He was pencil thin and walked with a limp. A thirteen year-old boy with huge yearning eyes who was always an unlucky patient on the children’s floor of the hospital where my youngest daughter was all too often incarcerated.
Curtis had sickle cell anemia, an incurable, painful and terminal disease that plagues young people of African descent.
I would meander into his room to spend a little time with the rebellious loner and would often end up refereeing a screaming match…