Fostering The Future - Conclusion
January 13th 2008 20:53
Sunday morning found them once again confined to indoors with the weather beating down on the roof and lashing the windows with sheets of cold rain. Usually Caroline would use the weekend to get the kids outdoors, but that was not going to happen today. Instead they had locked themselves away in Caroline’s darkroom. It was peaceful in there, the child seeming quite comfortable in the darkness that enfolded them. With the infrared glow of the safe light breaking the blackness just enough for them to see, Caroline watched the small boy study the prints coming to life. His chin could just reach the lip of the sink if he balanced on tip toes.
“Those pictures are black and white.”
“That’s right. I like taking black and white photos, they have better detail than colour.”
Drying her hands Caroline smiled at the way she was talking to this four year old. He was going to want more of an explanation than that.
Bending close to his chubby face she pointed out shadows and light points, contrasts and contours. He seemed to be taking it all in, head bent, intense thought moulding his features. Satisfied with her tuition Caroline straightened and reached to pull the light cord above his head when something caught her eye.
She froze. Frowned.
There, just below the hair line. What was it? Instinctively Caroline reached down, ran her thumb over the florescent blue number that seemed imprinted there. He did not react. Smooth as a child’s neck should be, but it was still there, bright as ever. Baffled and alarmed, she wrestled with what she saw. A tattoo? Implant? What? It was the safe light that had illuminated it, she was sure. It had not been there in day light! Small, but very clear it stated, ST/EMB-621. Some kind of code? Chiding herself on an over active imagination, she pulled the light on. The number disappeared instantly.
The afternoon found her preoccupied. Her mind in turmoil. Why would anyone secretly tattoo a child? She knew of many horrible things done to children, it was one of the tragedies of fostering, but this was .... mysterious. She could grasp no explanation, or come up with any solution that would satisfy her. The only thing that did make any sense to her was that now she knew for certain that Gavin was different. Why or how was still beyond her.
That evening a growing anger gnawed at her. What was he, some kind of experiment or something! She was getting carried away again and she knew it, but what ever was being done to this child had to be unjust, if not morally wrong!
She had tried to help him pack his bag before bed, hoping to catch some clue that would tell her more about him. Where he came from … who he belonged to. When this failed she uncharacteristically found herself going through his bag after putting him to bed. Nothing. Feeling cheated by herself as much as anyone else, she then waited until he was asleep and crept into his room to see if the tattoo could be seen in the dark of his bedroom. Nothing.
Earlier in the evening she had written down what she could only consider as a code. ST/EMB-621.
Monday morning dawned clear and the blue sky gave Caroline the determination to make inquiries. Demand to know what was being done to this child and why!
Dressed and ready to go by eight, Gavin sat at the breakfast bar systematically eating his boiled egg and toast.
When the doorbell rang Caroline started, only slightly. She was not going to lose it!
Gavin jumped off the stool and headed for the door, grabbing his bag on the way. Caroline had to move swiftly to catch him up. He knew the procedure precisely.
It was not the same worker who had dropped Gavin off, but this was not unusual.
She greeted Caroline with a terse ‘Good morning’ and sent Gavin down the stairs.
“Goodbye Gavin. It was very nice having you,” was all Caroline managed to get out before he headed off. At the bottom he turned and told her, “Goodbye Caroline.”
She watched him walk down the path and out of her life.
Then with a finely polished business manner the woman handed her a set of papers and asked if she could find the time to fill out this questionnaire about Gavin and forward it on to them. “I’ve never been asked to do this before. What’s it all about?”
Caroline had trouble keeping the suspicion from her voice. She suddenly had an overpowering urge to hide what she knew.
“Something new. You know. Always coming up with more paper work. It would be appreciated though. Helps with our profile on the kids.”
Caroline stood in the hallway for a full minute after closing the door, staring down at the page in her hand. On the very top left hand corner was stamped ST/EMB-621.
As the years rolled by so did many more kids come and go through Caroline’s door.
Some for longer than others, and most as different as night and day. But she always knew when she had another Gavin. It only ever took a quick session in her dark room to confirm. And she was never wrong.
They were all normal in the physical sense. She knew that … had seen them bleed, eat, sleep and breathe. But never cry, laugh or call out in fear or frustration. It was as though the emotions had been bred out of them, but she felt an affinity towards them that she did not even want to analyse. She had even had consecutive numbers come once. ST/EMC-95 and ST/EMC-96. Chloe and Grace. She could not help but wonder if they had been neighbouring test tubes.
Caroline had long since gotten over her moral indignation and now thought only of the kids and what she could do for them. Her family of future generations hangs in still life on her dark room walls, labelled boldly with their names. No numbers, no regrets. Just Love.
“That’s right. I like taking black and white photos, they have better detail than colour.”
Drying her hands Caroline smiled at the way she was talking to this four year old. He was going to want more of an explanation than that.
Bending close to his chubby face she pointed out shadows and light points, contrasts and contours. He seemed to be taking it all in, head bent, intense thought moulding his features. Satisfied with her tuition Caroline straightened and reached to pull the light cord above his head when something caught her eye.
She froze. Frowned.
There, just below the hair line. What was it? Instinctively Caroline reached down, ran her thumb over the florescent blue number that seemed imprinted there. He did not react. Smooth as a child’s neck should be, but it was still there, bright as ever. Baffled and alarmed, she wrestled with what she saw. A tattoo? Implant? What? It was the safe light that had illuminated it, she was sure. It had not been there in day light! Small, but very clear it stated, ST/EMB-621. Some kind of code? Chiding herself on an over active imagination, she pulled the light on. The number disappeared instantly.
The afternoon found her preoccupied. Her mind in turmoil. Why would anyone secretly tattoo a child? She knew of many horrible things done to children, it was one of the tragedies of fostering, but this was .... mysterious. She could grasp no explanation, or come up with any solution that would satisfy her. The only thing that did make any sense to her was that now she knew for certain that Gavin was different. Why or how was still beyond her.
That evening a growing anger gnawed at her. What was he, some kind of experiment or something! She was getting carried away again and she knew it, but what ever was being done to this child had to be unjust, if not morally wrong!
She had tried to help him pack his bag before bed, hoping to catch some clue that would tell her more about him. Where he came from … who he belonged to. When this failed she uncharacteristically found herself going through his bag after putting him to bed. Nothing. Feeling cheated by herself as much as anyone else, she then waited until he was asleep and crept into his room to see if the tattoo could be seen in the dark of his bedroom. Nothing.
Earlier in the evening she had written down what she could only consider as a code. ST/EMB-621.
Monday morning dawned clear and the blue sky gave Caroline the determination to make inquiries. Demand to know what was being done to this child and why!
Dressed and ready to go by eight, Gavin sat at the breakfast bar systematically eating his boiled egg and toast.
When the doorbell rang Caroline started, only slightly. She was not going to lose it!
Gavin jumped off the stool and headed for the door, grabbing his bag on the way. Caroline had to move swiftly to catch him up. He knew the procedure precisely.
It was not the same worker who had dropped Gavin off, but this was not unusual.
She greeted Caroline with a terse ‘Good morning’ and sent Gavin down the stairs.
“Goodbye Gavin. It was very nice having you,” was all Caroline managed to get out before he headed off. At the bottom he turned and told her, “Goodbye Caroline.”
She watched him walk down the path and out of her life.
Then with a finely polished business manner the woman handed her a set of papers and asked if she could find the time to fill out this questionnaire about Gavin and forward it on to them. “I’ve never been asked to do this before. What’s it all about?”
Caroline had trouble keeping the suspicion from her voice. She suddenly had an overpowering urge to hide what she knew.
“Something new. You know. Always coming up with more paper work. It would be appreciated though. Helps with our profile on the kids.”
Caroline stood in the hallway for a full minute after closing the door, staring down at the page in her hand. On the very top left hand corner was stamped ST/EMB-621.
As the years rolled by so did many more kids come and go through Caroline’s door.
Some for longer than others, and most as different as night and day. But she always knew when she had another Gavin. It only ever took a quick session in her dark room to confirm. And she was never wrong.
They were all normal in the physical sense. She knew that … had seen them bleed, eat, sleep and breathe. But never cry, laugh or call out in fear or frustration. It was as though the emotions had been bred out of them, but she felt an affinity towards them that she did not even want to analyse. She had even had consecutive numbers come once. ST/EMC-95 and ST/EMC-96. Chloe and Grace. She could not help but wonder if they had been neighbouring test tubes.
Caroline had long since gotten over her moral indignation and now thought only of the kids and what she could do for them. Her family of future generations hangs in still life on her dark room walls, labelled boldly with their names. No numbers, no regrets. Just Love.
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