Ch.2
As expected, Olivia and I weren't given much time for grieving. Only a day and a half after our mother's funeral, we were approached by the most intimidating social worker I had ever seen. Appropriately, this meeting was held at the New York City Orphanage, where we would be staying miserably. During the meeting, the social worker and I basically evaluated the facts of my depressing existence: that I was too young to care for Olivia on my own (which I attempted to argue, but realized that it was hopeless), that we had no other living relatives, and that we would either have to stay in this awful dump of an orphanage, or we could be taken in by a foster family. Obviously, this meeting was far from uplifting. I turned to hear Olivia's thoughts about our decision as I suddenly remembered that no matter how much I tried to pry into the little girl's mind, she wouldn't ever speak her true feelings.
I could almost feel the pressure of our decision that had belonged to Olivia transfer to my shoulders, and I could most definitely feel the weight of it pushing down on me. It was her own way of grieving, which I both understood and respected, but deep within myself there was the burning question of how long it would last. As I prayed that she wouldn't remain willfully mute forever, I considered our situation. I arrived at the conclusion that our chance at happiness would be much greater if we chose to allow foster parents. "Mr. Brooks, am I allowed to make this decision completely on my own?" I inquired hopefully. He nodded his head, just once, in a simple fashion. "Then, on behalf of my sister and I," I began, " I would like to make the decision to have a foster family." He just looked in my direction. I couldn't tell if he was glaring directly at me because although it was dimly lit in the poverty-stricken orphanage, the mysterious man still had his sunglasses on.
"Are you sure that this is what you want to do, Miss Adams? You have to keep in mind that not many couples in New York City are willing to be foster parents and some of them aren't exactly as fit for parenting as you might expect." I responded quickly: "Well, Mr. Brooks, I figure that it's much safer for both me and Olivia to be in a place where there's a chance that you won't get beaten up every day." He gave me what looked like a disbelieving glance. "Oh, come on, Joanna. You wouldn't get beaten up every day." He rapidly scanned the room, seeing all of the kids with signs of definite violent streaks revealed in their faces. He leaned across the table and slid his sunglasses down to the end of his nose in order to make eye contact with me when he spoke. "Alright, maybe just every other day." He smiled for what looked like the first time in a very long while. This instantly put a smile on my own face, and although she didn't want anyone, especially me, to see it, a small grin on Olivia's face as well.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! Please please pretty please leave a comment if you read this at all: I could really use some feedback if you have it. Thanks again!
Best Wishes,
Em
