"The Ongoing War on Poverty" by A. Craig Newman © 2012
Writer's Notes:
I wrote this story after reading its title in a newspaper headline. Kayla makes her debut in this story, but she has further adventures and experiences in my Top Floor stories. She's interesting to me as a character because she has a peculiar conflict. I don't explore that issue in this story, but I do lay the groundwork. -ACN
I wrote this story after reading its title in a newspaper headline. Kayla makes her debut in this story, but she has further adventures and experiences in my Top Floor stories. She's interesting to me as a character because she has a peculiar conflict. I don't explore that issue in this story, but I do lay the groundwork. -ACN
Paying no attention to the two men staring intently at her, Kayla smoothed out the formfitting skirt of her business suit. She crossed her arms and absently drummed her fingers on her bicep as she waited for the elevator. Each finger tap caused the oversized diamond on her engagement ring to sparkle, even in the poor fluorescent lighting of the Washington Development's lobby. The elevator doors opened allowing the unmistakable scent of urine to waft over her. Resisting any urge to react, she stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the tenth floor. The men smiled at each other as the doors closed.
The rickety box lurched upwards, but Kayla barely wavered from her spot. She opened her shoulder bag, slipped off her ring, and dropped it inside with a metallic clink. From the bag, she pulled a leather portfolio. She knew all the information inside by heart, but she also knew it was good to have out for appearance purposes. She had three stops to make in "The Wash" projects, the first in apartment 1009.
She rapped three times on the door and waited for a response. Years of experience have taught her to tune out the sounds of loud music, babies crying, and arguments coming from other apartments. Even the smells of marijuana, poorly cooked ethnic food, and bodily waste did not faze her. Kayla waited patiently, head up, her face a professional, stoic mask.
Kayla heard shuffling behind the door and noticed the peephole grow dark. "Who is it?" a woman yelled from inside. Her tone seemed to dare the respondent to lack valid reasons for bothering her.
"Ms. Jeffries, my name is Kayla and I'm with the organization."
"What organization? We're not buying anything and we don't want no Jehovah's Witnesses."
"I'm neither a saleswoman nor a Jehovah's Witness. I'd like to talk to you about your son, Jonathan Jeffries." There was a pause as Kayla allowed the mention of Jonathan to have the proper effect on his mother. She spoke again before the mother's mind could run too far and start any panic. "We would like to offer him an opportunity."
There was another pause before Kayla heard no less than three locks disengage. The door opened as far as the chain lock would allow. Ms. Jeffries's chubby ebony face peeked from behind the chain. "What kind of opportunity?"
"The kind you've always wanted him to have."
Those words won Kayla entrance into the 3-room shoebox the Jeffries family called home. She stepped into the main area which acted as the living room, dining room, and Jonathan's bedroom from the looks of the sheets piled up next to the couch.
Ms. Jeffries motioned to a chair at the dining table. "Who are you with again?"
"A philanthropic group that wishes to remain anonymous. We refer to ourselves informally as the organization."
Ms. Jeffries looked appraisingly at Kayla. "So, what's this opportunity you mentioned?"
Kayla opened her portfolio. "Is Jonathan here?"
"We called his father Jonathan." Ms. Jeffries theatrically spat on the ground in disgust. "Call him Nathan." When she called his name, a sheepish lanky boy emerged from the main bedroom. From his glasses to his sneakers, his fashion sense seemed stuck in a mix of past decades. Kayla knew the telltale signs of hand-me-downs and charity. "Sit boy, Ms. Kayla here wants to talk to you."
"Yes, Ma'am," Nathan said once, apparently acknowledging both the instruction and the visitor with the one phrase. When he sat silently, Kayla began.
"The organization is dedicated to fighting the war on poverty through a variety of means. One such avenue is to provide education and scholarship opportunities." Nathan and his mother both perked up considerably at the last word. "We believe that any student who shows drive and dedication should not be denied access to higher education. So, we search for students who have that rare combination of clean discipline records and the support of their teachers, while not qualifying for support and assistance through other means.
"Nathan, you are one of the most impressive C students we've seen in quite some time. Your teachers have nothing but kind words to say about you. In researching your appointment to the program, we heard the phrases 'hard worker' and 'wish all my students were like him' on more than one occasion." Ms. Jeffries beamed proudly and rubbed her son's shoulder as Kayla spoke. "Unfortunately, your less than spectacular grades put most scholarships outside of your grasp. Considering your mother's credit, loans seem unlikely. Without such aid, you cannot afford college."
"It takes all that I make just to afford this," Ms. Jeffries added, gesturing to the apartment around them.
"Well, we would like to change that. If you attend community college in the fall, we will pay for everything." Nathan's jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide enough to fill the lens of his glasses.
Ms. Jeffries started to weep. "You mean my boy can go to college?"
"No, I mean you both can. We will pay your tuition, rent, utilities - all expenses - while you attain your GED, Ms. Jeffries -"
"Elia, please."
Kayla nodded and smiled. "Very well. Elia, if you gain your GED and your Associate's degree, the organization will help you find work. Nathan, keep your nose clean the rest of this summer, and get your Associates in the next two years. Considering the hard work that you both have demonstrated - Nathan at school and you at three different jobs, Elia - we anticipate success. Then, you, Elia, will be able to find better employment while you, Nathan, can move on to your Bachelors." Ms. Jeffries and her son both started to cry as Kayla continued to describe the program.
An hour later, Kayla found herself in an identical apartment, 3 floors down, talking to Blake Donahue and his wife, Shareen. Kayla gave the couple the same teaser about an opportunity that she had always used when visiting potential members.
"The organization is dedicated to fighting the war on poverty through a variety of means," she continued. "We believe that any person who shows drive and has acquired education and experience but is still unable to rise above the poverty line may be lacking the proper opportunities. Blake, you've caught our attention as someone who could use an employment opportunity."
"Well, I've got a job -"
"A job at a local grocery store that gets held up on a regular basis. During one of these attempts, you were shot in the left arm. A few inches over and that could have been your heart." Shareen rocked a baby to sleep, but it was Blake who grew quiet as Kayla spoke. "At night, you drive a taxi. Honest work, but also hazardous, low paying, and dead end. What we want to give you is a chance at a career and hopefully a future."
"What kind of chance?" Shareen piped up. Her rocking paused as she awaited an answer. The baby started to squirm, but Shareen hardly noticed.
"Blake, you're the primary manager at the store, so you know how to run a business. Your dispatchers have all vouched for your abilities behind the wheel, under the hood, and face-to-face. Shareen, you have an administrative assistant background. If you're willing to take a chance on yourselves, the organization is willing to pay for everything and take a chance on you two."
Blake and Shareen stared at each other, dumbfounded. Then, he uttered a nervous laugh. "Uh….What do you mean?"
"I mean in one month I'll return and I want a proposal as to what you want to do. If you want to stay where you are, I'll go away and never bother you again. On the other hand, if you want to try your hand at owning your own store, starting a limo company, or the ability to seek opportunities elsewhere, the sky is the limit. In one month, you present to me the idea and a description of the costs and benefits and we'll go on from there."
Mouth agape, Blake stared at Kayla. He stayed in that frozen state for several moments. Then, he shook his head, trying to clear and organize his thoughts. "It usually takes a year or more for a startup company to start showing a profit. I'm afraid we can't wait that long. We've got a baby to provide for, as you see."
Kayla nodded. "The fact that you even know that only confirms our faith in your business acumen. And you misunderstood what I meant by 'pay for everything.'"
When she stepped into the lobby an hour later, she was alone. She walked swiftly through the lobby and through the glass doors. The typical city scents wafted towards her as she walked towards her car. From the mix, she picked the strawberry incense and ganja combination and knew what awaited her as she approached the corner of the building. She slipped her hand in her bag.
"Hey, where you goin', honey?" she heard a man with a slight Jamaican accent say. The owner of the accent and the scent stepped out of the shadows and onto the walk, blocking Kayla's route to her car. She took a step backwards and turned around, only to see her path back to the lobby blocked by the other man she pretended not to notice earlier.
"He said where you goin, baby?" sneered the second man.
"He said 'honey', not 'baby', Mr. Bell," she answered evenly.
Both men stopped in their tracks. She stood between them, about 5 steps from each.
"How you know me?"
"We know all about you and your cohort, Mr. Kingston here. The organization has tracked you both for some time."
"What organization?" Kingston spoke.
"We fight the war on poverty following three beliefs. You're not fit for our education and employment goals, but you fit our third goal perfectly."
"What goal that?" Mr. Kingston asked.
Kayla faced Mr. Kingston, then Mr. Bell. Both felt sharp pains burn through their chests and strength bleed from their legs. Kayla continued her trek towards her car. She paused briefly by Mr. Kingston's dying body, and pulled a silenced pistol out of her bag.
"Terminate any threatening criminal element."
The rickety box lurched upwards, but Kayla barely wavered from her spot. She opened her shoulder bag, slipped off her ring, and dropped it inside with a metallic clink. From the bag, she pulled a leather portfolio. She knew all the information inside by heart, but she also knew it was good to have out for appearance purposes. She had three stops to make in "The Wash" projects, the first in apartment 1009.
She rapped three times on the door and waited for a response. Years of experience have taught her to tune out the sounds of loud music, babies crying, and arguments coming from other apartments. Even the smells of marijuana, poorly cooked ethnic food, and bodily waste did not faze her. Kayla waited patiently, head up, her face a professional, stoic mask.
Kayla heard shuffling behind the door and noticed the peephole grow dark. "Who is it?" a woman yelled from inside. Her tone seemed to dare the respondent to lack valid reasons for bothering her.
"Ms. Jeffries, my name is Kayla and I'm with the organization."
"What organization? We're not buying anything and we don't want no Jehovah's Witnesses."
"I'm neither a saleswoman nor a Jehovah's Witness. I'd like to talk to you about your son, Jonathan Jeffries." There was a pause as Kayla allowed the mention of Jonathan to have the proper effect on his mother. She spoke again before the mother's mind could run too far and start any panic. "We would like to offer him an opportunity."
There was another pause before Kayla heard no less than three locks disengage. The door opened as far as the chain lock would allow. Ms. Jeffries's chubby ebony face peeked from behind the chain. "What kind of opportunity?"
"The kind you've always wanted him to have."
Those words won Kayla entrance into the 3-room shoebox the Jeffries family called home. She stepped into the main area which acted as the living room, dining room, and Jonathan's bedroom from the looks of the sheets piled up next to the couch.
Ms. Jeffries motioned to a chair at the dining table. "Who are you with again?"
"A philanthropic group that wishes to remain anonymous. We refer to ourselves informally as the organization."
Ms. Jeffries looked appraisingly at Kayla. "So, what's this opportunity you mentioned?"
Kayla opened her portfolio. "Is Jonathan here?"
"We called his father Jonathan." Ms. Jeffries theatrically spat on the ground in disgust. "Call him Nathan." When she called his name, a sheepish lanky boy emerged from the main bedroom. From his glasses to his sneakers, his fashion sense seemed stuck in a mix of past decades. Kayla knew the telltale signs of hand-me-downs and charity. "Sit boy, Ms. Kayla here wants to talk to you."
"Yes, Ma'am," Nathan said once, apparently acknowledging both the instruction and the visitor with the one phrase. When he sat silently, Kayla began.
"The organization is dedicated to fighting the war on poverty through a variety of means. One such avenue is to provide education and scholarship opportunities." Nathan and his mother both perked up considerably at the last word. "We believe that any student who shows drive and dedication should not be denied access to higher education. So, we search for students who have that rare combination of clean discipline records and the support of their teachers, while not qualifying for support and assistance through other means.
"Nathan, you are one of the most impressive C students we've seen in quite some time. Your teachers have nothing but kind words to say about you. In researching your appointment to the program, we heard the phrases 'hard worker' and 'wish all my students were like him' on more than one occasion." Ms. Jeffries beamed proudly and rubbed her son's shoulder as Kayla spoke. "Unfortunately, your less than spectacular grades put most scholarships outside of your grasp. Considering your mother's credit, loans seem unlikely. Without such aid, you cannot afford college."
"It takes all that I make just to afford this," Ms. Jeffries added, gesturing to the apartment around them.
"Well, we would like to change that. If you attend community college in the fall, we will pay for everything." Nathan's jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide enough to fill the lens of his glasses.
Ms. Jeffries started to weep. "You mean my boy can go to college?"
"No, I mean you both can. We will pay your tuition, rent, utilities - all expenses - while you attain your GED, Ms. Jeffries -"
"Elia, please."
Kayla nodded and smiled. "Very well. Elia, if you gain your GED and your Associate's degree, the organization will help you find work. Nathan, keep your nose clean the rest of this summer, and get your Associates in the next two years. Considering the hard work that you both have demonstrated - Nathan at school and you at three different jobs, Elia - we anticipate success. Then, you, Elia, will be able to find better employment while you, Nathan, can move on to your Bachelors." Ms. Jeffries and her son both started to cry as Kayla continued to describe the program.
An hour later, Kayla found herself in an identical apartment, 3 floors down, talking to Blake Donahue and his wife, Shareen. Kayla gave the couple the same teaser about an opportunity that she had always used when visiting potential members.
"The organization is dedicated to fighting the war on poverty through a variety of means," she continued. "We believe that any person who shows drive and has acquired education and experience but is still unable to rise above the poverty line may be lacking the proper opportunities. Blake, you've caught our attention as someone who could use an employment opportunity."
"Well, I've got a job -"
"A job at a local grocery store that gets held up on a regular basis. During one of these attempts, you were shot in the left arm. A few inches over and that could have been your heart." Shareen rocked a baby to sleep, but it was Blake who grew quiet as Kayla spoke. "At night, you drive a taxi. Honest work, but also hazardous, low paying, and dead end. What we want to give you is a chance at a career and hopefully a future."
"What kind of chance?" Shareen piped up. Her rocking paused as she awaited an answer. The baby started to squirm, but Shareen hardly noticed.
"Blake, you're the primary manager at the store, so you know how to run a business. Your dispatchers have all vouched for your abilities behind the wheel, under the hood, and face-to-face. Shareen, you have an administrative assistant background. If you're willing to take a chance on yourselves, the organization is willing to pay for everything and take a chance on you two."
Blake and Shareen stared at each other, dumbfounded. Then, he uttered a nervous laugh. "Uh….What do you mean?"
"I mean in one month I'll return and I want a proposal as to what you want to do. If you want to stay where you are, I'll go away and never bother you again. On the other hand, if you want to try your hand at owning your own store, starting a limo company, or the ability to seek opportunities elsewhere, the sky is the limit. In one month, you present to me the idea and a description of the costs and benefits and we'll go on from there."
Mouth agape, Blake stared at Kayla. He stayed in that frozen state for several moments. Then, he shook his head, trying to clear and organize his thoughts. "It usually takes a year or more for a startup company to start showing a profit. I'm afraid we can't wait that long. We've got a baby to provide for, as you see."
Kayla nodded. "The fact that you even know that only confirms our faith in your business acumen. And you misunderstood what I meant by 'pay for everything.'"
When she stepped into the lobby an hour later, she was alone. She walked swiftly through the lobby and through the glass doors. The typical city scents wafted towards her as she walked towards her car. From the mix, she picked the strawberry incense and ganja combination and knew what awaited her as she approached the corner of the building. She slipped her hand in her bag.
"Hey, where you goin', honey?" she heard a man with a slight Jamaican accent say. The owner of the accent and the scent stepped out of the shadows and onto the walk, blocking Kayla's route to her car. She took a step backwards and turned around, only to see her path back to the lobby blocked by the other man she pretended not to notice earlier.
"He said where you goin, baby?" sneered the second man.
"He said 'honey', not 'baby', Mr. Bell," she answered evenly.
Both men stopped in their tracks. She stood between them, about 5 steps from each.
"How you know me?"
"We know all about you and your cohort, Mr. Kingston here. The organization has tracked you both for some time."
"What organization?" Kingston spoke.
"We fight the war on poverty following three beliefs. You're not fit for our education and employment goals, but you fit our third goal perfectly."
"What goal that?" Mr. Kingston asked.
Kayla faced Mr. Kingston, then Mr. Bell. Both felt sharp pains burn through their chests and strength bleed from their legs. Kayla continued her trek towards her car. She paused briefly by Mr. Kingston's dying body, and pulled a silenced pistol out of her bag.
"Terminate any threatening criminal element."
