An Advocate for Foster Children

She is an advocate for foster children, who become lost within the system. I met her last week, when I was sitting outside at the circular concrete table in the corner of the graveled patio. The sunshine slowly dissipated, as the back patio became cloudy, with lite rain, before a heavy down pour ensued. I heard her high-pitched scream, as she was being drenched by the rain, along with the rest of her belongings. As the rain ensued heavily upon the graveled patio, I casually turned around to see who was making theses high-pitched screams. When we made eye contact; she asked me, “Are you getting wet?” I replied, “No. If you would like to come sit with me, I don’t mind.” She quickly grabbed her wet belongings, and ran across the graveled patio; joining me at the dry, secluded, round concrete table. “This rain is crazy! Right?” She commented; flopping her computer, and wet belongings down onto the concrete table. I replied, “Yeah, you know how it is in Houston. One minute it’s sunshine, and 20 minutes later, a flash-flood. So, what are you working on?” She replied, “I’m working on my blog. I’m an advocate for foster children.” I replied, “Oh, that’s awesome! I saw that story on the news last week about the foster family, who were sexually abusing the kids. Pretty fucked up!” She replied, “Yeah, and they have not been arrested yet, since the sexual abuse reporting’s from the kids were supposedly allegations, not factual. Two of the foster kids recanted their accusations, so the foster parents have not been arrested, but are only under investigation at the moment. Very few of the people who run the foster homes go to jail, since the kids always recant their stories. I personally think they are threatened, or the police just have too much to investigate, that they don’t have the man power, or the time to do anything about it.” I replied, “Yeah, that’s so fucked up! The amount of abuse that probably goes on within those homes, fucking those kids up more than they already are. There is no end to the abuse, or the pain those kids will have to endure for the rest of their lives.” She sat their quietly for a moment, staring at my pack of cigarettes; before she replied, “I grew up in the foster system, this is why I am an advocate for them. Right now, my mother is homeless, living in Seattle. But this is how she wants to live her life. It’s her decision to be this way, and I can’t help her. It’s her decision to do what she wants to do. So, what do you do?” I took a moment before I replied, “I am a writer. I write about the personal development we go through as we live out this life sentence of life. At different times and intervals within our lives, we create different goals and visions for ourselves. Sometimes our lives take an unexpected turn in a different direction than what we intended, when we set out on our life’s path. We wake up, and see how our lives are nowhere near where we intended for it to be. Somewhere along our path, our life fractured; breaking away from what we originally intended to do with it.” She asks, “So, you write about self-help?” I replied, “No, I would not necessarily call it self-help. I see it more as life philosophies, being presented in the form of poetry and short stories, layered within sublevels of meanings and textures. I believe self-help is an oxymoron. In truth, if people could help themselves, they would never find themselves in an undesirable situation they could not get out of. I believe life is simply a result of the decisions and choices one makes through their journey within their lifecycle, which is all life really is.” She sat there quiet, looking deep within my eyes; she purposefully asked, “What sign are you?” I laughed; replying, “Scorpio. And you?” She answered, “Aries.” She continued, “I have dated plenty of Scorpio’s, and they were all very sexual! Are you like that?” I replied, “Only with the right woman.” She nodded her head; replying, “Yeah, you have to have the right partner for it to be enjoyable. When I was younger in my 20’s, I slept around a lot. I mean, a lot! It was not until I got married when I cut that shit out!” I asked, “How long have you been married for?” She hesitantly replied, “Well, I got married young, when I was only 19. But I have been divorced for two years now, but we are still really good friends. We are actually really good at co-parenting together. That’s who I was on the phone with before it started raining. He just picked our kid up from school.” I asked, “You have a son or a daughter?” She replied, “A dau… a son!” I asked, “Ok, how old is your son?” She replied, “8 years old this month.” I asked, “So, if your family is in Seattle, what are you doing all the way down here in Houston?” She replied, “Going to school, but I only go part-time, since I work part-time as a foster child advocate. The group I work with is based out of the University of Houston, and we have our meetings at Lakewood Church Monday, Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday evenings. I am always at church, and I just can’t get enough of it!” I replied, “Well, I am pretty sure your family probably misses you, especially your son.” She responded, “Yeah, but I facetime with him and my ex a lot, so we get to see one another.” I sarcastically replied, “You facetime with him? Oh, then that definitely makes up for your absence within his life.” She replied, “Absolutely! I do it every chance I get when I get home from work, or from church! I can’t get enough of church!” This foster child advocate obviously did not catch my sarcasm when I threw it at her; as most self-absorbed idiots never do. She asked me, “So, how often do you come here for coffee?” I replied, “I come here pretty often.” She commented, “The first time I came here was a couple of nights ago. I was on a date, a pretty bad one at that.” I asked, “What happened?” She replied, “Well, I just wasn’t feeling it. It was our third date, and he professed his love for me, and was trying to kiss me, and wanted me to go home with him that night. I just wasn’t feeling it.” Internally, I was laughing at this young woman, who is actually still a girl. This advocate for foster children, did not know what she wanted out of life; how could she expect to know what she wanted in a man? I asked, “So, he was not your type? Do you even have a type?” She replied, “Well, I like foreigners. This guy I went out with the other night was Indian. I prefer dark-skinned men, as opposed to light-skinned men. I like my men dark, tall, and confident. They need to have their own thing going on, and they have to know how to treat a lady.” After staring at my pack of cigarettes, she cracked; asking me, “Would it be possible if I could get one of your cigarettes?” I replied, “Sure!” I picked up my pack of Parliament Lights, opened the top, and pulled out a cigarette for her. She held the cigarette limply, between her thumb and index finger. I took out my lighter, struck the flint, and raised it towards her cigarette. She did not put the cigarette in her mouth, as she was trying to light it holding it away from her. I quickly pulled the lighter away; when I asked, “Have you ever smoked a cigarette before?” She giggled; replying, “It has been a long time, but yes I have.” I replied, “In order to properly light a cigarette, you will have to put it between your lips, and inhale as I light it.” She laughing replied, “Yes, I know!” I lit her cigarette, as she inhaled deeply; without a choke or a cough. I added, “Now that you are smoking it, you have to smoke the whole cigarette. There is no only smoking half of it, because you decided it was too much for you.” This is a pet peeve of mine; social smokers who waste a perfectly good cigarette, simply because it’s not theirs to waste. After she takes another long, deep drag off the cigarette, she asks me, “So, what’s your type?” I replied, “A woman who can think for herself. A woman who does not need to call her mom, or one of her friends, to discuss a decision she is about to make. A woman who knows who she is, and does not conform to how society tells her how she needs to be. She will have a natural ability to see the real me, which lives behind my eyes. This woman shares the same interests as I do, such as: philosophy, art, music, books, reading, and a deep love for everything that is New Orleans.” With disbelief; she asks, “New Orleans? You actually like New Orleans?” I replied, “Absolutely! I love it!” She asks, “If you love it so much, how come you don’t live there?” I replied, “I eventually will move to New Orleans, I just know once I move there, I will never want to leave the city, and I probably never will.” She replied, “I just don’t get the attraction to New Orleans; it’s dirty, it smells, there’s a lot of violence there, and there are some really strange people there too!” I replied, “Yes, everything you mentioned is true. This is what makes the city so unique. These characteristics, are filters for keeping the people out, who simply do not belong there. Houston has more crime and violence than New Orleans ever will. The majority of the crime and violence occurring in Houston, is just not covered by the media. New Orleans has its own grit, its own way of living life. The culture within the city and the people within it, are unlike anywhere else on the planet; this is what makes New Orleans special and unique. The city of New Orleans is its own universe, with its own culture, its own way of life. The antiquity within the city is unlike any other in the United States. Here in Houston, they will tear anything and everything down, no matter if it is historic or not; just to build a midrise, or a fucking shopping center. It’s sad, but that’s the teardown culture here in Houston. The history and the antiquity which was once here; has been erased, and replaced by Trader Joe’s, Starbucks, and Whole Foods. It’s funny in a way; the consumers will throw away their hard-earned money on over-priced crap, while living in over-priced housing, which has no soul to it whatsoever. You could say, New Orleans has been able to retain its soul, even after Katrina, yet Houston has lost its soul a long time ago.” She paused for a moment; before responding, “Wow, I never looked at it in that way before.” I replied, “Most people never do, this is what keeps most of them from moving to New Orleans.” She randomly asks, “Do you date; are you seeing anyone?” Seeing that her intentions were starting to surface; I replied, “I was seeing someone for a couple of weeks, but it dissolved rather quickly. Why do you ask?” She replied, “I was just wondering. Maybe we could meet up sometime?” I shrugged my shoulders; replying, “Maybe?” She proceeds to dig deep into her purse; taking out one of her business cards. She hands me the card; stating, “That is my cell number, you can call or text me anytime you like, day or night! If I am at church I probably will not reply until the next day, I usually get out pretty late. You really should call or text me next week. I would really love to talk more with you, and really see what you have to offer, and what you’re all about!” I asked, “What I have to offer; what I’m all about?” She casually leaned into me, about 6 inches away from my face; when she softly stated, “I would absolutely love to know what you are ALL about. I would especially love to know how far you could shove your thick cock down my throat, but only after you fuck my ass as hard as you possibly could.” I just sat there in silence, as this was completely unexpected. As she stood up to collect her belongings; she stuck her hand out and stated, “My name is Sarah by the way. It was very nice meeting you.” I shook her hand; as I replied, “It was very nice meeting you as well Sarah. Have a great evening.” She replied with a wink, “You do the same, see you next week.” As Sarah walked away, I began to laugh. No one ever believes me when I tell them about my experiences at the café. I waited until Sarah was completely out of sight, before ripping her card in half. Sometimes, I meet the strangest people at the coffee shop.