“I work slow, piling the Cheerios on a plate, stacking it on top of the others, making circles around the one-room apartment. Finally, I get close enough to glance at the business card resting on the mattress. I bend down to pick it up, but pull back. My blood feels hot just looking at it. I kick the mattress instead, and the card jumps. It doesn't flutter away—it just flips over, revealing what's written on it.
Catherine Conner
California Children and Family Services
There's a number, too, and an e-mail. She's written on it in pen: If you ever need anything, call.
I kick it again, and the card flies off the mattress, sliding across the floor until it's out of sight.
She doesn't get it. We don't need a damn thing from her. I don't trust her-not to help me, not to keep me safe. If the government wants kids, and she's government, then I'm staying the hell away from her.”
-Vida in her mini novella
