Finding Me by Michelle Knight, Michelle Burford Page B

snapping on his PJs. “You’re such a silly little boy!” He just grinned.
    I absolutely loved sharing the holidays with Joey, especially because my family never really celebrated. During Christmas 2001 Joey was two. I took some of the money from my Social Security check and went to the local Family Dollar to buy him some presents. He kept asking for a tree. To be honest, I didn’t quite have the money to purchase gifts and a tree, so I tried to make a little tree myself by gathering branches and leaves from the street and attaching them to a pole with super glue. It was pretty pathetic looking, but at two, Joey didn’t really know the difference. “Pretty!” he said when I attached the last branch a few days before Christmas. We both just stood there and admired it.
    I didn’t wrap up Joey’s presents until the night before Christmas. He was so excited, so I knew he’d try to sneak and open them. At midnight I began wrapping his gifts downstairs in the living room. A little after 1 a.m., I finally put the presents under the makeshift tree and cozied up next to him in bed, wondering how early he’d try to get me up.
    Less than four hours later, at 5 a.m., Joey was wide awake. “Mommy, Mommy!” he said, bouncing up and down on the mattress. “Christmas!”
    I turned over and buried my head underneath a pillow. “Yay, it’s Christmas!” he continued shouting. “Jingle bells, jingle bells!” he sang. A couple of minutes later I dragged myself up, rubbed my eyes, and put on my glasses.
    “Okay, huggy bear,” I said. “Mommy is awake now.” Just seeing his face so lit up was enough to get me out of bed.
    We sang three verses of “O, Christmas Tree” together first—Joey just repeating the song’s name over and over—and then I let him open the presents. There was paper all over that room. He screamed when he opened the first package. “Helmet!” I nodded and smiled as he put on the football helmet.
    “Yes, baby,” I said. “I knew you’d like that.”
    Then he went totally nuts when he opened another box to find a football. “Wow!” he exclaimed, widening his eyes. “More football!”
    I had set out to give Joey the best Christmas ever—and before the clock even struck 6 a.m. it seemed I had pulled that off. “Thank you, Mommy!” Joey shouted as he threw his arms around my neck.
    “I love you,” I said, cupping his chin in my hand. “I want you to always know that.” He was in total bliss, and so was I—at least until January rolled around and I realized how little money I had left after the holidays.

7
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    Losing Joey
     
     
     
    I N THE SPRING of 2002 I began searching for a job— any job. I looked every day. I was tired of being broke, and I was done with depending on my SSI check.
    “Ma, will you watch Joey for me?” I’d ask so I could go pick up some applications. Sometimes she’d agree to. When she did, I went to every fast food restaurant in the city, applying for jobs. But when you’re four foot two and can’t even reach the cash register or the coffee machine, nobody wants to hire you. I was willing to take any kind of position, even one that paid me under the table—I knew my options were limited because I hadn’t finished high school. I scoured the streets of Cleveland for weeks, but by the beginning of summer I still hadn’t caught a break.
    One afternoon in early June, after I’d been out looking again, I dragged myself in the front door. I’d come up empty-handed, so I decided to walk home early, around 4 p.m. When I went into one of the bedrooms on the second floor, I saw my mother’s boyfriend, Carlos. He was so drunk that he was slurring his words. My mother, who I’d thought was watching Joey, was nowhere in sight.
    “Come over here!” Carlos said. He lunged at me.
    “Mommy, Mommy!” Joey screamed. He was so panicked that he began peeing on himself. Carlos saw this and grabbed Joey by the right leg. In one quick motion he fractured