After we said our good-byes, Jamie and I walked in silence without saying anything.
I could tell she was sad. The more I hung around Jamie, the more I realized she had lots of
different emotions—she wasn’t always cheerful and happy. Believe it or not, that was the
first time I recognized that in some ways she was just like the rest of us.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” I said softly.
“I am, too.”
She had that faraway look in her eyes again, and it was a moment before she went on.
“I just wanted to do something different for them this year. Something special that
they would remember forever. I thought for sure this was it. . . .” She sighed. “The Lord
seems to have a plan that I just don’t know about yet.”
She was quiet for a long time, and I looked at her. Seeing Jamie feeling bad was
almost worse than feeling bad because of her. Unlike Jamie, I deserved to feel bad about
myself—I knew what kind of person I was. But with her . . .
“While we’re here, do you want to stop in to see the kids?” I asked into the silence. It
was the only thing I could think to do that might make her feel better. “I could wait out
here while you talk to them, or go to the car if you want.”
“Would you visit them with me?” she asked suddenly.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could handle it, but I knew she really wanted me there.
And she was feeling so down that the words came out automatically.
“Sure, I’ll go.”
“They’ll be in the rec room now. That’s where they usually are at this time,” she said.
We walked down the corridors to the end of the hall, where two doors opened into a
good-size room. Perched in the far corner was a small television with about thirty metal
folding chairs placed all around it. The kids were sitting in the chairs, crowded around it,
and you could tell that only the ones in the front row had a good view of the thing.
I glanced around. In the corner was an old Ping-Pong table. The surface was cracked
and dusty, the net nowhere to be seen. A couple of empty Styrofoam cups sat on top of it,
and I knew it hadn’t been used in months, maybe years. Along the wall next to the Ping-
Pong table were a set of shelves, with a few toys here and there—blocks and puzzles, a
couple of games. There weren’t too many, and the few that were there looked as if they’d
been in this room for a long time. Along the near walls were small individual desks piled
with newspapers, scribbled on with crayons.
We stood in the doorway for just a second. We hadn’t been noticed yet, and I asked
what the newspapers were for.
“They don’t have coloring books,” she whispered, “so they use newspapers.” She
didn’t look at me as she spoke—instead her attention was directed at the kids. She’d begun
to smile again.
“Are these all the toys they have?” I asked.