all them other little homeless kids instead of hanging on the corner rolling dice, now you’re going to jail. Bet you gonna wish you was in that damn orphanage when Bubba gets through with you.” The cops and Shane’s fellow crap shooters were falling out laughing about his orphan status and the possibility of him being molested by an anonymous prisoner named Bubba.
The group of crap shooters was marched into the Round House and detained overnight. The next day they sat in front of a video judge who informed them that there was enough evidence to send them all up to State Road.
Everyone except Shane. By now, it was discovered that he was truly only fifteen, and resided at the City Home for Children.
Possession of drugs with the intent to sell is a crime that is taken seriously, therefore Shane was sent to Barney Hills Reform School for Boys, an institution in the country for boys ages fifteen to eighteen who have run afoul of the law.
“Hopefully,” the judge told him, “you’ll be reformed and emerge a productive member of society.”
“Man, suck my dick,” Shane mumbled.
The ride to Barney Hills was torturous. He didn’t fear the boy’s reform school, but he didn’t know if Tariq could survive without him. He’d fucked up real bad. His little brother relied on him to have his back and now they were miles apart with a mountain of red tape that would make it difficult to even visit.
Shane got off the bus and took a look at the beautiful surroundings—sprawling acres of lush green, elegant stone buildings. The place was designed to look like a college campus. It was a wonderful place that offered a myriad of educational and vocational opportunities, but Shane knew it was really just a prison in disguise.
CHAPTER 15
E very week Tariq wrote Shane a lengthy, upbeat letter. He knew Shane felt guilty enough, so he never told him the real story. Truth was, Tariq was so depressed he’d been placed in group therapy. The psychiatrist at the Children’s Home had strongly suggested to the Home’s clinical team that Tariq be put on an anti-depressant.
Tariq wouldn’t dream of confessing to his brother that he cried himself to sleep every night and woke up feeling unable to face another day. The void created when he’d lost Shane was unbearable and life without his twin felt hopeless and without joy. The only reason he hadn’t considered suicide was because he couldn’t do such a terrible thing to Shane. So he endured the pain.
The social worker had informed Tariq upon admission that it was highly unlikely that he’d be placed in another foster home. Foster parents tended to prefer younger children; children whom they could mold and in whose lives they could perhaps make a positive difference. Older children were considered lost causes—already scarred beyond redemption.
“You’re a nice kid, Tariq. I’m going to keep pushing for you. I know there’s a soft heart out there somewhere—somebody who’ll see the good in you.” She patted his back encouragingly.
Tariq didn’t care. In fact, he preferred the Children’s Home. He knew the routine and he kept to himself, the way Shane had instructed him to.
Tariq was always ecstatic whenever he received a letter from his brother. But his heart sank upon opening Shane’s brief letters comprising no more than one to two sentences. The last sentence was always the same,
Stay strong, man, I’ll see you soon
.
When was soon? Tariq had questioned his social worker about arranging a visit to see Shane, but he might as well have asked for an all-expenses paid trip to Disneyland, or for a visit to the moon.
“If Shane were in the Philadelphia area, in a private home, it would be easier to make arrangements. I mean, jeez, he’s over a hundred miles away and he’s in a facility run by the state. There’s so much red tape involved. You’re a ward of the city, but let’s say that you happened to be in a state facility. In a case scenario such as that, the
The group of crap shooters was marched into the Round House and detained overnight. The next day they sat in front of a video judge who informed them that there was enough evidence to send them all up to State Road.
Everyone except Shane. By now, it was discovered that he was truly only fifteen, and resided at the City Home for Children.
Possession of drugs with the intent to sell is a crime that is taken seriously, therefore Shane was sent to Barney Hills Reform School for Boys, an institution in the country for boys ages fifteen to eighteen who have run afoul of the law.
“Hopefully,” the judge told him, “you’ll be reformed and emerge a productive member of society.”
“Man, suck my dick,” Shane mumbled.
The ride to Barney Hills was torturous. He didn’t fear the boy’s reform school, but he didn’t know if Tariq could survive without him. He’d fucked up real bad. His little brother relied on him to have his back and now they were miles apart with a mountain of red tape that would make it difficult to even visit.
Shane got off the bus and took a look at the beautiful surroundings—sprawling acres of lush green, elegant stone buildings. The place was designed to look like a college campus. It was a wonderful place that offered a myriad of educational and vocational opportunities, but Shane knew it was really just a prison in disguise.
CHAPTER 15
E very week Tariq wrote Shane a lengthy, upbeat letter. He knew Shane felt guilty enough, so he never told him the real story. Truth was, Tariq was so depressed he’d been placed in group therapy. The psychiatrist at the Children’s Home had strongly suggested to the Home’s clinical team that Tariq be put on an anti-depressant.
Tariq wouldn’t dream of confessing to his brother that he cried himself to sleep every night and woke up feeling unable to face another day. The void created when he’d lost Shane was unbearable and life without his twin felt hopeless and without joy. The only reason he hadn’t considered suicide was because he couldn’t do such a terrible thing to Shane. So he endured the pain.
The social worker had informed Tariq upon admission that it was highly unlikely that he’d be placed in another foster home. Foster parents tended to prefer younger children; children whom they could mold and in whose lives they could perhaps make a positive difference. Older children were considered lost causes—already scarred beyond redemption.
“You’re a nice kid, Tariq. I’m going to keep pushing for you. I know there’s a soft heart out there somewhere—somebody who’ll see the good in you.” She patted his back encouragingly.
Tariq didn’t care. In fact, he preferred the Children’s Home. He knew the routine and he kept to himself, the way Shane had instructed him to.
Tariq was always ecstatic whenever he received a letter from his brother. But his heart sank upon opening Shane’s brief letters comprising no more than one to two sentences. The last sentence was always the same,
Stay strong, man, I’ll see you soon
.
When was soon? Tariq had questioned his social worker about arranging a visit to see Shane, but he might as well have asked for an all-expenses paid trip to Disneyland, or for a visit to the moon.
“If Shane were in the Philadelphia area, in a private home, it would be easier to make arrangements. I mean, jeez, he’s over a hundred miles away and he’s in a facility run by the state. There’s so much red tape involved. You’re a ward of the city, but let’s say that you happened to be in a state facility. In a case scenario such as that, the
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