A Little Bit Goes A Long Way

The rain sounds more of a dull roar outside of my car than anything else. It's a solid sheet of white pounding down, consuming the world in a little grey cloak. It is fitting that the world would be in mourning. The world doesn't have the right to go on, to be happy--at least not right now.

I've been a social worker for 12 years now, but never have I seen a case so awful...the true depraved parts of humanity. I knew I was lucky. I knew it was only a matter of time, but part of me still hoped that this day would never come.

We'd recently moved here from a more rural area. I should have known that the city would bring its own problems. Especially after arriving at the new office on my first day and finding out that I would have three times the case load because I wouldn't be replacing one but two individuals who had left for undisclosed reasons.

I want nothing more than to block out my day, but the stench of that little apartment still penetrates my nostrils. Every time I close my eyes I can see those tiny hands reaching through the bars...

I shake my head as a sob rips its way through my chest.

How could anyone forgot the events of today? The dirty-walled hallway with handprints in questionable substances. The florescent lights netted with dozens of dead flies. An undistinguishable wail of anguish permeated the halls, seeming to come from everywhere all at once.

The apartment door had been ajar, but barricaded as if to let the stale air from the hallway in. I knocked and made myself known, but no answer came from within. My shoulder still throbs from when I had to shoulder the door open, barricaded on the inside to prevent intruders. I myself am a tiny person, barely one-hundred and twenty pounds. A grown man or even a large dog would have had no problem coming into this apartment.

The stench was the first thing that overwhelmed my senses as I stepped into the small one bedroom dwelling. Next came the nauseous wave of heat, my stomach rolling.

The overflowing kitchen sink was a Grand Central Station for flies. I had originally mistaken their numbers for mold until they started to squirm at my unexpected arrival.

I quickly turned away from the mess, knowing I would need to document this in my notes. The table still had opened carry-out containers; food no longer recognizable as something edible, but more so as a middle school science experiment with rolling hills of multi-colored mold and sludge.

If this was how they left their living space, I could only imagine what the poor children looked like.

Rounding the corner, I stopped short as I choked on a gasp. A skeleton of a woman lied on the couch, barely clothed with a needle resting on the floor next to her. Her hand was tipped back, staring at the ceiling or would be if not for her face becoming a buffet for the insects that were now the permanent residents.

Not far from her side on the couch was a baby. If it hadn't been for his waxen appearance, I would have thought he was simply sleeping. But the longer I stared, the longer his little chest did not raise or fall with the heavy breathes of a sleeping child, I knew the worst was to be true.

Fumbling in my pockets for my phone, I turned away from them as I attempted to call 911. I had all but given my name and the address before the phone slipped from my hand as I spotted the edge of a large dog cage sticking out from the bedroom doorway.

I didn't remember anything about there being a pet at this location, but that would not be a surprise nor a first. Hesitantly making my way down the short hall, my stomach dropped out as I noticed a tiny little hand sticking out between the bars.

She couldn't have been more than five or six years old. Her hair was matted. Her naked skin was completely filthy as if unbathed for quite sometime. An even stronger scent, one of warmed feces wafted from the room. Only god knows how long that poor little girl had been in there, covered in her own waste with no other place to go.

As expected, the mother and baby were pronounced DOA by the time the police arrived. She for at least a week, the baby not but a day or two. Upon removing the little girl from the cage, it revealed that her tiny body was covered in bruises and dried blood. She was rushed to the hospital, the faintest of heartbeats found. She was severely malnourished and dehydrated. She never made it out of the ambulance.

My phone chimes, bringing me out of what I wish was simply a nightmare and not my reality.

It's a message from my husband, asking how much longer I think I will be.

I glance at my red and puffy-eyed face in the rearview mirror. The sobs have quieted to a slow stream of tears down my face. The drive home is only ten or so minutes by the time I arrive my face should be less puffy, perhaps only splotchy. After all, I have been sitting in the hospital parking lot for near an hour.

I let him know I'm on my way home.

The drive is slow due to the rain but I still get home before I know it. I'm not ready to face him. To either lie or bring him into this horror with me. And oh, I stifle a cry, at the thought of my own precious daughter, not much older than the little girl that I could not save today.

I take a moment to compose myself before running from the car and into the house, not quick enough to miss getting completely drenched by the torrential downpour.

Closing the door behind me cocoons me in the velvety warmth of baking chocolate. It's rich and homey and nothing could be more perfect at this moment. For the first time all day I begin to feel a sense of safety and comfort.

Josepi is suddenly in the doorway, blocking my entry into the kitchen from the mudroom. He looks a little crazed, as if home as been just as chaotic as my day. And for a moment the dread begins to push it's way back into until I recognize his feathered bedhead and flour on his shirt and chocolate on his cheek. He holds his hands up either in a mild surrender or to stop me from entering, I'm not sure because the look on his face says he isn't sure which either. "I know what you're going to say, but I promise I will clean everything up. She just insisted on making it by herself. I've never seen her so determined before. I didn't have the heart to tell her no."

I turn up an eyebrow as I kick off my soaked shoes. He couldn't possibly be talking about the baked good smells coming from the kitchen.

Josepi studies my face for a moment before he gingerly takes my bag from me and pulls me into a hug. "We can talk about it later, ok?" He says quietly before kissing me lightly on the cheek.

His gentleness and love are almost too much right now and I have to bite back more tears.

He holds me until we both think I am ok to proceed into the house.

The first thing I notice as I enter the kitchen is flour literally everywhere. The counters. The table. The floor. It's as if a bag exploded and then they proceeded to use more flour to clean up the already spilled flour. Next are the copious amounts of bowls and measuring cups and spoons littering every available counter space.

And in the middle of the chaos stands my beautiful little girl. Her back is to me, long brown hair piled on top of her head in swirling strands. Despite using the step stool to help her reach the counter she still stands on her tip tops, diligently bent over the counter, concentrating on whatever she is working on.

"Amelia? Mommy's home." I take a step forward wanting nothing more than to scoop her up into my arms and let her know how much she is loved.

"Not yet!" Her tiny voice screeches in panic as if I've caught her. "Poppy you are a terrible watch guard!"

Josepi coughs to cover a laugh. "I'm sorry."

"Ok." She huffs. We stand in silence for another minute or two as she finishes before she sets down the piping bag. "Ok." She says again as she grabs the counter's edge with both of her tiny hands and steps down to the floor. With arms stretched out to make sure she doesn't walk into anything and also to find me, she proceeds forward. I take two quick steps to close the space between us. It takes everything in my power to not question my husband where on earth is her walking stick.

I take her chocolate covered hands in mine and the biggest brightest smile lights her whole face up. Her wandering eyes look into my general direction before she is pulling me forward with one hand and using the other to navigate her way back to the counter.

"Mommy I made dis." She let's go of my hand to feel for the step stool then the counter, grabs it and steps back up.

I peer over her shoulder to find in the middle of the mess a chocolate cake. It's somewhat lopsided. The frosting has a trail of little fingers in it where she must have felt around the cake to make sure she had completely frosted it. On top are large white loops of frosting with more finger trails where she felt for the words she tried to write across. Tipping my head I believe I could make out what should have said "congrats" but is more of a "Cogrt."

She twists around, back pressed to the counter, tiny belly pressed to mine. I don't care when her chocolate covered hands feel for my blouse. Tears well in my eyes at what she has achieved.

"Do you like it mommy?" She grins so proud of herself.

I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, feeling her warmth. Her tiny arms circle my neck, her cheek setting on my shoulder. She smells like chocolate and home and I never want to let her go.

"Mommy loves it."