I close the file and stuff it back into my backpack. I envision letting her shred it or maybe burning it one day, just like I wish I could have with my own file. I know these are just pieced together copies of the original file, but it still would mean something to see it buried.
Standing, I sling my bag over my shoulder and make my way down the hall toward the commons room where I first met her. Every time I’ve been back, I look to the couch, hoping to see her there reading poetry, but over and over again I’ve been disappointed.
The room is crowded with kids, and the smell of sweaty teenagers from the summer heat hits me. Denver has a mixture of schools, which vary from year-round to traditional schedules, so even though it’s the middle of the summer, some of them will be working on assignments for school, while for others, the school year is a distant memory.
I walk directly to the sign-in sheet at the front desk. My finger scrolls down the list of names and I’m met with disappointment when I reach the end of the list without coming across Leah’s name. I exhale my frustration and turn to the kids in the room to see where I’ll be most helpful for the afternoon.
Then I see the flowing locks of blonde hair that I have been so eager to see again. Sitting in the same spot as before, Leah is stretched out on the couch, hoisting up a mammoth of a book: The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. Her brows are drawn together, deep in thought, and I smile to myself at the scene before me.
“It’s been I while,” I say as I approach her. “I hoped I would find you here, and with a book on Poe is an even better surprise.”
She looks up at me with tears in her eyes, which she hurriedly wipes away. She doesn’t want me to see her weakness, but it’s too late. It was there; I saw it.
“It took a while before I could get to the library, and I wanted to have this book before I came here again. You know, in case you were here,” she explains. She clears her throat to rid herself of the emotion that overtook her, but I can still hear the slight tremble in her voice.
I take my seat next to her and change the subject as not to bring attention to her obvious discomfort and my intrusion of her personal moment.
“I’m glad to see you here again. I have to admit, I was happy to see that book in your hands. Are you enjoying it?”
She runs her hand across the pages she was just reading, and lets out a sigh. “Yes,” she says looking down at the book. “It’s like the words are speaking to me, and well, some hit a little too close to home.”
I peer over to look at the page and read the passage that she has lightly starred with a pencil.
“The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?” I read aloud and nod.
Leah takes a ragged breath and searches my eyes. She’s looking for a safe place, a safe person, to share her secrets, and I try to convey that I understand her struggle. I, too, have felt the pain of this world.
She begins to speak, but the words lodge in her throat and she stammers for a moment. “After my father left us, my mom just gave up. There were times she tried, but her pain was too great. She used to say the drugs helped her forget her loss, helped her not feel. No matter how many times I was taken away, I tried to do things to find my way back to her. I didn’t want anyone to want me so I could be with my mom.”
A tear escapes her eye and slides down her cheek, and this time she’s slow to wipe it away.
“I ran away more times than I can count. I really thought I could take care of her, but I could never fix her. There were times when she would take off and I found myself alone…scared….hungry. I wasn’t sure if she was alive or dead. There were times, I didn’t care; I just wanted it to be over.”
I move closer to her on the couch and reach my hands out for her to give me the book. She hands it over willingly and I turn the pages to the poem I want to share with her.
“There was a time when I had no place to go,” I tell her. “No one to run to.”
She tilts her head, confused by my admission.
“My parents died when I was little and there was no one,” I clarify. “I was alone. Then, just before I graduated high school, I met a family that made a home for me. I was never adopted, but I found a home nonetheless. Now, I have managed to create a family for myself, with those I surround myself with. I guess you could say I was blessed to get to choose my family.”
I hand her back the book with the page of the poem open for her to read. I point to a line and she reads aloud. “Never to suffer would never to have been blessed,” she whispers.
Her eyes don’t move from the page; she lets the words settle on her, sink into the fabric of her identity. “I figure if I hadn’t experienced the pain of my past, I would never have been able to appreciate the gifts I have in my present,” I murmur. “Do you think you’re ready now to accept what the world could offer for you?”
She doesn’t hesitate; her head snaps up and her eyes meet mine. “Absolutely,” she says confidently. “I know I’ve missed my chance for a family, but someday I would like to create my own, just like you did.”
“It’s never too late, Leah. You just haven’t met the right people yet. I promise to help change that.” I know I’m breaking a huge rule here; I should never promise something I may not be able to follow through on. I need to make her believe she hasn’t experienced the hell she has for nothing, though, that there are great things in store for her and she will be loved…like all kids should be.
I pull out my phone and scroll through the numbers until I come across the number I’m looking for. A person with the biggest heart I know, someone who would care for this child like her own, and who deserves a happily ever after just as much as the girl sitting next to me.
Leah scowls, the line between her brows creating a deep divide. “I’m starting right now,” I tell her with a smile and stand from the couch. I raise my finger to Leah to stay put as I walk away from the couch. The phone rings and I hold my breath, waiting for her to finally pick up.
“Hey, Cam. What’s up,” she says cheerfully through the phone.
A rush of air leaves my body as I try to steady my voice. I don’t usually ask for much from these girls, but in this instance, I’ll be asking for everything.
“Can we meet?” I ask. “There is something important I want to talk to you about.”
“Sure,” she says. “The plane for Vegas leaves in the morning; how about we meet just before?”
“Thank you. See you in the morning, Carly.”
Carly
I could have guessed a million and a half reasons why Campbell wanted to talk to me, and I would have never been correct. As much as I wanted to have more children, the thought of fostering a teenager, one I’ve never even met, no less, is something I never would have thought to consider.
My divorce isn’t final yet, I’m just getting on my feet, and I don’t think I would even be approved to be a foster parent as a single person. Campbell was quick to squash all negativity and misinformation I had about the process, but still, I need time to think about the possibility of bringing someone into my home…into my life.
While Campbell thought the decision was a no brainer, I’m hesitant. I don’t even know if I’m a strong enough person to handle the emotional back and forth that a foster parent could possibly go through.