Black and Blue Ivy

A New Path

After a week with an IV stuck in my arm pumping me full of antibiotics, I, at last, emerged from my near coma. I was one of the lucky ones, I was told. Two other girls besides Joelle from St. Vincent's died from the outbreak. I'm sad to report the meningitis claimed neither Naomi nor Dolores, whose robust dispositions saved them. Naomi did get her wish in that my long, honey blond hair Morningstar once bragged looked like spun gold, was nearly gone. One of the nurses had really gone to town, giving me an ugly boy's haircut that was choppy and uneven. When I could finally drag my portable IV to the bathroom and pee in an actual toilet, I was shocked by my appearance. Not only was my hair so short that my ears stuck out, but I had also managed to lose ten pounds, and I was skinny already. I looked like a skeleton with hollowed-out cheeks in a sallow, dull complexion. I cried when I looked at myself and stumbled back to the bed where a nurse, who also happened to be a nun, scolded my vanity.

"Does my mother know I'm here?" I asked through my sobs.

"I was told you don't have a mother," she replied curtly. "We have many charity cases. You are lucky you got a bed here."

Sure. Real lucky.

"You're much better now," she said kindly as if recalling her Christian charity. She tucked the sheets tightly around the corners of my bed. "You'll be going home soon."

"I don't have a home." I stared blankly at the ceiling, thinking maybe Joelle and those two other girls I didn't know were the lucky ones. At least Joelle was in heaven. I'm not sure about the other girls, but if Joelle Burns hadn't made it through the pearly gates, there was no hope for the rest of us.

I slept until the following afternoon when another social worker showed up. I was sitting in bed and had just managed to swallow some green jello without puking when Ms. Ellen Crenshaw knocked on my door.

"Call me Ellen." She leaned across the bed to shake my hand. Ellen was a pretty young Black woman with a halo of springy curls and a big smile pushing deep dimples into her smooth cheeks. Her curvy figure encased in a brightly printed wrap dress invited hugs. I tried to recall the last time someone hugged me. Joelle came close when she high-fived me that day in choir class, a distant memory now. Feeling the tears welling up in my eyes, I leaned back against the pillow, wondering why kind people like Joelle died while monsters like Naomi continued to live and torture people.

My gaze floated to the crucifix on the wall above Ellen's head. I guess only God knows the answer to that.

Ellen's mouth turned downward for a moment as if it pained her to look at me. I'm sure I looked like hell with my awful haircut. Was that necessary, or did some scissor-happy nun decide to destroy my beauty lest I tempt the devil?

I was too exhausted to care.

"Ivy, I know it's been tough for you, but we're working hard to get you into a good foster home."

I squeezed my eyes shut to blot out the horror. "Please, no," I begged. "Just let me go back to my mother's apartment. I can take care of myself."

Ellen sadly shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Ivy. I guarantee you—" her hand rested gently on my arm. "I will make sure you're placed with the best family. Okay?"

If I started talking, I knew I would start crying again, and I had just enough pride left not to want to do that in front of Ellen, so I just nodded silently. I must have dozed off because when I awoke the slanted sunlight filtering in through the blinds had shifted to the other side of the crucifix and the seat where Ellen had sat was pushed up against the wall. A brusque nurse in blue scrubs crashed in and pointed a thermometer gun at my forehead.

"You're better," she said, looking at the gun and recording the number in my chart. "Looks like you'll be going home soon?"

"Where's home?" I said.