It was JT who found it: that picture of all of us, at our place on Maffitt.
JT and me, we still go to the same school, even though we be in different foster care. Wished I could tell Mama about it, but there ain’t no way to get hold of her—not right now. She’s working in Atlanta. But she’s coming back at Christmas-time, and with enough money for a lawyer, so she can get us back. Which is what you call ironic, cause her leaving us alone so she go could to work is why DHS split us up in the first place.
Don’t know where baby Zina is these days. No one can tell me. I still see that child in my mind’s eye—her chubby ballerina feet prancing across the painted porch floor. Girl’d be almost six now.
JT say the whole neighborhood is gone now.
This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw, a location-based fiction prompt inspired by Google Maps. To read more stories inspired by the prompt, or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button: