Crips by Donald Bakeer

Author:Donald Bakeer
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-62652-999-1
Publisher: Precocious Publishing Co.

Jimmie Jr. had been in and out of foster homes ever since the judge had declared his mother unfit in a snappy hearing, and he had been placed in the custody of the court and sent to Maclaren Hall.

Jimmie remembered his first days at his latest foster home. The lady was nice enough, but her husband hated him. Jimmie had sulked and brooded the first two weeks. He went to school but barely spoke. The kids were different than kids on the East Side. Everybody at Raymond Avenue School seemed to be rich (they laughed at people who ate the free lunch. It was called the "county line" and was the focus of most of the jokes in the school).

Worst of all, the fracas in the alley had left him with an unwillingness to speak. The words no longer tumbled out freely. They were awkward and required considerable thought and effort, and it seemed he never could say what he felt. He frustrated adults with his head shaking and shrugs.

In school it was considered a lack of intelligence, and he was put in Special Education classes -- which the kids all knew meant dumb. Even Mr. Freeman, his foster parent, who knew all about his situation considered him dumb after awhile.

"Why don't you talk, Jim? I know we would get along a lot better if you responded once and awhile," said Bob Freeman, once again trying to make pals at the dinner table.

"He'll talk soon enough, Bobby. Jimmie's been thoroughly mistreated. He'll talk in his own good time," said Shirley Freeman, patronizingly.

"He can talk, Baby, but I think he's lazy. When I said we could keep a foster child, I didn't expect an idiot," said Mr. Freeman, ignoring Jimmie's presence.

"The boy needs love and affection, Baby. He still doesn't quite trust us. Do you Jimmie?" cooed Mrs. Freeman.

Jimmie shrugged and looked at the meat on his plate as if the act of eating was totally engrossing.

"See he won't even talk to you, as good as you treat him, and with all the money you're spending buying him clothes, we're hardly making anything out of this deal at all. What do you want, Jimmie? What do you want us to do? Just say something. Say anything."

The words came in a coercing tone. Jimmie, no longer able to disregard Mr. Freeman, tried to think so he could speak.

What did he want? He wanted to be with his daddy. He had not seen him since that night in the alley when he proved to himself that praying worked. Jimmie Jr. had never even had a chance to thank his daddy for saving his and Flaco's lives. If, indeed, Flaco had lived. He never found out. He had not seen his father since.

Jimmie's eyes blinked as the middle aged man brought his face within inches of his own. He wanted to scream it into this stranger's face.

'I want my daddy. I love him and he loves me. He's the only one that loves me.' He wanted to say, but what came out was a shy,

"My daddy.

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