade to 7^th grade, she and I were friends. However, halfway through 6^th grade, we became secret friends. She had joined a gang, and when I asked why, she said, “I know what you’re thinking, but they’re my family.” So, we mainly saved our conversations for recess, at which time she attempted to teach me the gang’s sign.

By 7^th grade, I’d take the long way to school, so she and I could meet up near her house and we would walk up to a certain point together to school. One morning though, about October, I noticed she was unusually quiet during our walk. I asked what was wrong, and she didn’t respond, so I stopped walking and looked at her. Tears were streaming down her face.

I asked her what was wrong, and she told me she was pregnant. My eyes grew big, because I new that was “grown up stuff”. I did my best not to show my surprise and confusion. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stood there. She then blurted out, “they’re coming for me and Jessie today; they’re taking us away.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The foster care people…they said that since I’m so young and pregnant, my mom’s not a good mom, and she needs some time to…” then she burst into tears.

We didn’t do hugs in our home, but I knew she needed something, and since I had no words, I pulled her in and let her cry on my shoulders. For once, I didn’t care that my blouse would be ruined….ruined by her mascara. This was my friend, and they were taking her away. Who “they” really were, I was unsure.

“So, where are they taking you?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but my mom says we can’t go to school today. It doesn’t look like we’ll be back anytime soon. Esther, I don’t think I’ll be back before high school.” Then, she started heaving and coughing. She started vomiting, and I just stood there.  When she was done, she cleaned her face with the bottom of her shirt and stood up. Not knowing what else to do, I said, “Jess, look…” and I signed her gang’s symbol, made up of a mix of letters and Roman numerals.

She smiled and said, “Hey, you finally got it. That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you do it.” She signed it back to me, much faster of course, and I smiled. We stood apart, both trying to be strong. She said, “You’re about to be late for school,” but I just stood there.

 “Thanks for being my friend, Esther,” she said.

“Thanks for being my friend, Jess,” I replied. I smiled; she waved, and we started walking in opposite directions. That was the last time I ever saw Jessica.

I never mentioned her, or what happened to her, to anyone in my circle of friends. I was shaken. Who would take a child away from her parents? Why would they do that?  Why would they uproot two children like that?

For years, I wondered; for years, it’s bothered me. At the age of 16, I vowed to do something to help children like my friend.

Part 2 

Too many children are uprooted from their homes without an explanation, in some cases, or with no idea where they are going. Often times, these children blame themselves.Too many children are left hopeless and sleeping in houses they will never be able to call home. They are shuffled around, sometimes abused, and often become more and more hardened, unable to trust. Black trash bags are how they transport their life possessions from home to home. There has to be something we can do to intervene, in order to help give them some kind of constant in their lives. That's where CASAs come in. You can be that person for one child. Just think about it...