I reach into my briefcase, and take out the relevant forms. Both Madison and her mom need to sign these forms to give me permission to record our conversation. Colette knows there’s no getting around this. I’m court appointed, and if she wants to keep Madison, she needs to play ball. I then pull out my notepad and my phone, and set up my recording app.
Madison tells me about school, about her two best friends, and all about Scooter. I tell her all about Hobbes, the cat I used to have when I was a kid. “I called him Hobbes afterCalvin and Hobbes. You know that comic strip? Hobbes was the tiger.”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“That’s okay. Before your time.” I glance over at her mom’s whose eyes are skyward. She clearly doesn’t find this amusing in the least. She’s probably fixing for her next drink.
Madison is pretty chatty, but she completely clams up when I ask her about her home life, about her parents. “Daddy sleeps a lot,” she tells me. “He’s sick. He was in a big accident at work, and he has a lot of pain.”
I nod. “I see.”
“And what about Mommy?”
She looks up at her mother, and her whole body seems to retreat quietly. “Mommy… she likes pink like me.”
My mother told me once that if you can’t say anything nice, you shouldn’t say anything at all. And I know that’s exactly what Madison is doing right now.
I glance over at Colette again. Heartbreak is written all over her face, and I feel so sorry for her. But it’s not my job to pity people. My one and only duty is to do what’s best for the child.
“So, Madison, what time do you go to bed?”
“Uh…” She tilts her head to the ceiling. “Uh… depends. Ten o’clock maybe on school nights… later on weekends.”
“She’s in bed by nine-ish,” her mother tells me.
I scribble in my notepad. “But you don’t fall asleep right away.”
Madison nods in agreement. “I’m usually on my iPad.”
I don’t glance at the mother. I’m not here to judge. I’m here to assess.
“What about meals?” I ask. “What do your parents usually make? Do you eat as a family? What does she make you for lunch?”
“Uh…” Madison falters, clearly not wanting to answer my questions.
“There are no wrong answers, Madison,” I assure her. “Just tell me the truth.”
“Uh…” she stares down at the carpet. “My dad doesn’t cook… My mom makes grill cheese sandwiches sometimes, chicken fingers and fries… I like that.”
I quickly jot her comments down. “Do you ever get tired of grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken fingers?”
“It’s okay because I make other stuff when my mom is too tired to cook.”
I straighten to attention. “What do you cook, Madison?”
“I make toast… and soup. My mom buys canned soup for me. Sometimes I make frozen pizza. And I can make fried eggs now. I make all that stuff for my parents too… they like it.”
Colette walks out of the room.
My heart sinks for Madison.
“I also eat a lot of cereal,” she tells me, something I could have already guessed from the collection of boxes on the counter.
“Sometimes, there’s no milk, so I eat it dry with a glass of juice or pop.”
I scribble furiously. This child gets nothing but sugar and processed foods.
“What about fruits and vegetables, Madison? Do you ever eat any of that?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t really like that stuff,” she tells me. “Sometimes we have apples and bananas but they always go bad because we never eat them, and then the flies buzz around the bananas. My mom said she’s not buying them anymore.
I have the urge to scream. Just a little. I add this information to my findings. I already have the report from the school, indicating that Madison’s lunch is often insufficient; pop tarts and granola bars, no fruit, no dairy or protein. And often, it’s completely non-existent. They often have to dig into their food cabinet, kept for impoverished and neglected children. This is how Madison’s situation all came to light in the first place. When they didn’t get a response from her parents following repeated calls, they reached out to the name listed in their files, in case of an emergency, in case both parents were unavailable, Colette’s sister, Colleen.
I shake my head in disbelief. This case is already getting to me, and God help me, this kid is going to get the life she deserves.
I’ve got you kid. I’ve been there. This is like my childhood, all over again. I’ll make it right.
