Dirty Clothes

This is a true story of a little girl I met, while working in a crisis center for children

Dirty Clothes

The call came in around five that evening. I picked up the phone and gave my usual spiel to the caller: "Hello, you've reached the Crisis Nursery. How can I help you?"
The voice at the other end was soft, raspy, afraid. "I just found a little girl wandering on my street, with no shoes on, and she's filthy. I have no idea where she lives. What should I do?"
I told her she needed to call the police first, and to let them know she'd contacted me. She said she would do those two things, and call me back. We hung up, and I went back to doing paperwork and going through files. There were several children in the nursery that night, about ready to have their dinner and watch a Disney movie before bedtime. The nursery was a 24-hour place, where families could bring their children when they were in crisis, or just needed a bit of a respite. The services were all free, and we were always busy, day and night.
Within ten minutes, I saw on the video monitor in the office that two squad cars had pulled up in front of the nursery. I instructed my colleague to please watch the children while I went outside to see what was going on. Two officers got out of each car, and one opened the backseat of one of them. A small girl tumbled out: dirty, shoeless (like the caller had told me) and with a tearstained face. I bent down to her and looked at her.
"Hi sweetie, my name is Melissa. How are you? Where are your mommy and daddy?"
She looked directly at me, in a way that no small child should have to, and said: "They ain't around. They left me at home and went out. I got tired of waiting so I left."
I was shocked to hear this, even though it wasn't my first rodeo, but tried to contain my surprise. "You don't know where they went? Was anyone else in the house with you?" I asked her.
She stared at me again and said, "Can I have something to eat? I ain't had nothing in a while."
"Of course honey," I answered. "The other children are going to eat in a few minutes, and you can eat with them."
I sent her to play for a few minutes while I spoke with the two officers who had brought her in. "Any idea where she lives, or who her parents are?" I asked them.
"Nope and nope," said the taller one. "The neighbor said she was wandering up and down the street, and when she asked her who she belonged to, the little girl stopped talking and just stared down at the ground."
"Ok, officers. I'll do everything I can for her, and try to find her parents. If I can't locate them within 24 hours, I'll have to call Children's Services to have them take her." None of us ever wanted to call Children's Services; their reputation as incompetent and uncaring preceded them at all times.
The officers left, after having given me their cards and badge numbers, and I quickly went to see our new arrival.
"Sweetie, can you tell me your name? Can you tell me anything? I'm here to help you; I won't hurt you."
She looked into my eyes and told me her name was Sophia, and that she didn't know her address. She also told me that her parents went out every night to get drunk and do drugs, and often invited their drug-addicted friends back to their apartment for all-night binges. Sophia was caught in the middle of all this, and often had to fend for herself. She had taught herself to cook food on the stove, and to wash her own clothes. It was unbelievable to me that a small child such as this was forced to become an adult so young because her parents couldn't be bothered with her. I was starting to get really angry, but I knew that I couldn't show it in front of her. I had to take care of her, until I figured out my next step.
Before Sophia sat down to dinner with the other children, I bathed her and cleaned her up. She was indeed filthy all over, like the caller had said, and her clothes were dirty and ragged. I wondered if anyone took the time to comb her hair or give her baths or even to give her a goodnight hug. After her bath, I wrapped her in a towel and told her everything would be ok.
"What's going to happen to me?" she asked me, timidly. "My mommy and daddy will be so angry when they find out I'm gone."
"First you'll eat a good dinner, then watch a movie, then you can sleep on a nice comfy bed. Tomorrow morning we'll figure out what to do, ok? How does that sound?"
"That sounds ok, I guess. I am hungry and tired." She responded.
* * *
After Sophia had eaten and was seated in front of the tv with the other children, I sat down at my desk and thought about her. It was so completely unfair that a child should be neglected like this, ignored, not treated right. Her parents were probably out drinking and drugging right now, with no thought to their young daughter at home. How could anyone do this and still live with themselves? I didn't understand. Maybe a good night's sleep would help put things into perspective for everyone.
* * *
The next morning, when no one had come to claim Sophia, I was forced to call Children's Services. The hotline worker who answered the phone told me someone would be out shortly to talk with me and possibly to pick up Sophia. I hung up with a knot in my stomach, knowing what was about to happen.
The social worker who rang the bell was tall, thin, and decidedly not happy to be awake so early in the morning. I could have cared less, but still tried to use my nicest voice and demeanor with her.
"So what do we have here?" the woman asked, in a nasal tone. "Neglect? Abuse? What?"
"She has clearly been left to fend for herself, so I will say she is neglected. I don't know about any abuse; she won't tell me anything." No one has come to claim her, and she doesn't know where she lives."
"Well, isn't that just peachy. This will be a ton of paperwork, and I don't know what to do with her." The woman sighed and opened her portfolio to reveal a massive stack of paperwork we had to complete about Sophia. We sat down and I told her everything I knew about the little girl. Throughout our "interview" the woman never once asked how Sophia was doing, and if she was ok. I think what they say about many social service professionals hating their jobs might just be true after all.
"Well, since no one has come for her, we will have to take her and find a foster family for her. I don't know who we'll find on such short notice, but we'll do what we can. Can you bring her to me?"
I went to wake up Sophia, who was scrubbed clean and rosy in her pink pajamas and slippers. She rubbed her eyes and looked at me. "Are my mommy and daddy here to get me?" She looked hopeful, like it was something almost too impossible to believe.
"No, sweetie, they're not. A nice lady from the county is here and she's going to find a wonderful family for you to stay with until we can find your mommy and daddy. How does that sound to you?"
Sophia's face crumpled and she started to cry. "But then my mommy and daddy won't know where to find me! How will I get found? I'll be lost!" She was beside herself.
I leaned down to her and hugged her. I told her that we would do everything we could to find her mommy and daddy, and that in the meantime, she would get lots of good food and toys to play with and clean clothes.
"I've never had clean clothes before; they've always been dirty. I would like some clean clothes."
I brought Sophia to the children's worker and introduced them to each other. The woman was clearly in a hurry to get going, and I was loathe to let Sophia go with her, but I didn't have a choice. We didn't have the legal power to keep children at our center; we were just kind of temporary guardians, in a way.
Sophia gathered the few things I'd given her and followed the woman outside. I waved to Sophia and told her it was nice to meet her, and I'd hope to see her soon. It broke my heart to see her go, but I was hoping that wherever she ended up was better than what she'd had up to that point. She deserved a lot better than her life, and I hoped that she would find a family to love her and care for her.
It was in that moment that I truly believed neglect was worse than abuse. When a person is neglected, they are cast aside and effectively thrown away. They are not looked after or cared-for, and their basic needs are not being met. Sophia had none of her needs met by the people in her life who were supposed to care for her, and this made me furious to the point of shaking. What would become of her?

Reviews

[Lauren Marie]

It breaks my heart to know that this story is true (so I can't really critique you on plot), but here are some things that I found:
1. "A small girl tumbled out: dirty, shoeless (like the caller had told me) and with a tearstained face." At this point, the reader can guess that the girl is the one that the caller was referring to, so the parentheses are not needed. Also, a colon should be followed only by a list of items. Instead, this should be a semicolon, or even a new sentence.
2. "She looked directly at me, in a way that no small child should have to ..." You told us that the girl looked, but you didn't show us how. You only wrote, "in a way that no child should have to." What does that mean? Readers cannot create a visual picture in their head with that description.
3. "I was starting to get really angry, but I knew that I couldn't show it in front of her." You did a lot of telling and not showing in this story. Instead of writing, "I was starting to get really angry," you could write, "I found my hands balled into fists," or "My face became florid and I clenched my teeth." You told us what was happening, but you didn't show it. "Show, not Tell."
Again, it's heartbreaking to know that children have to live like this everyday, and we really shouldn't take anything for granted.
~Lauren
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