Ship of Souls

lady’s face lights up, and I know she’s impressed by my good manners. I never imagined a white person would want to adopt me, but Mom used to say beggars can’t be choosers. I decide then and there that I will beg this woman to take me home if I have to.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, D,” she says. “And I’d just like to offer you my sincere condolences on the passing of your mother.”
    I wasn’t ready for that. I never did figure out the best way to handle other folks’ sympathy. I drop my eyes and say, “Thank you, ma’am.”
    Mrs. Martin looks at the caseworker and says, “Poor thing. So young to have lost so much.”
    The caseworker gives my shoulder a squeeze and says, “Why don’t I go get another chair so you two can spend some time getting to know one another?”
    “That would be lovely,” says Mrs. Martin.
    I smile and nod eagerly like there’s nothing I’d rather do than chat up this old lady. How long do I get to sell myself? Every Wednesday the weather woman on channel four features a kid who’s up for adoption. I always felt sorry for those kids, but now the shoe’s on the other foot. Should I pull out all the stops and try to dazzle her with my brilliance? Or should I stick with being humble and polite? I decide to start with some flattery.
    “I like your hat,” I say with a fake look of admiration.
    Mrs. Martin reaches up a hand to proudly stroke the tacky flowers spilling over the brim. “Thank you, D. It’s not my best—I save that one for Sunday. Was your mother active in the church?”
    Active? Mom and I sat in the same pew every week, but that sounds passive, not active. “She taught Sunday school for a few years,” I say. I decide not to tell Mrs. Martin about the Christian Singles Group. Mom always said it should have been called the Christian Spinsters Group since there were ten women for every man. She went to a few meetings and then quit. “We went to the AME church near our building,” I add.
    “Well, I’m Unitarian and I live in a house. Have you ever lived in a house before, D?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “I think you’ll like it. There’s a yard out back and you’ll have your own room. I have a tenant on the top floor, but he works nights and mostly keeps to himself.”
    Mrs. Martin’s using the future tense—does that mean she’s already decided to take me home? Just then the caseworker returns with an extra chair. I thank her, sit down, and wait to see what happens next.
    “I was just telling D about my house,” Mrs. Martin says. “It’s much too large for a little old lady like me. I had hoped to foster a girl this time, but I think you’re right, Ms. Ward. D’s a sweet boy.”
    Ms. Ward turns to me. “Mrs. Martin lives near a magnet school, D, so you’ll be able to continue with your studies.” To the old lady she says, “D’s an excellent student—he’s won a number of prizes for academic achievement.”
    “Your mother must have been very proud of you,” Mrs. Martin says.
    “Yes, ma’am. She was,” I say.
    When the caseworker realizes I have nothing else to say, she speaks on my behalf. “D’s never been in any kind of trouble, and you can see how respectful he is.”
    “Yes,” says Mrs. Martin, “I can tell already he won’t be anything like the others.”
    The caseworker sees my confusion and rushes to explain. “Mrs. Martin had a bad experience last year with a couple of brothers she agreed to foster.”
    The tacky flowers dance a bit as Mrs. Martin shakes her head. “It was dreadful! I hated to send them back, but those two boys would have tried the patience of a saint. They ate as much as grown men and helped themselves to anything that wasn’t nailed down…”
    “Well, I can assure you that you won’t have any trouble with D. Right?”
    Ms. Ward looks at me. This is my cue, my last chance to seal the deal. What should I say?
    “I—I don’t eat much. And I can help out around the house—I’m used to doing chores. And, well…” I search for something else to say but feel my throat closing as tears fill my eyes. All I manage to squeeze out is, “I really need a home.”
    Mrs. Martin blinks her eyes, then reaches into her pocketbook to get a tissue. She hands one to me and uses another to dab at her eyes. “Bless you, child. I know God has a plan for us.” To Ms. Ward she says, “Can I take him home now?”
    “Well, you’re already in the system, so I should be able to expedite this paperwork.