Chapter 2: Keitha

Keitha's fifteenth birthday was the eighth birthday she celebrated in foster care. By this time, she had stopped hoping to hear from her mother. Every year, days before her birthday, Keitha would pray every night before she went to bed.  She prayed to hear from her mother, to no avail, and as hurt and disappointed as she was, the next year Keitha would find herself yet again, becoming hopeful, and praying as hard as she knew how that she would receive some form of contact.

            After three years passed without a word from her mother, even on her birthday, Keitha settled on hearing from one of her maternal relatives.  Keitha would imagine that they would deliver some type of news about the woman who gave birth to her, or even a message saying that Keitha was still loved and would be reunited with her family soon. This was only wishful thinking because the only relative Keitha knew was Roxanne, and she and Roxanne lost touched the day Roxanne was moved to another foster home.

             Keitha was not even excited about her sixteenth birthday.  Her birthday was only another day in foster care, and her foster families typically treated it as such. Since Keitha was moved to multiple foster homes over the years, each birthday she was living with a different foster family.  She would usually receive a generic "Happy Birthday" if they noticed, but usually the families did not even notice or care; she eventually came to prefer this. Perhaps this was why she was not moved when February 9th came. It only served as an indication that another year had passed, without seeing Mama or Roxanne.

            Keitha's seventeenth birthday came as any other birthday had, and was nothing special in particular. She awoke acutely aware of what the day was, but not caring enough to even wish happy birthday to herself. After getting dressed and going downstairs, it did not surprise her to find her foster brother and sister gone already. They were usually the first out of the house to catch the early bus, followed by her foster mother, who insisted on being called “Miss Shirley”, although she was only in her mid-thirties. Keitha enjoyed the few moments she got to herself in the mornings after Miss Shirley left for work.

            Miss Shirley was not the best foster mother Keitha had come to live with, but she certainly was not the worse. Miss Shirley train smoked cigarettes, kept a flask of gin in her purse, and cussed like a sailor, but she provided extremely well for Keitha, which was something Keitha was not used to.

 

            Unlike any other foster parent she ever had, Miss Shirley gave Keitha money from the stipend she received from the state each month that compensated for Keitha's room and board and other various items she may need. The stipend itself was not very much, but every month Keitha could look forward to a portion being given to her. Keitha was allowed to keep a portion of the money. The remaining amount Miss Shirley had Keitha place into a savings account that Miss Shirley helped Keitha open when Keitha arrived to the home a little over a year before.

"You're coming close to aging out of foster care, Keitha," Miss Shirley had said to Keitha early one morning.  Keitha was surprised to find Miss Shirley at the kitchen table instead of at her beauty parlor.  She was smoking a cigarette over coffee, and it appeared to Keitha that Miss Shirley had been waiting for her to come downstairs.

"Once you hit eighteen, them social workers won’t give a f**k about you anymore. You not on they caseload. They will just turn your a*s out in the streets without any help."

            Keitha became attentive because previous to the conversation, the thought of what would happen to her once she was eighteen had not ever occurred.

            "I've been fostering children for many years," Miss Shirley continued, motioning for Keitha to sit at the kitchen table with her.

"You know why I foster?" Miss Shirley asked, "No, you wouldn't know" she said responding to her own question.

"I was a foster child myself," she said, then waited for Keitha reaction. Seemingly satisfied with the look of confusion and astonishment on Keitha’s face, Miss Shirley continued.

"Yes, it's true.  I was a foster child from age seven until I aged out. That's how I know what gonna happen to your a*s if you don't prepare before".

"The week after I turned eighteen, they put me out my foster home. They gave me a little bit of money. Maybe $200 for me to make a start, but that went real f*****g quick. I bounced here and there, sleeping from pillow to post, on the couch of random friends’ houses, even friends of those friend, who I didn't even know".

"I didn't know how to take care of myself. I didn't even know how to properly fill out a job application. I didn’t have any skills, other than knowing how to fix hair.  No one taught me a mothafucking’ thing, and my dumb a*s didn’t think about the future.  So after the money ran out, all I could do was make a little money here and there braiding hair, but what I made was not nearly enough to have my own place".

"One day, the girl I was staying with, a friend of a friend, of a friend, said I had to go. She was moving into another place, and I couldn't come cause she wasn’t about to add me to her lease. So I had one week to find somewhere to live".

"Well, I called everybody I could think of to ask if I could stay with them for a while, even if I had to sleep on the floor, but nobody would help. Some of the people I called, I had already stayed with before, and they had gotten rid of me by setting me up to stay with their friends or relatives. Apparently, I had worn out my welcome with all of them. Every one of them said the same thing "they weren't in a position to help somebody else'".

"I remembered thinking, "’what kind of f*****g position do you have to be in to help somebody else?’” Miss Shirley paused for a moment, reading Keitha's sorrowful expression, then said, "Girl, don't feel sorry for me cause it damn sure made me stronger. That day was the first I realized, aint nobody gonna hand me s**t! I gotta try for myself to make a way, where there was none."

"So I called my case worker, and after explaining my problem to her, was that b***h informed me that since I was eighteen, I was no longer a concern of the state and there was nothing she could do for me."

"Yes, she said it just like that.  B***h," Miss Shirley said responding to the bewildered expression on Keitha's face, "and then she had the got damn nerve to wish me luck before hanging the phone up in my ear". Miss Shirley paused, reminiscing to herself, and blinking back what Keitha thought were tears.

“It was just so fucked up.  I was a ward of the state for eleven years, and saw so many case workers come and go.  Some of them were nice, and some of them did not hide that they did not like their job, but none of them actually cared about me,”

“It pissed me off so bad to hear that b***h say I was no longer a concern because I was not in their custody anymore, when they did nothing for me even when I was a foster child.  They took me away from my family; terminated parental rights, then left me to rot.  I was better off when I was getting my a*s stomped out by my mama,”

            As long as Keitha known her, she never seen Miss Shirley sad, much less cry, which had led Keitha to believe Miss Shirley was a cold, unemotional person.  In that moment, Keitha started to believe that it was not true as she listened to Miss Shirley’s revelation.

"What happened next?" Keitha asked, anxious to hear more of Miss Shirley’s story.

"Life," Miss Shirley replied simply, "it went f*****g on. I cried. I cussed.  I was distraught and worried. I had two days before I had to leave, and had no more than what I came there with. Then I did something strange," she said with laugh, "I prayed. You ever did that before?"

Keitha said, “I mean---.”

“Don’t look at me so skeptically,” said Miss Shirley, “yes, I have vices, but I am still a very spiritual person.  Prayer works.  Have you ever tried it?”

Keitha nodded.

"Good, don’t stop" she said before continuing with her story.

            "The next morning I woke up and was peaceful. I wasn't worried or even upset. Somehow I knew everything was going to be just fine. Even as I watched my roommate pack her s**t up and move them out of the apartment, I didn't worry,”

Miss Shirley sighed. "I was homeless for a little while. All I had was the clothes on my back, a backpack with maybe two changes of clothes, a couple panties and bras, and a hair comb. I had to do things that I am not proud of.  I had to get it how I live, but I'm not gonna bore you with how I made it, but just know it's hard out there on the streets."

"One day, I bumped into a familiar face. I’ll never forget her. She is the reason I was able to change my situation. Rebecca Tabernacle. She had been a neighbor of my last foster mother. I don’t know why I hadn’t reached out to her before that day. Maybe it was because I was so used to the rejections I had been receiving that I didn’t want another damn disappointment. Nonetheless, I didn’t have to tell her what I had been going through. Just the fact that I was in the worse neighborhood in town let her know I was fucked up,"

"You see, Mrs. Tabernacle is a holy and sanctified woman. She is the real deal. She didn’t just go to church, but she also travelled in dangerous parts of town, even the Pound, seeking wayward souls who she could spread the word of God to," Miss Shirley said, beaming.

"And there I was, looking like a f*****g beat-up alley cat, and thinking I was just in need of a home, but apparently Mrs. Tabernacle saw much more,"

"All she said was ‘get in the car’," Miss Shirley’s eyes welled with tears, "and it had been so long since anyone had shown me a kind gesture without wanting something in return. On that day Mrs. Tabernacle truly touched my heart and soul, and I vowed when I got on my feet, I would extend that same courtesy to other young people going through hard times,"

"Mrs. Tabernacle did not give me a fish to eat for one day; she showed me how to fish, so that I may eat every day. She let me work in her beauty salon as a shampoo girl, and even encouraged me and supported me while I attended cosmetology school.  She is the very reason why I have anything I have today. She took me off the streets and helped me become something positive. She’s the reason I became a foster mother,"

"When I became a foster mother, I said I only would take in teenagers. I didn’t want anyone else to be casted into the streets unprepared as I was. It’s why I open bank accounts for all the kids that have come through my home. It’s why I always tell my kids, my home is their home. I remember what it feels like to feel unwelcomed. I want to give them a fair chance to not become a statistic, but to make something of themselves despite their troubled past,"

"It’s so easy to become a victim of your past. Your past shapes who you will become; either you will want better for yourself, or you will allow your past to be your bondage.  There’s a choice, and I make sure all my kids know that where they came from does not determine where they will go,"

"You get what I’m saying?" Miss Shirley asked, "Nobody gonna give you nothing, and nothing worth having is easy to get. You’re not entitled to anything that you did not labor for. Nobody owes you s**t.  You’re not a victim; you’re a survivor,"