No Choice

It is supposed to be peaceful in the dark, so why is it hard for me to fall asleep? As I lay with open eyes trying to see in this cavernous space, I am left with a feeling of despair. An emotion no nine year old should ever endure.

“How did we get here?” I think to myself. I feel tears roll down my cheeks and onto the pillow on the cot, which my small body lies on. Tears I did not realize flowed from eyes. It was then that I let loose the sounds of anguish I held in, only to muffle them into the same tear soaked pillow I was given when we arrived here. Here being a large gymnasium housed inside one of the many New York City public schools.

I am not alone in this sudden change of life. My mother, four sisters and brother share the same sense of loss as I do. Currently they sleep soundly –at least I think that they do- but I cannot. So much has happened today and my mind just can not seem to fathom the hand that we were dealt. Just yesterday my siblings and I were playing outside with our cousins in front of our grandmother’s brownstone. A hot summer day that allowed my mind to look forward to plans of running in and out of the gushing water from the fire hydrant and chasing the ice cream truck with my Rainbow Brite roller skates. Now all I can think about is how much I hate the woman that came to our door and made my mother choose.

When the tears finally subside I find the courage to sit up and scan my surroundings. Although the near floor to ceiling gated windows allow the streetlight to cast an eerie yellow-orange glow into the gym, it still leaves some areas in almost complete darkness. As my eyes adjust, I begin to make out what else occupies the space I’m in. Slowly I realize it is not what but who. The more I take in, the more “who’s’’ I see. Row after row after row of men, women and children sleep on cots similar to the one I currently sit on. “How did we all end up here? Did that dumb lady make them choose too? I hate her! I hate her! I scream internally and then more tears start to flow as if a dam has been breached.

The summer of June 1988 was a turning point in my young life. Crown Heights, Brooklyn was my neighborhood and in my eyes it was “the” neighborhood. It was where my extended family lived. My grandmother lived on a picturesque block with a chain of flower decorated brownstone buildings on Sterling Place. Directly across the street lived Ms. Johnson, the neighborhood’s second mother or grandma to many of the children that lived on the block. She always kept a watchful eye on us and made sure we were in before the streetlights came on. Further down the block lived my aunt Sheena and two cousins, Tia and Madison. Just a few blocks over lived my relatives from my fathers side of the family. This one area was my definition of safety.

My mother, a five foot, four inch, 26 year old proud Puerto Rican woman with smooth coco skin had no choice but to move in with my grandmother in April of 1988 after my father was incarcerated for stealing a car for it’s parts. It was the 80’s and unfortunately that was the way to make easy money. And with six mouths to feed including my four-month-old baby sister, my father did what he felt he had to do support his family. It was an adjustment having to share a single room between us all but my mother made it work. My mother made the best of our situation and besides the obvious challenges with our living environment, we were never fully aware of the struggles she faced.

By the end of May I had gotten used to the routine of walking to school with my siblings and cousins. The constant joking and bickering became a sort of comfort to me. The school building was half a city block away on Classon Avenue. It only had three floors but it was massive. It spanned from one corner to the next and occupied a bit more than half of the block. When school dismissed for the afternoons, we would all go right across the street to the local bodega and buy our snacks for our homework sessions. Life was so simple then, however, that simplicity disappeared in a blink of an eye.

It was mid June and I was looking forward to the end of the school year. With summer, hot weather, the opportunity to sleep late and the promise of just being a kid doing what children do, it was not hard to believe that I was looking forward to it all. Sadly that would not be the case. We had just left the bodega with our sweet and salty treasures of potato chips, lollipops, gum, random candies and juice. Walking towards our grandmother’s brownstone, I couldn’t wait to enjoy my bounty. Not even the thought of having to deal with my math homework could dampen my mood. I was happy in that moment.

As we walked up the three flights of stairs that led to the apartment, we –my cousin Tina and I- made plans to play on the Nintendo. It was not out of the ordinary to hear loud voices coming from any of the other five apartments in the building. We were so deep into planning our afternoon that we did not realize the loud voices were coming from our door. “Are you crazy? I will never see my kids if I do that!” I hear my mother say. Immediately my stomach does a flip. “I’m just trying to help you weigh your options. You will get them back once you are settled in your place.” a woman who’s voice I did not recognize responds. “I am not giving up my kids!” my mother screams. It was at that moment that we open the door and see a short woman around my mothers’ height standing in the middle of the entryway.

She was a Hispanic woman with short dark brown hair and eyes that looked more like two beads in the middle of her face due to the thickness of the lenses in her glasses. She wore a black t-shirt, a blue jean skirt and sandals. On her shoulder she carried an over stuffed purse and in her hands she held a folder. They were not alone in the entryway. My grandmother was also there holding her hands together so tight that her knuckles were white. That was a sign that she was in a lot of stress. “Sandra, todo va a salir bien.” Everything will be ok, my grandmother says in spanish. “What is going on?” I ask. “Take your sisters to the room Ivy.” my mother tells me as she gently pushes us to the room. Me being the oldest, I do as I say and as I close the door a sense of dread washes over me.

I sit on the bed I share with my sister Lisa -who is the second oldest- and begin to go through the process of helping my siblings with their homework. I try to hear what is being said outside of our room but it is too far from the entryway. As I sit on the bed I stare at my brown bag full of junk food and it is no longer appetizing to me. Something major has happened and I am afraid of what it is.

Twenty minutes later my mother opens the door to the room and slams it shut behind her. I can see she is trying her best not to cry but one look at all of us and she looses that battle. She explains to us that the woman we saw was from the Bureau of Child Welfare or B.C.W -as it was more widely known- and it was brought to their attention that too many people were living in our grandmother’s apartment. “She said we have to go to a shelter tonight or they will take you all from me.” She sobs. “We have to leave? I don’t want to leave! It’s not fair!” my sister Lisa cries. I sit quietly. I don’t know what to say or do. I am numb. This can not be real.

About two hours later we are all sitting in a crowded human resources office in Downtown Brooklyn. We left our homework behind and filled our book bags with a couple changes of clothing and whatever my mother felt was of importance. We had yet to eat and I think back to my brown bag of treats I left on the bed. “Guess my cousins will eat it all.” I think to myself. A few moments later, one of the staff members in the office begins to hand out plastic bags filled with bologna and cheese sandwiches, juice and an apple. I stare at what was given wishing I was back at home enjoying my grandmothers home cooking. But that was no longer my home. I place the bag of cold food on the chair next to me and leave it there.

Around ten o’clock that evening, the supervisor announces that unfortunately anyone not placed in temporary housing will have to return in the morning and those who were not seen will be bused to sleeping unit for the night. We were all loaded onto school buses and taken to a building that I paid no attention to. Once off the bus my mother gathers us all around her and says, “Stay together. There are too many strangers here. Ivy, I am going to need your help watching your sisters and brother. I do not want to loose any of you.” Her tone was as calm as I have ever heard before but her eyes said all she held in. She was afraid. For the first time in my life I saw the uncertainty there. “Okay ma. I promise.” was all I could say.

We were brought inside and lead down a hallway. As we continued walking, we passed heavy brown wooden doors that sealed a classroom behind each. It was then I began to pay attention to my surroundings and come to the realization we were in a school. They ushered us into the gym and to an area where there were just enough cots for us to stay together. As my mother prepared us for a goodnights sleep, she made it clear that we are not to move unless she gave us permission. And now this is where I sit. Taking in every person in this space who shares the same fate as we do.

I look at the smaller bodies in particular because I know that they too have been forced to grow up a bit and leave a part of their childhood behind. Not far from where I sit I see a basketball hoop bathed in the eerie glow of the streetlight. I turn to look at my mother’s sleeping form and without much thought I climb off the cot and walk barefoot towards it. I pass whole families on their cots. I hear someone trying to soothe a crying baby while someone else tosses and turns needing to get comfortable. Once I reach the basketball hoop I just stare. The tears on my cheeks are slowly drying. I don’t think I have anymore to shed right now. I look at my hands wishing I held a basketball. But I pretend that I do and begin bounce my imaginary ball and proceed to make basket after basket. It was right there under the hoop, in the eerie light surrounded by hundreds of bodies that I said goodbye to a piece of my childhood.