We, the Coronado Scribes, consist of both professional and amateur writers. We have in common a desire to learn, by sharing our efforts and listening to other writers. We hold pressure-less sessions every Wednesday, at the Coronado Library conference room, starting at 1:30. Often we have guests who wish to just listen. They are welcome, and so are you.
Each week on eCoronado, we feature a different piece of prose or poetry produced by one of our writers. Please feel free to comment or ask questions in the comment section below.
SAVING HOPE
It’s a cold, rainy, January day in Tacoma, Washington. The clouds hang so low you feel shrouded in them. Grey is everywhere. It matches my mood. I’ve been a social worker in Pierce County for fifteen years, and the hopelessness of drug addiction is taking its toll on me. Meth is the worst by a long shot. Once addicted, it’s almost impossible to recover. It’s cheap and easy to manufacture, plus Tacoma is surrounded by large rural areas. The druggies cook the drug in these open spaces, so the pungent odor of meth can’t be detected. All these factors combine to create an endless supply of this devastating substance. The meth epidemic in Tacoma is so rampant the druggies call the city “Methleham.”
My job is to deal with the drug affected families. Mainly, the kids left behind while mom and dad are in jail, or God knows where. My clients are mostly teens, and lately they’re as addicted to meth as their parents. The red flags are all there. These young people already have the rotting teeth, the jitters, and are unable to focus on anything for more than a minute. Meth addicts are getting younger and younger. The children of these kids will probably be coming through my door in the near future. I’m running out of hope, and that is what has always sustained me in this job. But the shortage of social workers in Pierce County is frightening; I just can’t abandon my colleagues. Today I’m covering for Barb, another social worker with a sick baby. She has a nine year old client, whose court date is coming up. The girl has to be seen in her present surroundings soon. The court can’t proceed with her future until this assessment is done.
There’s barely time to look at the child’s report. Barb quickly briefs me on the phone about her situation. The little girl was found by the police wandering around downtown Tacoma at midnight three weeks ago. She was looking for something to eat. The parents had left her with the grandfather, while they were out drugging. The grandfather proceeded to get drunk and fell asleep. When the child couldn’t wake him she left, because she was hungry. The authorities quickly figured out the situation, as this wasn’t the first time this family had been in trouble with the law. This little girl is now a ward of the court. She’s living temporarily with a foster family. Shit, another completely dysfunctional family without a sober member in sight. I’ve got to stop feeling so jaded.
The foster home where the little girl’s staying is at the end of a suburban street. It’s a small, blue house nothing fancy but well kept. One of the foster parents answers the door, and takes me to the living room where the child waits for me. The room is pleasant. A fire burns in the fireplace, and quilts drape the furniture. The little girl is small for her age, but she has blue eyes far too old for someone so young. She’s blonde with delicate features and very pale skin. I’m completely drawn in by her composure. She’s the first to speak.
“Are you here to help me?”
“Yes, my name is Mrs. Foster.”
“Everybody keeps leaving me. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m going to do everything possible to help you.”
“That’s good, because somebody has to.”
A strong desire to help this child comes over me. This emotion strikes me to the core. Fighting back tears, I pull myself together. It has been a long time, since I felt I could make a real difference in a child’s life. This little girl is asking me to do my job and to do it in her best interest. It’s as if she’s been put in my path for a specific reason. Suddenly, I realize I hadn’t even looked up her name in the court file. “Could you tell me your name? You know mine now.” She looks directly at me with her piercing blue eyes, and says “my name is Hope.”
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