Good to Me (12 page)

Iesha took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Good. I want you to repeat after me.” As soon as Iesha nodded, Charity saw tears roll down her cheeks. “Lord, I come to you
in the name of Jesus… Your Word says in Acts 2:21… that whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord… shall
be saved… I’m calling on You… I pray and ask Jesus to come into my heart… and be Lord over my life according
to Romans 10:9… I confess that Jesus is Lord… and I believe in my heart that God raised Him from the dead . . .
I am now reborn!… I am a Christian… I am saved.”

Charity and Iesha locked themselves in an embrace and comforted each other.

“We better go in,” Charity said, patting Iesha on the back. “Are you ready?”

Iesha looked at the clock. “As ready as I can be.” She pulled down the mirror on the passenger’s visor. “I look rough.”

“No, you look like a concerned mother.”

They walked toward the elementary school building. Not even the winter chill could speed them up. They followed the signs
to the office.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Charity approached the heavyset white woman at the desk. “I’m Charity Phillips, here with my sister
Iesha Brown. We’re here for a three o’clock appointment concerning Sha-Lai Brown.”

The woman smiled slightly, or slightly frowned. Her expression was difficult to read. “Oh yes. The conference room is right
this way,” she pushed herself up off the chair to lead them around the corner. She led them into a room where six people were
already seated. A short, brown-skinned gentleman with a balding head and a wide smile stood with his hand extended to Charity,
as she was the first to walk into the room.

“I’m Mr. Robinson, the principal here at Thomasboro.”

Charity accepted his gesture. “I’m Charity Phillips. I’m here with my sister Iesha Brown.” She looked over her shoulder at
Iesha.

Iesha stepped forward to acknowledge Mr. Robinson but refused his handshake. “Where’re my kids?”

“They’re next door working on their homework. They—”

Iesha turned toward the door. The people who were seated stood simultaneously like the mob squad. Mr. Robinson held his hand
out to stop her. “They are expecting you after this meeting is over.”

Iesha dusted his hand off of her. “Well, let’s hurry up and get this over with then.”

The others sat down. Mr. Robinson pulled out two chairs for them to join the others at the table. “Please have a seat.”

Iesha locked her knees. “I don’t want to sit down.”

Charity whispered in her ear. “You sit. I’ll talk.”

Iesha looked intently at each person in the room. She sat down with her arms folded across her chest.

“Mr. Robinson,” Charity said, breaking the silence. “Will you please explain to us what is going on?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, but before we get started, I’ll go around the table so these folks can introduce themselves?”
he said, directing his attention to the five people who were with him.

A middle-aged white woman with a blond Halle Berry haircut spoke up. “I’m Mrs. Sauvain, the school’s nurse.”

Charity liked the iridescent fuchsia shirt the woman wore who spoke next. “I’m Ms. Tuttle. We spoke earlier.” She blinked
her eyes a few times and then took her glasses off. She pulled at her eyelashes, like one was stuck in her eye. “I’m the guidance
counselor,” she said, still messing with her eye.

“Hello, Ms. Brown.” Charity smiled. It was good to see a black woman at the table, she knew she’d be on their side. “I’m Sha-Lai’s
teacher, Mrs. Davis.”

“I’m Mr. Mance… Raquan’s teacher,” offered a white man with a few gray strands moussed over to one side of his balding
head.

Charity and Iesha looked at each other with the same question on their faces. Charity’s facial expression told Iesha that
she did not know why he was there either.

“Ms. Brown,” the woman in the last seat called. “I’m Dawn Styre. I’m a social worker from the Mecklenburg County Department
of Social Services.”

“Lord, have mercy,” Charity whispered, and shook her head.

Iesha frowned and leaned forward in the chair. “DSS? How y’all gone call DSS on me?” she asked as she slammed her fist against
the table. “I have not abused my children.”

“Iesha, please.” Charity turned to whisper to her sister. “Don’t give them what they’re looking for. Calm down.” She turned
to the principal, “Mr. Robinson, we can understand a conference being called to address the situation, but why has DSS been
involved?”

“In the state of North Carolina, the law obligates any citizen to report to DSS any case in which they suspect a child is
being abused. Mrs. Davis noticed a mark on Sha-Lai’s face this morning, and when she asked her about it, Sha-Lai told her
that she had been fighting with her younger brother. In less than an hour, Sha-Lai complained that her head was hurting and
was sent to see Mrs. Sauvain, the nurse. Mrs. Sauvain inquired about the mark as well. Sha-Lai told her that you ‘messed around
and slapped her on accident.’ When the nurse talked with Sha-Lai’s teacher, they realized they’d gotten two different stories.
That’s when Ms. Tuttle, the guidance counselor, was called. And then DSS was called.”

“Okay but—” Iesha started.

“That’s understandable,” Charity said, cutting off Iesha. She thought it would be best if Iesha remained quiet. “But why is
Raquan’s teacher here?”

Iesha nodded to let Charity know that she was going to ask the same question.

The social worker answered. “Once a report is made, we begin an investigation. That just means we gather as much information
as we can. We start with the school and then the parents. In cases where there is more than one child in the home, our investigation
includes them as well.”

The guidance counselor added, “To aid the investigation, the school provides information that in many cases helps the parents.
We submit attendance records, the child’s grades, parent-teacher conference reports, anything we can find with hopes that
it will paint a favorable picture for the family.”

Charity could tell that Iesha did not trust the guidance counselor. “So, have you already started getting information or is
that what we’re here for?”

“Yes, to both of those questions,” the guidance counselor answered.

Iesha snapped, “Well, did what you turn over to DSS paint a
favorable picture
?”

The social worker intervened. “Ms. Brown, I can understand your frustration right now. Let me assure you that the Department
of Social Services is not interested in taking away your children. Our goal is to thoroughly investigate reported cases of
abuse to make sure that the children are safe. In a very large percentage of cases reported to us, abuse is not substantiated
and the cases are closed just as quickly as they were opened. But I need you to cooperate with me if you want your case to
be one of them.”

Iesha relaxed her shoulders a little bit.

The social worker continued. “Your case is mildly difficult. According to the school’s report, this is what we have in your
favor—Sha-Lai is a straight-A student, her progress reports are all good, except that she is an excessive talker,” the social
worker smiled.

Iesha returned her smile and relaxed a little more. Charity reached for and squeezed her hand.

“She has perfect attendance since kindergarten, and you don’t have a prior record with DSS. Your son’s grades are just as
good in spite of poor attendance. And it is noted that he has severe asthma and requires significant medical attention. But,”
she said firmly to prepare Iesha for what she would say next. “We have a child here with a bruise above the shoulder. Ms.
Brown, in North Carolina, the law considers bruises on the lower part of the body, below the waist,” she demonstrated, “as
less significant, depending on the type of bruises. If the bruises are higher, say for instance the chest area, these are
more significant. And bruises above the shoulder are considered most significant and could result in immediate removal of
the child or children.”

Iesha squeezed Charity’s hand. Charity was already praying.

Calmer than she was fifteen minutes ago, Iesha felt more comfortable talking for herself. “So, do you still need information
from me?”

“Yes. Tell us what happened between you and your daughter. As you’re talking, I will be taking notes. This will enable me
to draw up a report for the courts.” Iesha stiffened. “Ms. Brown, it’s not the type of court you’re thinking. In five days
you will have a case review hearing. It’s a small, informal, and quick process. Meanwhile, you must look over this safety
plan,” she said, digging in her burgundy leather briefcase to retrieve a piece of paper. “Hopefully, you will agree to sign
it. It’s an agreement that you will not physically discipline your children.”

“Yes, I will sign it,” Iesha said eagerly.

“Read it carefully, Ms. Brown, because if you are found in violation of any of its stipulations, your children will be placed
in the county’s care. Let’s just have you tell us what happened first and then we’ll go over the form, okay?”

Iesha inhaled to compose herself. She let go of Charity’s hands so that she could use hers to talk.

“We were driving home from my mother’s after dinner last night,” she spoke only to the social worker. “It was already past
the kids’ bedtime. Sha-Lai was complaining of a headache, but I thought she was just sleepy and whiny. She always complains
that something hurts when she’s sleepy, just so she won’t have to go to bed. So, I told her to lay down until I could give
her some medicine when we got home. My son was asleep in the back and I told her to be quiet so she wouldn’t wake him up.
But she kept leaning up toward the front of the van, whining. I did yell at her and told her that if she didn’t lay back and
put her seat belt back on, I was going to whoop her.” She wiped her face with both of her hands like she was washing her face
without a facecloth. “And she did for a little while,” she continued. “My family and I had a heated discussion over dinner
and I was playing it over and over in my mind, and Sha-Lai kept calling my name and whining. Before I knew it, I reached in
the backseat and hit the only part of her body I could reach with my right hand, while my left hand was on the steering wheel.
I slapped her on the face.” She shrugged her shoulders when she could not think of anything else to say.

The nurse broke the silence by tapping her fingernails against the table to get Iesha’s attention. “And then what did you
do?” The others shifted in their seats restlessly as if they’d heard enough. “Sha-Lai told me,” the nurse added warmly. “And
I think the others should know.”

Charity looked at Iesha for explanation.

Iesha continued to wipe the tears as they fell from her eyes. Then she spoke. “As soon as I realized what I’d done, I pulled
over to the side of the road. I got out of the car and crawled into the backseat with them. Raquan was still sleeping. I pulled
Sha-Lai in my arms and I apologized to her. I explained what I was going through and told her that I didn’t mean to do what
I did. I told her that I’ll never slap her in her face again. I held my child for as long as it took for her to know I meant
what I said. We were there so long that she fell asleep. I cried all the way home. I honestly did not mean to slap her, and
definitely not hard enough for my rings to leave a print on her face.”

“Thank you, Ms. Brown,” the social worker said. “I think I have everything I need for my report. Did you get a chance to read
that safety plan?”

Iesha took a few minutes to read the triplicate copy plan that indicated that her signature was her consent to a home inspection,
no physical discipline policy, and an appearance in youth and family court. Iesha asked Charity for a pen to sign the form.

“Do you have any questions, Ms. Brown?” the social worker asked.

“I understand the form. But will I be able to walk out of here with my kids?”

“If you sign the form, yes. If you refuse, no.”

Charity handed Iesha the pen and she signed the document.

“Your hearing will be on February 10, in Family Court, courtroom 103. If you have any questions, or problems, call me at this
number.” She circled her phone number on a business card. “This copy is for you.” She handed Iesha a yellow copy of the safety
plan. “Is Thursday a good day to do the home inspection?”

Iesha looked at Charity for approval for the time off. Charity nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. Thursday will be fine. Any particular time?”

“I will call you on Wednesday. I have your work and home number.” The social worker stood up. She extended her hand for Iesha
to shake. “Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Iesha accepted her handshake. The social worker shook Charity’s hand.

The principal and the others rose from their seats. “Ms. Brown,” the principal called, “if you follow me I’ll take you to
your children.”

Charity and Iesha said good-bye to the others. Iesha thanked the nurse before she was escorted out of the room. Sha-Lai was
helping Raquan with his homework when the principal opened the door to the after-school room where they were.

“Momma,” Sha-Lai and Raquan sang, running over to Iesha. Being mindless of the people who were watching, she knelt down, held
them both, and cried. “Thank You, Jesus,” she whispered with her head buried in their embrace.

CHARITY PLOPPED DOWN
on the Italian leather love seat in her family room. She had already put Xavier to bed. She flipped through the television
channels with the remote control in one hand and a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the other. “This has been the
longest day of my life,” she mumbled. “Definitely been a manic Monday.” She let the television rest on TBN and watched the
remainder of Joyce Meyer’s
Life in the Word
broadcast. As she listened to the message on getting control of your emotions, she sorted through her mail. She pulled a
small wastebasket to the couch. “Don’t need you,” she said, discarding a credit card offer. She threw another packet in the
trash. “Don’t need a home equity line of credit, and my last name is no longer Brown.” She opened and read the next few pieces
of mail. “Oh shoot.” She ripped open the last envelope. “I forgot about the banquet.” She read the information on the complimentary
pair of tickets. “This weekend? I totally forgot.”