Isaiah

Dark clouds loomed above me the day I climbed into the back of my caseworker's town car.

My few belongings and a backpack and the clothes on my back, that was all I could take.

One of those few belongings was a photo album filled with pictures of all the foster families I'd been with.

It was nice to remember some of them, even though I had royally screwed it up each time.

they do that no it's not no i don't think it works that way no he's the kids die and i never see him the kids are dead and not my problem most importantly we drove into downtown detroit past all the familiar landmarks i'd been thrown out of one foster home just outside town because i snuck into downtown detroit with some neighbor kids to sneak into a dive bar good times

Nope.

Here we are.

Car came to a stop.

We had parked in front of a tall, gray, windowless building.

Sandwiched between two other industrial buildings on a narrow city street.

I don't think that's what the Ronald McDonald's look like.

I don't think they look like brutalist architecture in the middle of downtown.

I noticed there was an address on the building to my left and one on the right, but none on this particular building.

Not even a sign.

Are you sure?

I asked, hesitating as I opened the car door and climbed out of the back seat.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder, clinging tightly to the strap, and followed the caseworker up to the windowless metal doors.

She pressed a buzzer, spoke to someone inside, and the doors clicked to unlock.

We walked in.

As soon as the metal doors closed behind us, I noticed the pin drop silence.