Disclaimer: I don't own Law and Order SVU or it's characters. The song, Motherless Child I believe is a African-American spiritual (I'm not sure). Either way, I don't own it.

A/N: I haven't sent this to my beta yet. I just wanted to see what people thought of it, so expect mistakes.

Motherless Child

I wonder if I'm crazy. No really, I do. Sometimes I sit, curled up in a fetal position, and pondering my complex mental state, trying to understand why I'm the way I am. Why do I have all these walls built around my true spirit? Why don't I let people in? Why do create a new life, a new me, everywhere I go? Why can I see things other people can't? Why can't I love? Why do I cry when I hear the Hawaiian version of Some Where Over the Rainbow? Why do I cry in general? My questions go unanswered. They just hang over me like disgraceful chandeliers, glass objects that mirror a reflection of abandonment, hurt, unknown truths. I look up, hoping they'll break into millions of pieces, never to be seen again. How do I feel, they ask me? I feel...I feel...I don't know what I feel....

Sometimes I feel like a Motherless Child

Sometimes I feel like a Motherless Child

Sometimes I feel like a Motherless Child

A long way from home

I met the lady on a rather peaceful day, actually. The New York sun cast a bright light over the busy city, kissing the inhabitants as they slowly guided themselves toward their destinations. For once in a blue moon nobody was rushing. No cursing, well maybe cursing, but everyone seemed to have a foreign amount of patience with one another. I found it all amazing. I made my home on a hard, wooden, park bench in Central Park. I sat, spitting sunflower seeds onto the ground, reading an Octavia Butler novel. My tired eyes downcast. Although I wouldn't be considered a shy person, I know I am less than humane. I know that I'm invisible. Just a stain, or should I say strain, on an already imperfect American dream. I'm only the topic of hushed whispers, the punch line of the superior laughs, the force that shakes their heads.

Back to the lady. Anyway, I know I stink. I can't paint a pretty, well thought out image for you. I'm funky, stinky, I reek, and that's it. Sometimes I look up to see people cast looks at me. If I had a nickel for each sympathetic look a get—I'd be a broke mothafucka. Not that I'm not one already. I guess this would be a perfect time to warn you, I've got ADD. For those that don't know, ADD is a polite medical term that basically means "This mothafucka doesn't pay attention to shit, beware all!" If I jump from place to place, you now know why. So yeah, people look at me like I'm nothing most of the time, if they look at me at all. To most people I'm just a stench on their crisp polluted air. But not to the lady.

"Shouldn't you be in school?"

My head shot up like a long anticipated erection (liked that, didn't you?), I couldn't believe somebody actually gave a fuck about my whereabouts, I didn't know somebody actually gave a fuck about me in general. I knew I was glaring at her. I tend to do that when I meet new people. It's one of my defense mechanisms. Ya know, glaring at people hoping they'll tense up and walk away? Not the lady. All she did was smile softly. A smile directed towards me?! Unbelievable!

"Excusez-moi?" I hadn't spoken English in a long time, then I again I hadn't spoken very much at all.

"I said," she answers in perfect French. "Why aren't you in school?"

"That's my business," I said, this time in English.

"It's also mine..."

"Let me ask you something," I interrupt. "You appear to be a career woman, you look sharp, like you have a keen mind. Do I look like somebody that belongs in school?"

"Good point," she laughed, nodding her head. "But you're a child and children belong in school."

"Yeah, well, not this one anyway."

"How long you been out here?"


"Well...I figured you might want something to eat, maybe a shower, some clothes."

"And are you going to pull that out of your ass?" I snapped. I actually hadn't meant to be so disrespectful, but I'm prideful. Charity doesn't sit well with me.

"I'm not offering charity," she said calmly. It was almost as if she'd read my mind. "To be frank you're skinny, it's damn near ninety degreases and your wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, and I know you're sick of the sweat rolling down your head. I figured you could use a break."

"Yeah? Well how do I know I can trust you?"

"You've got an intuition, follow it."

I stared at the lady, darting my eyes slightly uncomfortably, wondering what to do. I was damn hungry, no two ways about that, and I could use better clothing. I was told, almost forcefully, to follow her. I jumped off the bench, shoved my book into the back pocket of my dirty jeans, and surprisingly took the clean welcoming hand she stuck out at me.

"McDonalds sound good?"

"Yeah," I said softly.

"After you eat, I'll get you some clothes, find you a shower, and if you'd like you can pretend like this never happened. Like a good dream."

"Good dream? I thought you said this wasn't charity..."

"It isn't, but food is food, clothes are clothes. I know if I were in your shoes I'd be saving this day for a comforting memory," when I said nothing she just nodded down at me. "By the way, what's your name?"

"Ayo," I don't know what possessed me to tell a stranger my real name, my birth name, but whatever it was yanked the damn words out, the way I was yanked...never mind. "Ayo-Yejide."

"Yoruba?" I shrugged, I knew very little about myself when I met her. She sent me a compassionate glanced and nodded. She seemed to do a lot of nodding.


"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

"Oh. Alex, Alexandra Cabot."

"You must be a lawyer Ms. Cabot..."

"Really, what data helped you to muster up that conclusion?"

"You analyze every damn thing, you study my traits and use them to appeal to me, get me to understand your side. Using my own personality and feelings to win me over. Plus you've got an arsenal of questions for everything."

"Well," she laughed heartily. She didn't strike me as a laughing person. I mean, sure, she laughed softly and graciously. But this Alexandra Cabot woman seemed serious, focused, determined. It was almost like I was a Gary-Stu from one of those fan fiction stories devoted fans of fictional media publish on the internet. Gorgeous, intelligent, sexy, unrealistically desirable, highly skilled at changing true characters. Not me. I guess she could trust me. Maybe because she felt like she had nothing to lose with me, she could let her hair down. Oddly for me, I felt the same way about her. "I am lawyer. You're very observant, highly intelligent, how old are you anyway?"

"That's irrelevant; I was born in the nineties, that's all you need to know."

"I understand."

"You understand a lot for someone with privilege."

"Call it natural talent."

"No, I believe you acquired that asset from your job."

"You know too much."

"And that comes with my Job."

For once, she said nothing

Please review!!! Chapter 2 should be coming up soon....