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from Garek and stood up. As expected, Garek

quit his tantrum and looked at me quizzically.

I walked to the back of the room and grabbed a

chair and placed it in front of the sink in the back

of the room. Opening the under-sink cabinet I

grabbed a small hand towel.

“Sir, come on over there and have a seat please,”

I instructed as I patted the seat.

He stood up apprehensively, made his way to the

chair without a word and sat down. He stared at

me strangely.

“Thank you Sir. Now if you’d please slide those

feet on up here.”

He put his feet into the sink as I asked and I

turned the water on to let it run until it was

warm. Grabbing the bar of soap that sat by the

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sink’s edge, I lathered up and pulled Garek’s feet

into the water’s stream.

“So what’d you do last night?” I asked as if this

occurrence was commonplace.

“I watched this cool movie that my mom rented

about this killer who tricks people into killing

themselves. Have you seen it?”

“Yes Sir, but you know the rule, no discussion of

rated R movies in school.” I smiled at him, and

he returned the gesture.

“You asked.”

“Ok, then what’d you do?”

“I made some spaghetti and played video games

on my mom’s boyfriend’s PlayStation II. He left it

at our house so I can play it.” He was eager to

talk and steadily becoming more animated. “I fell

asleep playing God of War. Have you played

that? It’s awesome.” His grin broadened.

“No Sir, but I’ve seen it played. But hold up, your

mom lets you play that? That’s a pretty mature

game, not that you’re not mature but you know

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what I mean.” I tried to sound reassuring without

him noticing my quest for information.

“Oh, my mom went out right after I got home

from school so she doesn’t know I was playing it.”

“But you said you fell asleep playing it. Didn’t she

notice when she came home?” I pried as I

scrubbed his feet and ankles, then, pulling him

forward washed his legs up to his knees. He never

mentioned it or even looked into the sink but

tugged his cargo shorts so they wouldn’t get wet.

“She didn’t come home until after I got up for

school this morning and she went right to her

room. I put the game back so no one would know

I was playing it.” He went on talking as I looked

over to Michelle who was looking at me in

amazement and wonder. I caught her eye; her

expression changed, and we looked at each other

knowingly. I rinsed Garek’s feet and leg and

handed him the towel.

“How big are these things, a size 9?” I asked as I

held up one of his feet.

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“10, my mom says I have my dad’s feet,” again

he rambled on as he dried his feet. He didn’t

notice as I walked away.

“Will you go up to WalMart and grab a pair of

size 10 sandals?” I asked Michelle.

“Heck yeah, I’ll get Renee and we’ll just go

shopping; he’s about my son’s size. I think we’ll

just grab some clothes while we’re there,” she said

as the wheels began spinning in her mind. She

smiled, concerned and uneasy as she walked

away.

“Hey,” I whispered after her, “get some shampoo

too. Thanks.” I sidled back over to Garek who

was standing barefoot with the towel in his hand.

He made a move toward his shoes.

“Garek, come on over here and have a seat. You

can let your feet dry before sliding your sandals

back on.”

He moved in my direction and took a seat at the

table facing me.

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I broke into conversation before he could say a

word, “When my brother and I were in foster

care, we didn’t get a lot of positive attention.

There wasn’t a whole lot of supervision so we

didn’t take very good care of ourselves. One day

my brother took his shoes off and ran around the

house singing at the top of his voice, ‘Smell my

feet - what an awesome treat,’ over and over as he

went speeding around the house. Everywhere he

went this terrible smell lingered. It really smelled

like something had died and he had put it in his

shoes and walked around with it for a week. But

this is also the same person who wouldn’t brush

his teeth in the morning, but instead would smoke

a cigarette and think that it made his breath smell

better. My point is that after that experience it’s

pretty easy for me to recognize when someone

needs some personal care attention.” I spoke with

levity, trying not to be patronizing.

“Wait, why were you in foster care?” he asked.

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“My biological mother went to prison, and my

biological father was already in prison, so the

state put me into foster care, and I stayed there

for a long time, going from home to home.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“They’re dead now. They both died a few years

ago.”

“What happened to your brother?”

“He’s in prison.”

“What’d he do?”

“That’s not something I’m willing to talk about.”

“Was it bad?”

“Yes Sir, but it doesn’t involve me, so it’s not my

place to talk about it.”

“Have you ever been to prison Sir?” he asked

nervously.

“Yes Sir,” I said, pausing to let the answer sink in.

His face became more intense and I continued,

“to visit my brother and my biological mother.”

He smiled, “Sir, that wasn’t funny. I thought you

were serious.”

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“I was serious, I’ve been in several prisons to visit

people, but no Sir I’ve never been incarcerated.

How about you? You ever been to prison?” I

joked.

With a chuckle and a smile he answered, “No

Sir.”

We talked for close to an hour, as I stalled until

Michelle and Renee could come back with his

new shoes, so as not to make a big deal of it in

front of the other kids who I knew were in the

library. The librarian and I were friendly as we

shared an immense love of books and respect for

the library as a sacred place. She allowed me to

use the library as a sanctuary when I had to clear

the room for one reason or another.

I pulled a copy of Kurt Baumann’s The Hungry

One from the bookshelf behind me and asked

Garek to read it out loud. He was an excellent

reader with a tremendous vocabulary. He read

the book with the ease and timbre of a much

older reader.

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“What do you think?” I asked as he closed the

book.

“Is this supposed to be me? Do you think I’m

Rum Tum Tum? Am I the hungry one?” his

questions rang with annoyance but I was

expecting his reaction.

“What if I’m the hungry one?” I pondered with

him.

“Then I’m in trouble,” he said, his smile

returning.

“When I was your age, fairy tales were very

important to me because somehow, some way,

the kids and the mothers always seemed to work

it out - one way or another. My life was always so

far from a fairy tale, and I always felt so alone

that I clung to these stories for hope. Do you ever

feel like that?”

“Sometimes,” he paused, “but it’s more about my

dad. I don’t see him much and I wonder if he

misses me like I miss him.” His smile faded, but

he maintained his eye contact.

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“I know how you feel. I never really knew my

dad, and I used to wonder the same thing.” He

kept talking about his dad until tears soaked his

face. He wiped his face on his dirty sleeve several

times but never stopped his endearing speech

about his absent father. I sat and listened without

taking my eyes from his. He needed to talk, and I

needed to listen if we were going to get anywhere.

He was giving me the details about swimming

with his father in the pool beneath a waterfall

when Michelle and Renee walked in loudly, their

arms full of bags. He noticed them immediately. I

spoke before he had a chance.

“Hey man, I had them get you some new sandals.

Hope that’s cool.” I said with some hesitation.

“Yeah, I mean, yes Sir. I’ve been wearing my

mom’s boyfriend’s sandals. He said he doesn’t

need them anymore.” His smile stretched across

his face, as the ladies approached with the bags.

“Look what we got,” Renee sang, placing her

bags at Garek’s feet.

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“We went a little crazy, but you haven’t spent any

money all year, so we spent it for you,” Michelle

said to me while looking at Garek, “This is all for

you. If any of it doesn’t fit, your mom can return

it, or we’ll do it. We don’t mind.” She put her

bags next to the others.

“Thanks. Can I try them on now?” he asked

while digging through the bags, pulling out an

assortment of clothes and shoes.

“Go ahead Sir; it’s all yours.” I replied

contentedly.

He went to the restroom with a bag of clothes he

had chosen from his new wardrobe and came

back looking like a showroom model, tags

dangling from his outstretched limbs.

“You look great. Do you like it?”

“Yes Sir,” he beamed.

“What do ya say we get those tags off of you, pack

up the rest of this stuff and get the rest of the class

so we can get on with our day?” I instructed more

than asked.

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“Sure, I mean, yes Sir.”

Garek packed his treasures as I spoke with the

ladies, quickly summarizing all that had

happened since they’d been gone. When he was

done, Garek stood before us awkwardly.

“I’m ready,” is all he said.

“Cool, let’s get out of here and find everyone else.

Ladies, we shall return.”

We left the classroom and headed toward the

library.

“Mr. Love?”

“Yes Sir?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize to me. You didn’t hit me

with a book.”

We moved along in resumed silence. When we

entered the library, Garek found the boy he had

hit and walked toward him. I heard his sincere

apology. They shook hands and wandered

together through the library. Thanking the

librarian and my assistant for their patience, I

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signaled for my boys to line up. They did so

quickly and silently. I led my line with pride as we

made our way back to class.

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My body welled with fear and anticipation as I

stood in the middle of the room, staring at the

door and waiting for it to open. Today I turned

five. The day had gone on as any other day.

Except for the moment I was sent to my room,

there was no mention of my birthday. I was long

past tired and I was ready for bed. I had been

shut up in my bedroom for hours since my dinner

of cold rice and beans, after which Bobby had

told me to go stand in my room and wait. I knew

what was coming. Every year it was the same.

Matthew and Bobby sparring in the living room

as I sat eating at the table alone. I pretended not

to see Bobby coaching and encouraging his

favorite son to do his job while Debbie sat on the

couch laughing. When I had finished eating and

washing the dishes I climbed down from the milk

crates stacked in front of the sink, and Bobby

seemed to notice me for the first time.

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“Quit makin’ so much damn noise mufucka!

What the hell’s yo problem? When you done get

yo ass to yo room and wait on yo brother. We be

in there in a minute with yo birthday present.”

He smiled at Matthew and rumpled his silky

blonde hair with his enormous black hand. The

contrast was overwhelming. Bobby loved

Matthew, and his love was reciprocated without

question. I could do nothing right and could

never win favor. I only existed to Bobby to keep

Debbie in line. He hurt me to punish her.

Standing there in our room, I wanted to fall over

asleep just as the door burst open. Seeing

Matthew’s face smiling up at Bobby aroused an

unfamiliar feeling inside me. Suddenly I was not

afraid. Suddenly I was filled with the rage of years

of abuse and neglect. I wanted what Matthew had

with Bobby. I wanted the love, the attention, and

the carefree life.

“Get in there and kick his ass,” Bobby

encouraged as he brushed Matthew into the

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bedroom. Matthew looked at me and sneered. I

was already in the center of the room, the bed in

front of me just left of the door, the closet on my

right, a scatter of broken toys behind me. I had

memorized the room as I stood there, preparing,

ready, waiting. For the last two years, Matthew

and I had fought as brutally as two young boys

could. Each year I was left bleeding and semi-

conscious on the floor. Bobby would burst into