The Children's Shelter by Sleepy Hollow

I was ten years old the first time I checked in to the Children's Shelter by Sleepy Hollow.  (My math was wrong in my earlier posts.  I didn't turn eleven until the start of sixth grade.)  A police officer greeted me on a Saturday morning as I was on my way out to enjoy my weekly savings.  He explained that someone had called to report I was home alone, which I vehemently denied.  When he asked to speak to my parents, I could furnish no answer that would help me to escape.  I was detained and taken to the shelter immediately. 

The Children's Shelter of Santa Clara County on Roberts Road.  Little did I know that I would become a frequent guest of these facilities.  Five more times to be exact.  It wasn't a terrible place though.  There were doctors who gave health analyses before assimilating me with the rest of the kids.  Afterwards, I was taken to a large room with two rows of metal beds methodically placed between tall gray lockers.  Each bed was neatly made, with the sheets and covers tightly tucked in.  I was assigned one of the beds and its corresponding locker, where I found a set of toiletries, towels and pajamas laid out for me. 

Life in the shelter was very routine.  Wake up and make your bed.  There were specific instructions given on how beds were to be made.  One of the kids, Rudy, another frequent guest, helped me out, since I was a newbie.  The trick he said, was to use a clipboard to shove the sheets and covers tightly under the mattress, giving the top of the bed a taut and tucked appearance.  Once all the beds were made, we lined up to walk in formation to morning chow.  After chow, we were released to shower and brush our teeth, which I thought was strange, since I was used to brushing before eating.  There was a school on the premises, though the only resemblance to a normal school it had was that there was recess at 10am.  Aside from the rumours and gossip of who ran away and who was secretly sleeping with each other, (the guests' ages ranged between four and sixteen) the kids played normally during recess and lunch.  My favorite time of the day, of course, was free time, the two hours given to us before lights out.  There was a game room, which consisted of a pool table, a foosball table, and a tv with a Sega console, not the Genesis, but the original master system.  Here, I became a pro at foosball, learning how to accurately pass and shoot without putting the whole rookie spin on the poles. 

On the weekends, we were afforded the opportunity to go roller skating.  That, I was horrible at.  During one of the trips, I remember being sad, not because I was afraid or missing my mom, but because I was upset that my time and freedom were being taken from me.  What was so wrong about being home alone?  I was grown for my age, wasn't I?  I knew how to feed myself, take myself to school, and still earn good grades without anyone checking up on me.  Some of the kids were stuck in the shelter for months, unable to go back to their families, and passed over by potential foster parents for younger, more well-behaved kids.  These group of kids, like Rudy and me, were the regulars that kept coming back.  We were the unwanted ones who couldn't behave or last in any particular home.  In the van ride back to the shelter I started to wonder if I would ever have my freedom again.  I didn't want to be there anymore, nor did I want to be in foster care.  I wanted to go home back to the life where I was my own boss.  I came and went as I pleased.  On some nights, I bought a pack of Oreo's or a Sara Lee's pound cake, and that would be my dinner.  I played video games as late as I wanted to, since my mom didn't come home until 2am.   Here I was prisoner to their schedules and as I thought about the unknown that awaited, I silently allowed the tears to come out.  One of the counselors asked my why eyes were puffy, to which I responded that the falls from skating caused the hurt. 

A couple weeks had passed before I was released back to my mother.  She had apparently jumped through all of their hoops to claim me back.  When I arrived back home, nothing changed.  The next day, we went back to our normal routine, and I was happy again.  I had to be careful though.  Somebody knew that I was being left home alone, and I suspected my neighbors.  Nick and Vincent's parents weren't the meddling type.  I made it a habit to leave through the back gate of the house, and I always checked to see if anyone was watching me leave.  There were a few close calls, and I remember nights when officers would come by the house to check up on me, and I would hide under the bed until they stopped knocking on the door.  I had to stay out of the shelter if I was to enjoy my freedoms.  It wouldn't last long.  In another few months, I would be back at the shelter. 


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