113- More Donations

The donation box has been filling up quickly. In addition to Robbie’s Nintendo, students and their parents have brought in numerous items: a microwave, dishes, socks and underwear, shoes, canned foods, blankets, and all sorts of other eclectic objects.
I am grateful for the generosity that Demarcus’ classmates have shown, but now I am beginning to worry about the logistics. How will I give these things to Demarcus’ mother? Will she be offended by the charity? Does she even have a place to store all of these objects? What good is a boxful of supplies, if you have no home in which to keep them? I figure I’ll go to Demarcus’ church and ask them what to do with all of the stuff we’ve collected.
As if she had read my mind, Class Mommy bounded into my classroom this afternoon and bombarded me with similar questions. “Has the family found a place to live?” She demanded to know.
“I’m not sure.” I answered honestly.
“Not sure!” Class Mommy dropped her leather Prada bag on my desk and started to drum her shiny red fingernails on the wood. She glared at me.
I glared back at her.
“What are they supposed to do with all of this stuff, if they don’t even have a home?” She stopped drumming and crossed her arms over her chest. I had displeased the woman again. “Sounds like a pretty poor plan to me.”
Heat rose to my cheeks, I started to stammer, “Yes, but, I just want to help… I didn’t think…”
“You didn’t think!” Class Mommy snorted and jabbed her nose into the air. “Obviously, you didn’t think.”
My jaw dropped. Once again I was at a loss for words. Class Mommy’s audacity never ceased to stun me. I did manage to throw her one good Eat-Shit-Look before she started talking again.
“My husband and I, we own an apartment complex around the corner from here.” Class Mommy glanced at her watch, “I’m going to be late for my tennis match. I’ll talk to my husband and see if there’s anything we can do.”
They own an apartment complex?
“Oh, great! Anything would be wonderful… thank you!” I gushed at the potential for a generous offer.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Class Mommy grabbed her Prada bag and waved me off. “Francesca, darling! Come with Mommy, sweetie, I’m late for tennis!” She ushered her daughter briskly out of the room and left me to wonder…
Where did I expect Demarcus and his mom to store all of their new stuff? Had they found a home?