A boy in the squeaky bed beside Robby yelled, “Quit crying, baby.”

Robby turned his back to the mean kid. He pulled the thin blanket tight to his chin, sniffed, and wiped his runny nose on the pillowcase. He did not want to cry, but something seemed wrong. The aching in his tummy would not stop, and it kept making gurgling noises. He was hungry. Where was his Mommy? Surely, she would come to take him home the next day. Robby must have made her mad again. He would promise not to be bad anymore.

He sat up, looking around the long, dim room. Lots of other boys slept in beds, and he counted them. There were ten, with Robby being number seven in the line. A glow came from beneath one cover—perhaps from a flashlight?  

Robby’s tummy growled like an angry dog again, but he had no food, no water, and he had forgotten to eat dinner in the huge room where all the kids had been so loud. Why couldn’t he have gone home to eat with his family?

Was Sandra there too, in another room? He hadn’t seen his big sister or his baby brother either, and Mrs. Willis, the fat, funny-smelling woman, didn’t tell him anything besides where to sleep. Where did his Mommy and Daddy go? Why was he in this strange, scary place all by himself? 

CONTINUE HERE…

When Mommy comes to get him tomorrow, he will say he’s sorry and that he won’t take the red gumball again, but the man who had said he could have it seemed nice. He and a lady had taken him on a long drive then. Why hadn’t they brought him back to his house? Had they got lost? Sometimes, Robby got lost.

A snort came from a kid across the room. Robby’s father often made silly sounds when he fell asleep in the chair. 

Robby lay back down, cold air coming through a hole in the blanket. “Things will be better in the morning,” his sister told him whenever he got in trouble. He missed Sandra, but he would be home soon.


The funny-smelling lady who smelled like sour pickles in the jar at home, Mrs. Willis, entered the room to wake the children. Robby opened his eyes but wanted to stay in bed, so he placed the pillow on his face, hoping she would leave him alone. His mother should be waking him up, not the grouchy Mrs. Willis.

The other boys in the room got up and started getting dressed. They seemed older. She came over and tore the covers off. “Get up, Robby.” 

“Is Mommy coming for me today?”

Mrs. Willis held clothes toward him. “Put these on.”

“But those aren’t mine.”

She roughly removed his tee shirt, pulling it over his head and grimacing upon sniffing it. “These stink. Stand up,” she said. Afraid of the woman, Robby did as he was told. Mrs. Willis took off his shorts and threw everything in a basket by the bed. “Why didn’t you wear the pajamas I gave you?” 

He wanted to be ready for when his mother came to get him, although she hadn’t yet. The clothes Mrs. Willis helped him put on were loose. “They’re too big.”

She rolled up the sleeves and pant legs. “They will do for now.”

Mrs. Willis herded all the boys into the bathroom to pee and brush their teeth. She handed Robby a toothbrush and squirted a tiny bead of toothpaste on it. “Use this,” she said, pointing to a cup on a shelf below the sink. It had a faded number four written in ink on a piece of white tape. “Keep it here.” 

Robby moved the stiff toothbrush across his teeth as Mrs. Willis scolded another child for splashing water on the mirror. 

He followed at the end of the line of boys who walked down the hall, laughing and pushing each other’s shoulders. Mrs. Willis grasped firmly to Robby’s collar, hustling him along. He stumbled over one pant leg that had come unrolled. 

“Watch where you walk,” she said. 

Where were they going?

Soon, they all trudged into the echoey room where Robby was supposed to have eaten dinner the night before but hadn’t. Noise filled the space as boys and girls of all ages sat at long tables, eating, talking, and yelling. 

Robby did not like that place. After breakfast, his Mommy would definitely come, but maybe she did not know where he had been taken. 

Mrs. Willis shoved him into a chair and motioned at another child. “Davey, this is Robby.”

“Aw, why me?” Davey whined, rolling his eyes. 

A screech came from the end of the table. Mrs. Willis slapped Davey across the back of his head. “Do it.” Then she hurried away to handle two fighting children. 

“Hey, kid. How old are you?” asked Davey.

Davey looked like the boy who lived next door to them at home who was in first grade. 

“I’m three years old.” Robby glanced around the room. “Where are we?”

“The orphanage.” 

A frown donned Robby’s face. He didn’t understand. “What’s that?”

“A place you go when you don’t have parents.” 

“But I have a mommy and daddy,” corrected Robby, confused as to why he would be in a place like that.

“Welp, they don’t want you no more.”

A pain surged in Robby’s tummy, but not from being hungry. “No, that’s a lie.”

Davey shrugged. “Believe what you want.” He turned his attention to another boy.

Robby sat quietly, thinking. Might Davey be right? Sometimes, his family got mad at him. Is that why they did not want him? His head fell forward, and he covered his eyes as tears started dripping down his cheeks. Why had they sent him away?

Davey’s sharp elbow poked into Robby’s side. “Don’t do that around here.” 

Frightened to do something else wrong, Robby took a long breath and brushed his eyes with his oversized sleeve. A bowl appeared in front of him. He looked into the white, lumpy stuff inside, having never seen anything like it before. After watching others scoop it up with a spoon, he did the same. Not liking the salty taste but being too starved to turn it away, he finished every last drop.

Robby waited all day for his mother to show up, but she never came. Many days and nights went by, and still, she did not come to take him home. If his Mommy and Daddy were not returning, would his sister Sandra come? She did not either.

Sometimes, he would ask Mrs. Willis, who always seemed busy and bossy. One day, she told him bluntly, “Robby, no one is coming back for you.”

He ran hard to a small hiding spot he had discovered on the playground—a place where he could go cry by himself without anyone making fun of him. He sat there alone as his sobs went unheard by other children.