Three Little Words: A Memoir
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About this ebook
“Sunshine, you’re my baby and I’m your only mother. You must mind the one taking care of you, but she’s not your mama.” Ashley Rhodes-Courter spent nine years of her life in fourteen different foster homes, living by those words. As her mother spirals out of control, Ashley is left clinging to an unpredictable, dissolving relationship, all the while getting pulled deeper and deeper into the foster care system.
Painful memories of being taken away from her home quickly become consumed by real-life horrors, where Ashley is juggled between caseworkers, shuffled from school to school, and forced to endure manipulative, humiliating treatment from a very abusive foster family. In this inspiring, unforgettable memoir, Ashley finds the courage to succeed—and in doing so, discovers the power of speaking out.
Ashley Rhodes-Courter
Ashley Rhodes-Courter has been featured in Teen People, The New York Times, USA TODAY, and Glamour, as well as on Good Morning America. Her first memoir, Three Little Words, began as an essay, which won a writing contest for high school students, and was published in The New York Times Magazine. She is also the author of Three More Words. A graduate of Eckerd College and a champion for the reformation of the foster care system, Ashley speaks internationally on foster care and adoption. Visit her at Rhodes-Courter.com.
Read more from Ashley Rhodes Courter
Three More Words Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Sam Is My Sister Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
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Reviews for Three Little Words
196 ratings27 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5so touching...cried like a baby
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Susan Richards has survived an abusive childhood and a bad marriage, and now, in her forties, is living on a small farm with her three horses, working as a social worker, and determinedly protecting her independence. Having given up alcohol, casual sex, and in fact men altogether, she may be lonely, but at least she’s safe.
Then she gets a call from the local SPCA, which has taken in more than forty horses from an abuse case. Their barn was already full; they need foster homes immediately. Against her better judgment, Richards agrees to take one of the horses.
She gets a Standardbred named Lay Me Down, a 16-year-old broodmare who is terribly thin and who has pneumonia. With Susan’s care, Lay Me Down gets back to a healthy weight, recovers from her pneumonia, and gets successfully integrated into her existing herd of one Morgan mare and two quarter horse geldings.
And then she discovers that Lay Me Down has an eye tumor. In the position it’s in, it can’t even be biopsied safely, but it’s almost certainly cancerous.
Susan Richards, whose heart broke at age five when her mother died a lingering death from cancer, and who has steadfastly avoided any emotional commitments that would lead to loss, finds herself committed to a beautiful, sweet-natured horse who has had a life as hard as her own, and who is going to die. Susan struggles with Lay Me Down’s illness, her own conflicted feelings, and her first stumbling efforts to rejoin the human race. This truly is a deeply moving story about a horse, a broken heart, and the beginnings of healing.
Highly recommended.
I borrowed this book from a friend. - Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5Meh. This book felt disjointed and lacked a strong narrative core. At first I was willing to overlook the questionable writing, until I read the blurb about the author on the back. She teaches English and writing at a college level. In that case, the writing was sub-par at best. I had a variety of issues with it:1) She assumes that any reader who picks this up and doesn't know anything about horses needs to be told in parentheses that a horse's hocks are their elbows (not strictly true, either).n And yet, she doesn't feel the need to explain what an "Arabian face" is in her Morgan? Extremely inconsistent. The horse details that she felt the need to expound on were rudimentary to people familiar with horses, and unnecessary to comprehension for those who aren't.2) The "main" horse of the book actually has a pretty boring story. And the author doesn't make it clear that this "particular" horse heavily influenced the great changes in her life - instead, it is a series of horses. The story narrative would have been stronger if this was a memoir about the *horses* who healed her broken heart. That might have been a story worth reading.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Touching and poignant.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Chosen by a Horse is a memoir by Susan Richards of the time she rescued a former racehorse, Lay Me Down. It is a sad and sweet tale. Both Lay Me Down and Susan come from similar backgrounds of abuse. Through caring for Lay Me Down, Susan re-learns that life can be full of joy and love and is worth the risk of being hurt. It begs the question of who rescues who when we take an animal into our lives. While I am a general animal lover, I don't know much about horse care or horse personalities so really enjoyed those parts. Susan also writes about her own efforts as a 40-something woman attempting to date again with rather mixed results. Keep a box of tissues handy, this one is a tear jerker.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Fantastic! Fantastic! Fantastic!!!! The words captivate you and it makes you want to do something for these children that end up in foster care
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5I recommend this book to all book love it's a great book
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This was a wonderful heart-felt touching and inspiring book to read. I really enjoyed it and I am not a fan of horse novels. This is definitely a book I would recommend to anyone who needs a little bit of love and encouragement in their life. It helped my heart and I didn't even know it needed it. Sometimes we all need a little inspiration to get going in life!
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Susan Richards adopts Lay Me Down, an abused, sick horse from an SPCA rescue mission. Susan and Lay Me Down bond from the start. Susan nurses Lay Me Down back to health even after Lay Me Down is diagnosed with a tumor. Beautiful story that illustrates what most animal lovers know: animals have personalities, preferences and moods just like us. Lay Me Down was a very special horse; she had a sweet disposition despite her history. She was able to help Susan process her unresolved grief and learn patience and forgiveness. Excellent read!
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A beautiful, sweet and occasionally laugh-out-loud story of a former racehorse and the woman who loved her.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5What a wonderful heart warming story. If you have ever loved a pet this is a story to read.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I really loved this book! I can so relate to the rescue of a horse as well as healing from caring for and interacting with a horse. I laughed and cried right along with Susan on her journey. A really great read!
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This is a surprisingly wonderful, honest memoir about how one reluctant rescuer was chosen a horse who saved her life - not the other way around, like it was supposed to be. That said, Richards DID foster, and then adopt, "Lay me Down" after the horse's life of misery at the hands of a breeder/hoarder (then acquisition by the SPCA); and she spoiled that horse with the love and care she never had. The wonder of this book is what the author learns from this gentle soul of a horse and how she grows, so I do not want to say much and "spoil" the beauty of that unfolding. While a sad book, it is also a hopeful one. I believe anyone (but particularly women) who has had a rough past/childhood/marriage/relationship and loves animals will get a lot out of this parallel lives story. It's also a quiet one about the wisdom of choosing sobriety and facing the problems of life, through love and hope, and not escape, despite how hard that might be. Highly recommended.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Simply stated: This book took my breath away. Written with humor, poignancy, candor, and clear, crisp poetic style, the author takes us on a wonderful journey regarding the redemptive power of love.There are times in life when we spontaneously, unexpectedly break out of character, when previous behaviors are uncautiously thrown to the wind and afterward we ask ourselves -- What just happened?It was fate that brought Susan Richards and an abused horse together. When the local SPCA posted a SOS plea asking the public to assist with 40 recently confiscated malnourished, poor- in- health horses, uncharacteristically, Susan jumped in her car and drove to the SPCA.When a severely emaciated mare named Lay Me Down walked into her horse trailer, tiny foal behind, Susan knew it was not she who chose which horse to adopt, but indeed she was chosen.Susan knew pain and abandonment. Her mother died when she was five; her father then left for a life of booze and denial. Susan was shifted to homes of relatives who clearly thought her a burden. Abused and unwanted, knowing love hurt too much, Susan learned to build a wall where pain could not touch.Then, at 43, after a broken marriage and recovery from alcoholism, a broken horse helped a broken hearted woman, the rescuer was rescued and the wounded horse helped a wounded owner to find the strength to risk and dare to love.When the horse developed a tumor, the author knew that Lay Me Down had created a space wherein the horse and her childhood merged forcing her to learn that risking love, in all the beauty and potential sorrow, takes strength and courage and creates a gift that keeps right on giving.Highly recommended. I believe you will laugh, you will cry and this is a story that will hold your heart for a while.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5One of the best books i have ever read. I could read it 20 times if I need 2
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5One of the best books i have ever read. I have read it multiple times, wich I never do. Especially considering I don't own it. Woch I'm going to change that......
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This book is primarily about the author’s relationship with her horses, particularly her most recently rescued one, but also includes some biographical sections, detailing her abusive childhood and alcoholic young adulthood. It is at times touching, amusing and informational about horses. I enjoyed it at all those levels. In our family, it has to be given the dreaded “HD” rating (Horse Dies). Beware if that bothers you. But you sort of know it’s coming, and it’s handled very tenderly. But get your hanky ready.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This is an approachable and fast memoir that most any animal lover would enjoy. Susan Richards had a lot of baggage, but by the time she entered her 40s she regarded herself as an independent woman in control of her life. She had conquered the alcohol addiction that dominated her for decades. She shed an abusive husband and family. But when she agreed to take care of an abused mare and foal, she got more than she bargained for. The mare, Lay Me Down, had every right to hate humans, but she didn't. She looked on Susan with trust and faith, and Susan felt her old protective barriers begin to fall. But barriers exist with a reason, and soon Susan would need to face the truth: with love comes vulnerability, but it is still worthwhile.I was surprised at how gently this book flowed. It felt like stream-of-consciousness, progressing from memory to memory without me even fully realizing how far the story strayed. Susan had a very difficult life, and she is very honest about what she endured and also what she brought on herself. Her relationship with Lay Me Down and other horses, even the impetuous Morgan Georgia, reveal a lot about her and her maturity. This is really a book about love, life, death, and how a person is never to old to learn and grow wise.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I bought this book for my wife for Christmas, but I read it first. (She still hasn't.) It's a very well-told story about a woman who lost her mother as a child, then suffered abandonment, abuse, neglect and an all-around lack of love throughout her youth. As an adult she lost herself in happy hours, alcoholism and promiscuity, followed by a bad marriage that ended in divorce. Finally, through AA, a few good friends, and an innate love of animals, particularly horses, she gets herself straightened out and begins to learn how to love herself again. In other words everything you need for a good potboiler of a book. But instead Susan Richards chooses to examine her life carefully. The catalyst for doing this is an abused horse she rescues, a special horse who seems to return Richards' unconditional love in kind. The horse, Lay Me Down, is a Black Beauty for the 21st century, that rare animal who endures man's cruelties and gives back love in return. And helps a damaged lonely woman to finally come to understand that she is capable of loving and of being loved. Geeze, this sounds almost too corny, but it's what just came out when I started writing this, so ...? I also found it interesting that Richards ended up a Social Worker, since it seems so many abused and mistreated women finally end up in this profession. Is it because they feel they've been through it all and so can do some good for others who have suffered the same kind of stuff? I don't know. Now I've gone and broken the spell of that fine review I started. What the hell. This is a damn good book, and one of the best "horse books" I've read since Molly Gloss's lovely novel, Hearts of Horses. Read 'em both.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Author Susan Richards deeply touched my heart with her memoir, originally published in 2006. Subtitled "How a broken horse fixed a broken heart", she tells the story of Lay Me Down, an abused race horse that she adopted, and how, in the process of healing the horse, the horse healed her.I liked the matter-of-fact way Susan gradually reveals the emotional and physical abuse she suffered as a child, and the lack of self-pity in her narrative. She dwells not on her past but on the healing process and her life with her horses.Richards makes no excuses for her alcoholic and promiscuous youth, nor for her divorce or her decade of anti-social isolation. She acknowledges the damage and focuses on her gradual recovery, driven by her love for her horses and in particular, the mare she rescued.I avoid most memoirs of an abusive childhood or marriage. I dislike reading the details of someone else's pain, and too frequently, such books are riddled with excuses and blame. I marvel that Susan Richards manages to escape those traps, and consider it clear proof that her broken horse truly did fix her broken heart. Her story is upbeat but relentlessly honest, a combination irresistible to me.Richards integrates her painful childhood, chaotic youth and angry adult years to reveal a charming, mature woman capable of deep friendship and compassion, love and generosity of spirit, but not a soft person, rather, a woman of strength and courage of the most rare kind - with the courage to face herself and her history, her feelings and hopes, with unflinching honesty and acceptance.Books are my friends, have been my friends all my life. Chosen by a Horse is very good friend indeed, the kind that wears well and demonstrates qualities I want to imitate in my own life, the kind of friend that makes me a better person than I would be without them.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This is a great story about how animals can teach us a lesson about being caring.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I got this book to read on the plane during an up-coming trip. I couldn't wait to read it, so I read it before the trip. I am so glad I did. I bawled like a newborn baby. It is so real. I am a horse-lover, however, I don't feel like this only appeals to horse people. This book is about a woman who goes through some of the toughest times of her life and the horse who is with her during it all. What she learns from the horse, is inspiring.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This book was beautifully written an was much more than a "horse story". It was the story of a women in her 40's finally learning to face fears and enjoy life.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The beautiful but sad story of how the author rediscovered her capacity to love while taking care of a terminally ill mare rescued from an abusive owner. Lay Me Down is one of the sweetest horses you will ever meet between the pages of a book.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5For anyone who has a love for horses, has felt the bonds and exhilaration such a love can bring, this book should not be missed. Richardson has given horse lover's something to treasure in the words in this book. Highly recommended.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Lovely read for horselovers...how we learn from our horses, even about death. Keep the Kleenex handy
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5It was an easy, nice book to read. I wouldn't rave about it, however the ending was quite emotional and I did cry for the first time reading a book.
Book preview
Three Little Words - Ashley Rhodes-Courter
preface
I have had more than a dozen so-called mothers in my life. Lorraine Rhodes gave birth to me. Gay Courter adopted me. Then there are the fillers. Some were kind, a few were quirky, and one, Marjorie Moss, was as wicked as a fairy-tale witch. No matter where I lived, I waited impatiently to be reunited with my mother. Sometimes we had frequent visits, but other times—for some unexplained reason—I did not see her for years at a stretch.
I remember the rush of joy as I fell into her arms after one of those interminable separations.
Sunshine, you’re my baby and I’m your only mother. You must listen to the one taking care of you, but she’s not your mama. Never forget, I’m the only mama who will love you forever and ever.
She pledged that we would be together soon. Soon! How often I heard that word. It was soft, soothing. Soon, I’ll be back,
she promised. I’ll bring more presents, soon. We’ll go home—soon.
Soon, soon, soon … I would croon the word to myself like a lullaby when I would try to sleep, a mantra when nobody would listen to me, a chant to block out doubts that surfaced when it seemed too long between visits. My mother loved me. I was her special Sunshine. She would be back soon. Soon! Yes, she would. Naïve and trusting, I always believed her, and in some very small way—even now—I still do.
1.
the day they stole my mother from me
Two days compete for the worst day in my life: The first is the day I was taken from my mother; the second is the day I arrived at the Mosses’ foster home four years later. Three weeks before I lost my mother, I had left South Carolina bound for Florida with her, her husband, and my brother. I was three and a half years old and remember lying on the backseat watching slippery raindrops making patterns as they plopped down the car’s windows.
My infant brother, Luke, was in a car seat, which nobody had bothered to belt in, so it squished me into the door when his father took a sharp turn. Luke had a heart monitor, but it must not have been on him all the time because I remember using it on my favorite toy: a Teddy Ruxpin bear.
Until Dustin Grover came along, we shared a trailer with my mother’s twin sister, Leanne, who had dropped out of school to help support me. Even though the twins looked completely different, they were interchangeable to me since Aunt Leanne spent almost as much time with me as my mother, and I never minded when one left and the other took over. I loved to nestle by Aunt Leanne’s side. She would rake my curls with her fingers while talking on the phone to her friends.
My mother was only seventeen when she gave birth to me. If she and my aunt were anything like most teenagers, they probably were more interested in hanging out with friends than changing diapers. Nevertheless, they worked different shifts and took turns caring for me. Their trailer became the local hangout because there was no adult supervision.
Turn that down,
my mother yelled one afternoon. I was watching cartoons, trying to drown out the teen voices by raising the volume higher and higher. I said, turn that down!
Well, if you would shut the hell up, I could hear the damn TV,
I said. My mother and her friends burst out laughing.
I was an intuitive two-year-old soaking up language and behaviors from a crew of rowdy adolescents who were trying on adult attitudes and habits. I got attention by acting grown up, and my mother bragged about how early I was toilet trained and how clearly I spoke.
My mother had a carefree attitude. She was too self-absorbed to fuss about my safety. Although she always strapped me in my car seat, her battered truck did not have seat belts. Driving down a bumpy South Carolina road, the unlocked door popped open. I tumbled out, rolling a few times before landing on the shoulder. My mother turned the truck around and found me waving at her. I was still buckled into the seat.
When my mother began living with Dustin—whom everyone called Dusty
—the whole mood in the house shifted and Aunt Leanne wasn’t around as much. Dusty was like an ocean that changed unexpectedly with the weather. One moment he could be placid, the next he turned into choppy waves that broke hard and stung. I cowered when he yelled. Since my mother was busy with me, she did not always have the perfect hot meal her boyfriend expected ready the moment he walked in the door.
Can’t you even bake a damn biscuit right?
he yelled after he saw the burnt bottom on one, sending the pie tin flying like a Frisbee.
I hid under my blanket as I always did when the fighting started, hoping it would protect me from their nasty words or physical brawls. I peered through a hole at a single object—like a shoe—and tried to make everything else disappear.
I remember when my pregnant mother awoke from a nap and found my aunt and Dusty sitting close together watching television. She caught them tickling and laughing. My mother screamed at my aunt, How could you? He’s the father of my baby!
You sure of that?
my aunt screeched back before she slammed the screen door behind her.
After that, she was gone for weeks, and I missed her so much that I would curl my hair around my own fingers and pretend it was her doing it.
Not long after that, there was a new baby: Tommy. My mother brought him home in a yellow blanket and let me kiss his tiny fingers. I don’t remember much else because he came and went in less than two months. Sometimes I thought that I had dreamed him or that he was merely a doll I was not supposed to touch. The last time I saw him, he had suddenly stopped moving and turned from pink to gray. We all sat in a room and everyone passed him around. He was lying in a box that was padded with a pillow.
My mother got pregnant again shortly after Tommy disappeared. A few months later she married Dusty, and for a short time we seemed like a happy little family. But only nine months after Tommy was born, Luke arrived premature. Before my mother was even twenty, she had managed to have three children in less than three years.
At least Luke—unlike me—came into the world with a father. At birth my new brother weighed only two pounds. My mother had to come home from the hospital without him.
Did you really have a baby?
I asked my mother.
He has to stay with the nurses until he gets bigger,
she explained.
A few days later I awoke to her sobbing. Dusty was trying to comfort her, but she pushed him away. It’s all your fault because you hit me!
she yelled.
I tried to understand how Dusty’s hitting her could harm the unborn baby. I rested my head on her belly. It felt like a balloon that had some of the air let out. When can I see my brother?
I asked.
They had to take him from the hospital in Spartanburg to the one in Greenville where they can care for him better,
my mother explained. We’ll drive up there as soon as we can.
In the meantime, my mother went back to work. Dusty was supposed to watch me while my mother worked the late shift. One night neighbors found me wandering through the trailer park alone and kept me until my mother returned home.
The next day she packed a bag and we moved into a Ronald McDonald House near the hospital.
We went to see Luke every day. Most of the time I had to wait outside in a room where there were little tables, coloring books, and crayons. Sometimes they would let me put on a mask and come into the room where the babies were kept in boxes—not like the wooden one that had held Tommy, but a plastic one that I could peek through when my mother lifted me up.
Is he ever getting out of there?
I asked.
Oh, yes,
my mother promised. He’s strong like his daddy.
When Luke came home seven months later, he was not much bigger than one of my dolls. He sometimes wore a doctor’s face mask instead of a diaper.
Aunt Leanne came by to help and called often. Where’s your mama?
she asked when I answered the phone.
In the kitchen cookin’ dope,
I replied.
I’m coming right over,
she said, but when she did, Dusty refused to let her in.
Dusty worked as a framing subcontractor. After an argument over money, his partner stormed over to our trailer. Dusty locked him out, but he busted down the door and then started tearing up the house. A chair hit the wall and a table flew in my direction. I ducked, but my mother started screaming, You almost hurt Ashley!
I’m okay, Mama,
I said as I crouched in a corner.
We need to move,
my mother announced to Dusty while they cleaned up the mess. There are too many bad influences on you around here.
And you’re an angel?
he shot back. Besides, all my work is here.
There’s plenty of work in Florida.
She kicked the broken chair into a corner. I wish I had never left there after Mama died.
Her mother—my maternal grandmother, Jenny—had her first child when she was fourteen, but she put that baby up for adoption. Over the next six years she had Perry; followed by the twins, Leanne and Lorraine; and finally, Sammie. Then, at twenty-one, Grandma Jenny was diagnosed with cervical cancer and had a hysterectomy. Sick, poor, and battered by her alcoholic husband, she decided she could not raise her kids any longer and turned them over to a Baptist children’s home. My mother did not have much to do with either parent for many years, but when Jenny was about to die in Florida, my mother went to see her for the last time. Jenny was thirty-three.
Using her small inheritance, my mother enrolled in cosmetology school. Before they would allow her to train with the hair treatment chemicals, she had to have a physical checkup. This is how she found out she was pregnant with me. My mother thinks she conceived me when she partied the night of her mother’s funeral. In any case, I was born thirty-nine weeks later. While she was in labor, she was watching The Young and the Restless, and so she named me Ashley after one of the soap opera characters.
When Dusty agreed to move to Tampa, my mother cheered up. As she packed, she hummed You Are My Sunshine
and explained to me, We’re moving to the Sunshine State to live happily ever after.
I do not remember much about the long car trip except singing along with Joan Jett on the radio. When we first arrived in Florida, we stayed at a motel, then a trailer that smelled like low tide. I have memories of walking around that trailer park carrying Luke’s bottle and begging for milk.
Our car always smelled of pickles and mustard from all the fast food we ate in it. I was enjoying my usual kids’ meal in the backseat when my mother shouted, Shit, shit!
A flashing red light made the car’s windows glow rosy, and I liked the way my hands looked, as though they were on fire.
A siren blared. Dusty banged the steering wheel. Ashley, you keep saying you gotta go potty, okay?
my mother ordered.
A police officer asked where our license plate was.
Mommy, gotta go potty!
I called loudly.
Where’re you headed?
the officer asked.
To my stepfather’s house,
my mother said in her most genial voice.
We’re just in from South Carolina. We’re moving here,
Dusty continued rapidly, so I’ll get a new Florida plate tomorrow.
Welcome to Florida,
he said, glancing at me and Luke before arresting Dusty for not having a license plate on the car or a valid driver’s license.
My mother alternately cussed and cried while we waited for Dusty to be released. It was several hours before we could go home to our apartment. The shoebox-style building was on tree-lined Sewaha Street. We’re living in a duplex now,
my mother explained, and I sensed that we had come up in the world. Three days later I encountered more police officers—the ones who broke up our family forever.
I was sitting on the stoop dressed only in shorts when the police cars pulled up. He’s not here,
my mother said when they asked for Dusty. One of the men kept coming toward her. My mother, who was holding Luke, screamed, I didn’t do anything!
Mama,
I cried, reaching both hands up for her to lift me as well. A uniformed man pushed me away and snatched Luke out of her arms. I tried to rush toward my mother, who was already being put in the backseat of a police car. The door slammed so hard, it shook my legs. Through the closed window, I could hear my mother shouting, Ashley!
Someone held me back as the car pulled away. I struggled and kicked trying to chase after her.
It’s okay! Settle down!
the man with the shiny buttons said.
I sobbed for my Teddy Ruxpin. Winky!
Who’s that?
The officer let me run inside. I pulled Winky out from under a blanket on my bed. Oh, it’s your teddy. He can come too.
He grabbed two of my T-shirts and told me to put one on and to wear my flip-flops. My Strawberry Shortcake T-shirt ended up on Luke, although it was way too big for him.
At the police station a man in uniform handed Luke to a woman in uniform. Luke tugged on Winky’s ears as I sat beside him and the female officer. In the background I could hear my mother yelling for us, but I could not see her. Two women wearing regular clothes arrived. One lifted Luke; the other’s rough hand pulled me in her direction. The woman who held Luke also took Winky.
No!
I cried, reaching for Winky.
It’s just for a little while,
the first woman told me.
Winky!
My mother came into view for a few seconds. Ashley! I’ll get you soon!
Then a door slammed and she was gone. I turned and Luke was no longer there. I was pushed outside and loaded into a car.
Mommy! Luke!
I cried. Winky!
You’ll see them later,
the woman said as our car drove off.
Thinking about that moment is like peeling a scab off an almost-healed wound. I still believed everything would return to normal. Little did I know, I would never live with my mother—or see Winky—again.
2.
they’re nice to you … until you’re naughty
When they ripped me from my family, nobody told me anything. I completely expected that I was going to end up wherever my mother and Luke were. I might have been too young for an explanation, but years would pass without anyone answering any of my questions. I went to live with complete strangers. I was shuffled like a hand-me-down toy for the next nine years. The first anguished hours away from my mother are clearer than the next few years.
Speed bumps slowed the car. I glimpsed a tree with blue blossoms as big as teacups. Here we are!
the driver said, as though I should be delighted with the destination.
The front door opened, and a woman bent over and patted my head. Hello there. I’m Mrs. O’Connor and I’m going to take care of you.
Mama?
She can’t come tonight,
Mrs. O’Connor said. Two toddlers clung to her legs.
She put me to bed in a room where other small children were sleeping in a crib, playpen, and bunk beds. It was crowded, but I felt utterly alone. I sobbed for my mother. When nobody soothed me, I started to whimper You Are My Sunshine
until I fell asleep.
In the morning I asked, Is my mama here yet?
No, but you’re going to be with your brother,
Mrs. O’Connor replied.
That afternoon another worker moved me to the home of Benedict and Annabelle Hines in Seffner. Luke was there, which made me happy, but they kept him downstairs with another baby while I had to sleep upstairs in a room with a slanted ceiling that frightened me.
If I couldn’t be in the same room with my brother, like in the South Carolina trailer, I wanted to be with my mother and Dusty. I did not care that this was the nicest house I had ever seen. There was a tire swing, a mini-trampoline, and a wading pool. But instead of waiting my turn to use any of these toys, I took my frustrations out on a younger girl who was also named Ashlee.
You’re my little pumpkin,
Mr. Hines said to make me feel special, but I knew they preferred the younger children. They especially fussed over Luke, who was so tiny, they could not believe he was almost a year old. Mrs. Hines cooked special food for him and claimed he was growing so fast because of her pureed beets.
I kept asking for my mother, but nobody ever explained why she did not come for me. Once, I handed Mrs. Hines the phone. Call my mama and tell her to pick me up!
I demanded.
I don’t have her number.
She sighed. But I’ll see what I can do.
A few days later they dressed Luke and me in our best clothes and Mr. Hines took us to the Department of Children and Families building.
My mother hugged me, then examined my arms and legs. How did you get all those red spots?
she asked with an accusing tone.
Bug bites.
What do they do, leave you out in the woods?
My mother directed her question to the worker who was standing in the doorway.
I don’t like it there! Take me home with you.
Sunshine, not today, but soon.
When, Mama, when?
She looked to the waiting worker and back to me. As soon as I have a better apartment and a job.
When we went for the next visit, we waited for a long time; but my mother never arrived.
Where is she?
I asked every few minutes, getting whinier each time.
Doesn’t look like the M-O-M is going to show,
the worker said.
How can she do this to her children?
Mr. Hines fumed. Switching to a cheerful voice, he said, Time to go.
But Mama—
We can’t wait any longer. Mrs. Hines will wonder what happened to us.
Please!
I begged. She’s coming! She’s coming!
He pushed Luke and me into the corridor. I’m not putting these children through this again,
Mr. Hines said to the worker.
I wanted to tell them that they were making a mistake, that they had the time wrong, because my mother would never miss a chance to see us. I pulled away from Mr. Hines and rushed back into the visitation room.
Let’s go,
Mr. Hines said in exasperation.
I ducked under a worker’s desk to stall the departure. My mother could be running late—she sometimes had problems with her car or not finding her way. Mr. Hines let go of Luke and lunged toward me. Ashley! Enough of this nonsense. We aren’t waiting any longer.
He reached under the desk, but I kicked his arm away. They had the time wrong; they weren’t patient enough; they weren’t giving her a chance. Eventually, they dragged me out flailing and crying and took me back to what they called home.
They couldn’t keep me from thinking about my mother all the time—her smiles, her songs in the shower, the way she painted her eyes and lips with colors. I would say, Mama, you look so beautiful,
and then she would kiss my cheek to blot her lipstick. I loved the mark it left. I was jealous that she had so many hugs and kisses for Dusty, and I often spied on them when I was supposed to be asleep in a motel room or the small space of one of our trailers.
I was playing with two teddy bears from the Hineses’ toy chest. Want to see all the ways my mommy and daddy have fun?
I asked the other girls. I pressed the bears’ fronts together. They squealed with laughter. And they can do it this way, too.
I had one hump the other’s back. Their giggles encouraged me, so I put one’s head between the other’s legs. I added the grunting noises I had heard in the dark.
What’s going on here?
Mrs. Hines chided when she checked on us.
The other children dispersed, but I gave Mrs. Hines the same demonstration. Why don’t you put the bears back and go out to play?
she said in a voice that left no room to disagree.
I stormed outside, slamming the screen door behind me. It’s my turn!
I shouted to Ashlee, who ignored me and pedaled off on the tricycle. Enraged, I caught up, reached around her neck, and choked her. Luke came over to join the fray. He grasped my leg and tried to pull me down. To shake him off, I kicked him. When he screeched, Mrs. Hines came running. She gripped my arm, steered me in the house, and gave me a stern time-out on a stool.
A while later I heard her complaining about me on the phone. I do believe this child is hyper. She breaks all her toys, is really mean to the little ones—even her brother—and isn’t still for a minute.
Her voice changed to a whisper as she recounted how I had played with the bears. When she mentioned that I had started wetting the bed, I went to where the others were watching TV and started to mimic what was on the screen.
One of the older children shooed me away, but I did not listen. Hey, Ashley, we can’t see through you,
he said.
If my mother had been there, she would have applauded my antics; but here, I was nobody’s special Sunshine.
Then, after only four months, Mrs. Hines announced that Luke and I were going to live with my grandfather. Won’t that be nice?
she said as she packed my clothes.
I went around the house piling up Luke’s toys and bottles, but they kept ending up back in their original places. I was oblivious to the fact that Mrs. Hines was packing only my possessions.
When the worker arrived, Luke was napping. I was bundled into the car. What about my brother?
He has to take his nap,
the worker said. You’ll see him later.
It took several days before I realized Luke was not coming to my new foster home, which was nowhere near my grandfather’s house. I wondered what was so horrible about me and why I had been rejected again. Then there was my perpetual question: What had I done that was so terrible that I had to be taken from my mother? I had no idea why she hadn’t been able to get me back. You would think someone would have explained it in words a child could understand. Yet nobody did. I believed they were keeping secrets from me—but supposedly, they thought they were protecting me.
Now I know that—in the beginning at least—my mother never did anything seriously wrong. She never hurt us. She loved us and I adored her. Originally, the police had arrested my mother for writing a bad check; but Dusty admitted he had stolen the checks, and she was released six days later. When my mother returned home, she found our duplex padlocked. Three weeks after Dusty was let out of jail, they arrested him again for attempting to steal cigarettes from a food store. My mother moved to a new apartment but had lost most of our possessions. Although she submitted applications for food stamps and aid for dependent children, the welfare officials told her that she was ineligible because her children were no longer living with her. When she tried to get us back, the caseworker said she had to be able to provide food for us.
Two months after we were placed in temporary shelter care, Judge Vincent E. Giglio officially ordered us into foster care. We were now state property. Our legal guardian was the executive branch of the Florida government, an entity that would rather pay strangers to care for us than offer any economic help to my mother to care for her own children.
My fourth mother was Yolanda Schott. Other than running around in some orange groves, I have no memory of my time with her. I would still like to know why the Schotts took me in—and why they let me go after such a short time. Maybe it was a temporary placement until the state could find something better; or maybe the Schotts did not like me either. The blankness bothers me, as does the fact that there is not a single person who can fill in that part of my story.
Next, I moved to the home of Julio and Rosa Ortiz and stayed with them for thirteen months. They lived in a Tampa neighborhood where the houses were only a few feet apart. Their small backyard included an aboveground pool as well as a chicken coop. The Ortizes had three teenage birth daughters and four adopted children, plus a constant stream of foster children. Some were there for only a few days; some came before me and stayed longer. At least twenty children cycled in and out of the home while I was with them. There were so many of us